• Graphic Elizabeth Xu

It’s 12:30 p.m. and I’m fucking hungry.

My stomach is empty aside from the depanneur muffin and coffee I devoured hours earlier to get me through my four hour long radio class.

I make my way to the Hive Café Solidarity Co-op at Loyola, which provides free vegetarian meals on a daily basis to anyone that’s hungry. The only rules are that you wait in line, do your own dishes and allow those that haven’t eaten yet to go ahead of you before you grab seconds or even thirds.

I arrive and find a line that resembles a Depression-era bread line. I take my place at the end, patiently awaiting the lentils and salad that will fill my tummy once I reach the front—then the inevitable happens.

Multiple latecomers cut in line, gallivanting past me and taking their place in line with friends who arrived earlier.

This act of tyranny and entitlement is a brazen “fuck you” to everyone else in line, but no one ever says a word. Perhaps the pacifist nature of vegetarians has something to do with it—we just mumble under our breath and let it go.

This aggression will not stand!

The next time you cut the line at the Hive, you can bet your ass that I will be there to call you out and tell you to take your rightful place at the caboose.

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