Desperate Times

I have been in my beloved college town of Oxford, Mississippi for the past few days. The sleepy, small southern town is filled with memories at each corner I turn- many that make me laugh out loud as I remember them. Some of the funniest ones I have are from the times we had to start “figuring it out” when we ran out of money as broke college students who should have prioritized food over a big night out at the bar...a lesson usually learned after the fact.

Now, most of my friends were like myself. We’d get a small amount of money each week and would have to ration it out between birthdays to celebrate (which seemed to happen every day in college), toiletries, the tanning salon, an occasional pedicure, date parties, alcohol, and food. We were green with envy of the few lucky peers who somehow convinced their parents to send them to college with a credit card. My parents knew I would put them in the poorhouse if they ever did such a thing, so I quickly learned how to budget appropriately and hustle when I had to. The hustle meant anything from bargaining babysitting for free tabs from the young bar owners to hitting the local Subway for “two for Tuesday” each week or grabbing a five-dollar footlong to last a few days. Back then in the quaint, small town of Oxford, you could even write a check at the bar on Saturday night to cover your tab, knowing it wouldn’t be cashed until Monday. There’d be an entire day to figure out how to cover the prior night’s expense. And anyone who was everyone attended dollar wine night at the lively Bodega or penny pitchers down at the Gin. Those owners knew exactly who their customers were and what they could afford.

A couple of my favorite memories were from two fellow college students who had clearly not prioritized their food and ended up resorting to desperate measures to fill their bellies. During the 2000s, one of the main restaurants on the town square was a lovely establishment called The Downtown Grill. Around eight at night, the upstairs would turn into a classy lounge where one could sip martinis and listen to a man play the piano while chumming it up with their buds and attempting to act “adultish”. The bar had a very strict rule on no underage patrons, so once you turned twenty-one, it was the place to go. And while they were strict on checking the students IDs, they were not strict about locking the kitchen door.

One night, our famished friend, Patrick, made his way into the kitchen and discovered a bowl of delicious, boiled shrimp waiting for him in the refrigerator. He noshed and noshed the delicacy, then carried on about his night with a belly full of happiness. The next morning, Patrick received a call from friend who happened to be a waiter at the restaurant.

“Patrick, you need to come down here. You ate all the shrimp out of the fridge last night,” he heard through the phone.

“I don’t know what you are talking about. I would never do that.”

“Well, you did. And they have it on camera. The manager wants to talk to you.”

A disheveled Patrick rolled out of bed and made his way down to the restaurant where he was pulled into the manager’s office and forced to watch a security video. Sure enough, there he was in all this glory. Patrick was the shining star in the video as he happily feasted on his own shrimp cocktail while occasionally turning to the camera and throwing a prawn directly at the lens. He was busted. I honestly do not know the fallout from Shrimpgate at The Downtown Grill, but I do know he went to bed much fuller than he had been in a long time and that shrimp was off the menu for a while.

Another time, a girlfriend of mine happened upon a giant Tupperware box of croutons in the same restaurant. When I say giant, it was about half the size of my friend. Someone had obviously forgotten to place the box back into the kitchen before the nightlife got into full swing. I will never forget her looking at me and saying in a very serious tone, “We have no food in my house. This will be perfect. You don’t think they’ll need it, right?”

So, in her mind, the most logical thing to do was to protect the croutons at all costs. She went outside, found a bush to hide them in so no one else would take the croutons home, and went about her night. Then, when the bars closed, she swung by the bush, grabbed her treasure, and meandered home to present the giant box to her three roommates. Everyone was thrilled- it was like she had just struck gold and was sharing the wealth. They were starved college students no more.

For the next month that giant Tupperware storage box sat out on the entry table, serving as a vessel for a quick appetizer for guests, midday snack, or late-night alcohol absorber. Of course, like any good southern woman would do, she returned the Tupperware to the restaurant when the croutons were all polished off. Afterall, it was a really great container.

Eventually our restaurant closed its doors for good in 2011 after more than twenty years in business. I do believe they started locking the kitchen and that hungry, broke college kids did not actually serve as the reason for closing. I think it was simply time.

So, as I walk around the town square, I reminisce on these funny stories. And as I am an adult, I realize how desperate and hungry we all actually. But hey...desperate times always call for desperate measures. Just remember to lock that kitchen door.

A Snakey Surprise

Just Plain Tacky