E. Bronson Ingram College: Heaven Amongst Hell
By: Jeff Malarky
Since moving away from the hallowed halls of a Vanderbilt Res Collegetowards the nirvana that is off campus life, I haven’t had the pleasure of having my stomach and bowels bombarded by the sweet nectar of a Vanderbilt dining hall.
That changed yesterday. As I was returning home from a short business trip to Grand Cayman, where my investment firm is located to avoid capital gains tax, my car broke down on the side of West End. I shed a tear as I watched my driver struggle to figure out why the Audi R8, my fourth favorite sports car, wouldn’t start. I was absolutely famished (even in first class, for flights less than 4 hours; the meal options are absolutely disastrous), so I cautiously approached the first dining option that I could find: the E. Bronson Ingram Dining Hall.
As I entered the building there was not a sound in the world but my black cap-toe oxford shoes hitting the laminated, wooden floor. Walking through the hallway, I reminisced in the lessons I once learned between these great walls. As I entered the eating area, my eyes filled with tears. I’d forgotten the pillars that rival those of the Parthenon, the wall of windows on the left side reminiscent of the Louvre, and a towering ceiling that rivals that of the Roman Pantheon.
I rushed to the ordering station and immersed myself in the vegetables and brisket. The plethora of colorful vegetables greeted my eyes, and I helped myself to the broccoli and banana peppers. Mere minutes later my bowl was handed back to me, a steaming beacon of hope in a world tarnished by war and poverty. I move to the filling station, where I drizzle on a touch of Thai chili dressing.
The lack of private seating is a deterrent, but I was riding high. As Iate at the mahogany table, the first bite of brisket is a breath of fresh air. The brisket is freshly marinated, clearly topped with salt harvested from the depths of the Pacific Ocean. The vegetables must have been harvested locally, for their freshness rivals that of the powder after a snowstorm in the French Alps where I grew up skiing.
Following the completion of my meal, a wave of young students came flooding through the doors. A wave of deja vu washed over me, as I wondered what my life could have been like had I stayed in school, and not screwed over everybody around me in an attempt to get ahead. But I swallow my pride and remember my net worth. These peasants could never, and for now, that will have to be enough.
