Bear's Den

Notes:
-Wednesday, 1:30pm, busy lunch hour (everyone just got out of class or has a break)
-loud, a lot of talking and interacting between students and staff
-long lines, frustrated students (hungry)& staff because it is so busy
-all booths are taken (as usual)
-smells of pizza and tacos
-couple in Mexican food line. blonde curly hair, coach purse, black Ugg boots, north face jacket. Her boyfriend messy brown hair, gray Bridgewater sweat pants, black sweat shrit
-older lady in front of them (looked like she may work at the school) wearing business clothing, very indecisive
- employees, young man (student?) nice seemed to be people person smiling, brown hair & beard, older woman blonde & glasses (looked crabby) not friendly, can't wait to leave work.
- older women-careless, doesn't care how her food is executed just wants to get it done
-guy, food made to your liking



As I enter the commuter café also known as Bear's Den, around 1:30 p.m. on a Wednesday afternoon, I am flustered with the amount of people crowding the lines and enjoying their afternoon meal. My stomach had been growling since English class as I was craving the very popular, mouth watering chicken quesadilla prepared in the Mexican section of the dining hall. Unfortunately once I arrived, the line had at least 10 people in it, all frustrated by the long wait. As I waited anxiously for my turn to order, I happened to notice a couple holding hands in front of me. The girl seemed to be very well dressed to impress, with curly golden locks, a couch purse, black Ugg boots with a matching black North face jacket. Her boyfriend seemed less concerned with his appearance. He had messy brown hair as if he had just rolled out of bed, gray sweatpants with the words Bridgewater State University embroided down the side and a black sweatshirt. In front of the couple, there was a rather middle aged woman wearing heels and dressed in a gray business casual ensemble who looked like she was having a little trouble figuring out what she wanted to order. Her constant head bobs, looking up and down at the menu and at the workers, made it obvious she was narrowing down her decision. As I grew closer to the front of the line, I started to examine how each worker made each order.

As I was observing, it became more clear who was the better quesadilla maker. An older, somewhat disturbed women with black glasses and short, blonde hair worked at the station and barely had enough energy to greet anyone with a "Hello". To her right, a younger man with brown hair and a beard, I think a student here at the college, always gave a wholehearted "Hi, What can I get for you?". I observed how each worker constructed their orders, I noticed the older woman sloppily place one scoop of chicken (not even enough to fill out the entire wrap) right in the middle leaving no chicken for the end pieces. While placing a small hand full of cheese directly on top of the chicken and a tiny amount jalapeño sauce to top off the order the way a one star restaurant would serve it. The younger man however perfectly executed the art of a quesadilla and actually completed the task with a smile on his face, almost as if he was proud of the accomplishment each time he made something. He had added the perfect amount of chicken spread it out over the entire wrap so every bite would have a piece of chicken as well as cheese and jalapeño sauce. It was clear who I wanted to make my quesadilla, but luck was not on my side that day. As I approached the station, the older woman let out a meek cry, "What do you want?" and with disappointment, I responded with my order. About 5 minutes later, a terribly cut, burnt quesadilla found its way to me while the person in front of me received a perfectly browned chicken quesadilla. All I could do was stare in jealousy as I was forced to accept and eat the horrible work of the old, bothered woman.