By Hailey Heinz

I address these words to everyone who was standing in the stir fry line last Thursday: I’m really, really sorry. For those of you who weren’t standing in the stir fry line, be glad you weren’t.

It was like this: I was at Stetson West around 5 p.m. It was early enough that the line wasn’t long, and I made my stir fry quickly and settled at a table to do some homework and wait for my number to light up, alerting me my food was ready.

Time passed. I became more engrossed in my homework, although continually checking the number board, as I was hungry, and I’m a compulsive number-board checker under the best of circumstances.

More time passed, and this began to seem suspicious. There had been a few plates ahead of mine. It was nearly 6 p.m. and I determined something had gone awry.

I approached the stir fry counter clutching my number, 22. I explained to Noelia, the woman behind the counter, that I’d had my number for nearly an hour and still hadn’t gotten my food. Moreover, I didn’t see my food anywhere.

As Noelia and I conversed, most of the employees behind the counter became involved in my plight. They were conferring, discussing and finally reached this conclusion: My food had sat waiting for me for too long and I didn’t come get it, so they threw it away.

I was distraught. In retrospect, this seems a bit of an overreaction, but at the time, I didn’t know what to do. I was hungry, I had places to be, and by now, the stir fry line was wrapping around the corner and out of the stir fry area. I had wanted that stir fry so badly, and now I was simply at a loss.

Moreover, I was certain there was no way I could have missed that light. Not possible. I was checking it constantly, eagerly waiting for my food. You must believe me; it didn’t light up.

Seeing my distress, the employees quickly tried to make amends. They offered to cook me another plate, and said I wouldn’t have to wait in line. As tempting as the offer was, I just felt too awkward about weaving through the line of hungry and impatient diners so I could cut in front of them. It just felt wrong.

I turned to leave, not sure what my next course of action would be, but just needing to regroup. At that moment a manager, who had been watching this drama for the past few minutes, said the following words at a volume that echoed through the stir fry area:

“NOELIA, MAKE SURE THAT YOUNG LADY GETS HER FOOD BEFORE ALL THESE PEOPLE.”

A dead silence fell, and I’m sure I turned several shades of fuchsia.

At this point, there was nothing to do but to make myself some stir fry. I felt the eyes of the mob on me as I awkwardly moved through them, made myself a hasty bowl of stir fry, and handed it to the kindly smiling woman behind the counter. My request for “chicken, please,” came out sounding more like a squeak than words, and I immediately fled the area to cower and wait for my new number to light up. A few minutes later I claimed my food, ate it quickly, and ran away.

I vowed I would never eat stir fry again. It was too humiliating. I couldn’t go back there after making such a scene and ask those lovely people to cook for me again. I just wouldn’t do it. My problem is that my stomach is often more persuasive than my mind, and the very next day, I had a craving for stir fry, my very favorite on-campus food.

I seriously contemplated going in disguise. I considered maybe sunglasses and a scarf over my hair, like a movie star who doesn’t want to be recognized. I considered a baseball cap, a winter scarf, or those glasses with the attached plastic nose. After considering all these options, however, I decided to just balls-up and go get some stir fry.

Naturally, the same cast of characters was working the stir fry area, and I’m quite sure they all recognized me. They smiled in a more friendly way than usual, and I smiled sheepishly back. When my number lit up, I was quick to pick up my food, exchanging a look with Noelia as I did so.

That, dear friends, is why I cut in front of you. It’s not because I wanted to, or because I have some special privileges. Believe me, it was harder for me than it was for you, and I humbly apologize. I’ll see you in the stir fry line.

– Hailey Heinz is a freshman journalism major and a member of The News staff.