Ask Me Anything! "Distressed Diner"

Dear Penelope,

    I have dining hall anxiety—every time. The minute I step foot into the dining hall the brisk cold hand of dread hits my very existence. I start to sweat—a lot. Thus, right when I thought I could sweat no longer, my body reaches the pinacle of perspiration, causing my hands to evolve into a muggy mess of phalanges; the last thing you want to have happen to you in the dinning hall is slippery hands. The other day I dropped a plate and everyone stared at me—it was a stare of a hundred judging eyes, analyzing every move. My hands shake when I put the turkey onto my gluten free bread. While I maneuver my way through the impenetrable crowd I spill my drink as someone bumps my shoulder on the way to my ever-changing table. What do I do? Why do I feel so short? Who is sitting next to me? Why am I wearing these LL Bean boots? 


    Distressed Diner


Dear Distressed Diner,

    First of all, you are not short, everyone here is just freakishly tall. Dont sweat it! HA get it? Tell me if you do. I saw when you dropped that plate and I thought it was pretty funny, but I will say people here are actually very nice about it. I remember my freshmen year when I dropped a glass in the middle of breakfast and I swear the earth stopped for a brief period of anxiety as the glass fell helplessly to make the loudest shatter in New Hampton School history. I DIED. However, at that very moment, the hero New Hampton deserves came to the rescue: Sir Freddy Petkus. He cleaned it up for me. At that moment I realized that people here do care, and are not there to judge, we are all here to be friends and share social moments that will be remembered forever. 

With Love,