How Annie Chun Assaulted the Rug

For the next three months, I am living in the French House in a large single that shares a bathroom with one neighbor. Summer living dans la maision Francaise is cake. Like many special interest houses on campus, most rooms in the French House have hardwood floors. Granted, they've seen a foot or two, but they're more pleasant to have under your toes than carpet on a hot day.

Anyway, as one of a handful of students who stuck around for the summer, I inherited a lot when my friends hit the road. The residence halls here usually have one box in a common space designated by the RA as "give-and-take" for recycling clothes and stuff that just needs to move on to someone else on campus. Between my friends and these overflowing boxes, I came into possession of an armchair, 26 packets of Easy Mac, a bag of nutritional yeast, a new box of iodized salt, many craisins, a fan, more oatmeal than I could ever hope to consume, and a half-gallon of Vermont maple syrup (a highlight, to be sure). Also belonging on this list is a large rug. While I love the hardwood floors, I must confess that I was pretty excited when I got the rug. It's just so pleasant! I suppose the total inventory would more accurately describe it as blue and stained and note that it smells a bit like someone's cat, but as of last night, it also smells like Annie Chun.

To backtack a bit, I should explaint that I am off the meal plan and cooking for myself all summer long. Some nights, this means baking and marinating tofu with veggies and rice. Other nights, this means convincing Michelle to collaborate on your basic pasta-with-tomato-sauce shindig. It's nothing fancy, but we do juice fruits and veggies when they come our way. Still, there are nights when I want nothing other than to wait two minutes for my Annie Chun to be heated to perfection in the microwave and be done with the whole food thing.

To tie this all together for you in one messy sentence: I was eating my Annie Chun Teriyaki Noodle Bowl last night, sitting on a borrowed rug watching "Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid," when I spilled sweet Annie's good cookin all over this magic carpet and my feet (although my toes are not the point). So, after work today I will bike to Cub Foods and buy some carpet cleaner and send a prayer to some higher power that the smell of cheap Asian food will vacate my crib before the scent spreads to my bed. G-ross.

In conclusion, here's my good advice to everyone, everywhere: don't spill things. It's a big hassel to clean up, not to mention a painful way to say goodbye to a hot bowl of Annie. Plus, it makes you feel stupid. No one likes feeling stupid. I beseech you to take this obvious directive to heart, but also to keep your bowls at the table, friends. Heck, if you've got to, cover your furniture in plastic. It's the only safe way to eat!

-Julia