I think it’s time we start discussing dining hall etiquette. On Thursday, Jan. 19, 2006, at an unbelievably crowded Towers, I was undeniably hit by a large piece of old, crusty bread. Yes, at a college dining hall. My eyes traveled to the origin of the uninvited object and I instantly spotted the culprit — and his table of buddies — as their laughter successfully reached my ears three tables away. And though I was afforded an instant apology and an explanation that the decaying substance was meant to hit the blonde two chairs away, their obvious entertainment at the elementary school antic has yet to be shaken from my intellect.

Don’t worry. No, this is not some sort of corny sob story to lecture my fellow students on their natural responsibility to treat their peers with the same respect they themselves desire. Would you really keep reading? Instead, my intention is to address the bigger issue here. I’m a confident southern California native — a simple piece of bread and a table of laughing freshman have no effect on my ego. My annoyance and disappointment instead lie in the monstrosity of my fellow students’ dining hall etiquette.

I worked at Towers my second semester of freshman year. Because I’m financially responsible for myself, I picked up a second job to pay for such college expenses as books, ink and plane tickets home. Swiping during dinners was always fun for me, as I truly enjoyed conversing and getting to know the regulars. Though my constant smiles and questions of “How are you?” were sometimes received with blank stares, incomprehensible grunts and blatant ignorance, as some find it too difficult to halt babbling into their cell phones when others speak to them, there were enough friendly Towers diners to drown out those whom I always excused as just being extra hungry.

However, working one semester at a Boston University dining hall was enough for me — not even the raise, the $100 bonus students receive for returning to their dining hall job or the precious friendships I developed with both the student and staff workers were enough to induce me to return. The nightly routine of having to drag around an enormous black trash bag for the sole purpose of disposing soiled napkins; abandoned trays; broken ketchup bottles; discarded newspapers; and half-eaten, un-eaten or deemed un-eatable food, which my fellow students for some reason felt were unnecessary to dispose of themselves, undoubtedly turned me off to both my job and my peers.

What kind of etiquette is it to leave your tray on the table after you’ve finished eating? Somebody does have to pick up your tray and more often than not the excuse “They work here, it’s their job” translates into “I’m too lazy to walk 10 feet, put my tray on the belt, and walk back the extra ten feet out of the dining hall.” I can only remind these students that it is not the person whose job is to swipe your card, serve your food and clean the tables to personally pick up after you. How old are we again? Furthermore, there also exist individuals who refuse to move from their table — even after the dining hall has closed — though it’s obvious that their peers, who happen to be dining hall employees, are waiting for them to get up so that they can wipe the table and leave, in order to finish the homework a five hour shift has disallowed them to complete. And of course, the big one: What kind of person leaves actual food on a table when they’re done? Parents would be embarrassed at their children’s dining etiquette, as students themselves should be embarrassed to go to school with those who possess such manners. I truly believe there are bigger issues at hand when legally aged adults deem it acceptable to leave whole trays of food on dining hall tables because they know someone else will eventually pick it up for them.

Ironically, my collision with the piece of bread, a piece of bread that turned out to represent every incident and experience from the previous semester that I had tried to forget, occurred during what was only the second trip I’ve made to Towers since I stopped working there. And as I picked up that crusty, old, stale piece of bread (which I’m sure the wannabe quarterback found on the ground, left from the individual who sat there before him), throwing it into the trash myself, I possessed no feelings of vindication or superiority for possessing “proper” etiquette. I was simply doing what any normal, responsible, functional human being would do: embrace accountability. It counts, even in a place like a dining hall.

Erica Mosca is a sophomore in the College of General Studies. She can be reached at [email protected].