Sociological Insecurity

It is interesting how a lapse of cognitive ability tends to occur at the most opportune of moments.

I experienced an interesting incident a few weeks ago, wherein a employee at the campus cafeteria greeted me after listening to me play the piano (there is a piano in the cafeteria). He expressed his amazement at my magnitude of skill, and told me that he could not wait for me to make an album. I responded with a typical exchange of first names and a firm handshake, ergo formally accepting "Derrick—the nice black man" as one of my acquaintances.

The next day, I returned to the cafeteria piano to again flaunt the consequences of my hard work. Whilst I was performing the second movement of Beethoven's Pathetique Sonata, Derrick came up to the upright grand piano and placed a Reese's candy bar on the piano's top. I assumed that it was his intention for me to eat his gift. But I was not entirely sure what to do in the situation, because this action was a slight breach of etiquette for two reasons:

1) We were at the time merely acquaintances. Acquaintances do not normally give gifts. 

2) Derrick must not know that gifts are to be given only AFTER a concert. He could have waited at least until after the movement. 

I hesitated at the sight of the candy, but a thought occurred to me: perhaps if I played the piano more often during Derrick's working hours, I would get free food. The etiquette breach didn't seem so bothersome anymore. 

This thought process turned out to be right. The next day, he delivered some leftover chicken nuggets to me. The following day, I received a pop tart. This pattern continued for about 5 days, the same way.

One night, after these 5 days, I was getting some dinner at the cafeteria. In what I assumed was a dystopian* effort to minimize physical communication between customer and employee, the method of ordering food at the campus cafeteria consisted of a disposable paper menu upon which one would check-mark his desired food items. On the ordering table, there was a pencil container filled with pens. These pens were uglified with plastic forks, tackily scotch-taped to them. The tines were all facing up, with the ball-point ends at the bottom of the container (yes, this is pertinent to the story).

As I reached for a pen, I noticed Derrick coming towards me, a tray of pie in his hands. He kindly offered a plate of pecan pie to me, which I gratefully took. However, the dessert did not come with a fork. So, I looked hurriedly around myself, and I saw a cup of plastic forks positioned rather close to me. What luck! I grabbed a fork and took a bite of the delicious pie. 

Suddenly Derrick took the fork from my hand. Yet another breach of etiquette. I looked up and saw an odd look on his face. I looked down and saw the pen he just took out of my hand. The PEN. Whoever thought to adorn the pens with forks probably did not foresee this issue. I was sure that there was nothing I could have said to him to make him think I was any less stupid, so I didn't speak.

Derrick turned and went to grab a fork sans pen for me, as if he was thinking, "This kid needs my help to get him a real fork." I waited there for him to come back with a kosher utensil. Avoiding eye contact with him, I thanked him for the pie and fork and hurried out of the room.

I haven't seen Derrick since that day. He no longer works at the cafeteria. Coincidence? Gosh, I hope so. I am, however, glad that I don't have to face him when I go to dinner anymore. Then again, I never really did have to physically communicate with him to get my food.

—Drew

*Dystopian: Dialectical opposite of "Utopian," typically referring to a fictional totalitarian society.