Mobilizing forces to beat lunch line blues

After three beautiful years here at Blair, we're proud to say that our records are pretty clean. We wear our IDs. We don't cut class. We do our homework on occasion. But on one issue we're fed up. No, scratch that—we're hungry.

Like many of our fellow Blazers, we like to eat—but we're having a little trouble with that aspect of our lives. According to mathematics, any two points can make a line. But in the case of the lunch line, 6.022x10^23 hungry points make an angry mob.

In our seasoned experience as members of said mob, we've encountered two types of people: those who butt and those who starve. Sadly, we are members of the latter category. For years, we have watched students slip into the hellfire that is the front of the à la carte line, leaving us à lacking food. In the words of our good friend Aretha, all we're asking for is a little respect.

Armed with polite words and enthusiastic idealism, we set out on Oct. 6 to kill our rude enemies with kindness. Our first test came when freshman Michael Kinfe stepped in front of us, the last two people in a stagnant line.

Alexa: "Excuse me, do you mind getting to the back of the line? You just cut right in front of me."
Kinfe: "It's okay, I'm not buying anything."
Alexa: "But that's not true; you have money in your hand."
Kinfe: "Wanna go out?"

Eww.

Though diplomacy was getting us nowhere, we had to soldier on. Like a dove carrying an olive branch, SGA President junior Sebastian Johnson was our beacon of hope. We found him on Oct. 20.

Julia: "Mr. President, will you join us in our fight to stop line butters?"
Mr. President: "Well, I do think that we need to work on respecting each other at Blair, but could I get a written offer for free ad space in Silver Chips before agreeing to that?"
Julia: "No. But can we shake on this?"

Then we shook hands, and so was born the Better Understanding of The Type oF Acceptable SAC Etiquette League (hereinafter referred to as the BUTTFACE League).

But in order to successfully fight the insurgency that was destroying the integrity of our lunch lines and the fullness of our bellies, the League needed an insider: security guard Jones—Y. Jones—head of the à la carte division. "I got a system going on right now," Jones explained, leaking valuable intelligence information. "Oh, hold up—"

Out of the corners of her ever-watchful eyes, Jones had caught one. All it took was one cold stare.

"I was already here," the culprit pleaded, fear oozing from his every pore.

The girl behind him confirmed our suspicions with a subtle shake of the head.

"GET!" said Jones. He got.

After observing Jones in action, it was clear that we needed to globalize her tactics in order to bring an end to the daily injustices in the SAC. Let's just say we shook her hand.
With the BUTTFACE League now four-strong and ready for battle, it was time to take to the streets. On Oct. 21, we set out to picket lunch-line rudeness. We took our posts between the two main lunch lines and faced the masses.

"R-E-S-P-E-C-T! Find out what it means to me," shouted Alexa, her voice booming throughout the lines, causing vindictive butters to stop and think about what it meant.

"It means no BUTTING!" quipped Julia, adding this clever one-liner to really drive our point home.

The masses stared, awestruck, taken aback and maybe even moved. We had finally gotten through to them. Feeling pride akin to that of a mother who had just witnessed her child's first words ("Justice, JUSTICE!"), we started our retreat when a young man motioned confidentially to us. We rushed to his side, eager to hear words of encouragement and praise from one of our new followers.

"So, you guys wanna cut in line?"

Curses. Foiled again.