Most people I have talked to dont eat in the cafeteria.  They have an aversion to it, but never really say why.  Its clear its not the food.

I meandered over to the cafeteria, a bunker looking style building on campus.  Cameras glared at me from all sorts of angles.  I had to "badge in" three times by swiping my temporary ID through the card readers.  Bottom up.  Because they won't work the other way.

Signs proclaim the necessary activities in an Orwellian presence of food security.

"YOU MUST BADGE IN AT ALL POINTS YOU PASS."

I made it in past the final set of doors, got my food, made small-talk with the cafeteria employees, who seem starved for someone to treat them like a human being and sat down at a small table on the far side of the expansive, earth-tone rooms.

Several planters filled with ficus and other unnameable plants were arrayed around, segregating sections from sections.  Closing off small meeting places that could be reserved with a sign.  Little alcoves that looked like minuature board rooms bounded by walls of green plants.  Very secrective, very official.  I havent dared to sit there.  I may never.

I used to love eating in the cafeteria in college.  I developed an affinity for it.  Not so much for the food, but I learned how to be.  How to do it.  The subtle art of eating alone in a public place.  It takes some practice and skill.

Because, otherwise, you look like a lost, scared gawker, and people wont like you.  Become an island unto yourself, and the world is your friend.  You can watch the others flail about with derision. All you really need is a cut-rate newspaper and enough space to spread a section of it out while you eat.

Sure, you're reading the articles.  But it is irrelevant.  What you are doing is giving people time to scope you out, relax, and lower their guard.  Then you may peruse them as you will, being judicious in your gandering opportunities.  You will see what you wish, but be patient.  Much like fishing, or hunting, sudden movements will disturb your quarry, and ruin your good time.

So I sat, inviolate, by myself, gone to lunch alone for the first time early, at the beginning of the lunch rush.  An army of khaki and blue button down shirts marched by, with dull or mis-matched ties.  Ties that said they were afraid to show flair or take a gamble.  The safe men, the grey men.  Until khaki goes out of style, they are.

And the women, fluttering about, so many unnattractive women in their way, with googly eyes peering at my tray, trying to see what is good to eat.  Every so often I'd look up and raise my eyebrows in greeting to them, to have them hurriedly look away.

No one knew what to make of me, if they thought of me at all.  I did not ascribe to the cliques, I sat where I pleased.

There were cute girls, some pretty women.  Every once in a while  I would take a judicious glance around and see one staring at me.  Who's the new guy.  We'd lock eyes in a sea of geeks and she would look away, her attention inevitably commanded by the socially awkward yet powerful around her.  I am the low man on the totem pole, I am the outsider.

And I dressed that way.  In a land of khaki  I am the brown courderouy.  In the land of the blue button down and tie, I am the white and thin blue striped polyester short sleeved collared button down shirt with white t-shirt underneath.  No tie.  I am the black and white leather sketchers.  I am the ever-present silver and gold thumb ring on the left hand.  I am the small silver pinky ring with Indian ingravings on the right hand.  I am something different.  How long until I get fired.

I ate my fill and walked to the door, making sure not to gaze proprietarily over the crowd, as I like to do.  I came up to the exit and it opened.  Thinking this fortuitous, I started to walk through.

A guy stopped me.  He actually had some sort of a red button down shirt and khakis on.  Maybe he was in charge.

"Hey," he said, "You still gotta' badge out."  he said.

So I did.  Just one in a long line of capitulations in this weird, weird world.