The buffet-style setup of the cafeteria means you wait until you’re starving before you go to eat.
The caf greets you with a somewhat pleasant smell of rice, pizza and grease fires.
You eat as much as you possibly can, grabbing a fancy tea bag from the fruit counter and avoiding today’s dessert offering of whipped cream on a stale, otherwise empty, tart.
After leaving, you notice that people in the tunnels are keeping their distance.
When you sit down in Human Rights class – with 400 people asses-to-elbows – you realize that a one-seat
buffer surrounds you in every direction.
As you turn your head from side to side in search of the problem, you catch a whiff of your sweater: your odour is a mix of tandoori chicken, curry, garlic and death.