Looking for canned chicken

I was in Whole Foods last week, looking for canned chicken. After many minutes of searching I asked an employee if he knew where it was. He thought for a moment, then spoke.

"We don't have chicken salad ... don't you think it's kinda messed up to put a chicken in a can?"

Such is the life of an independent. It's hard to believe that a year ago I was looking forward to this. At the time, the advantages of being independent had seemed obvious:

1. Selection: The weekly rotating menu had its advantages and disadvantages. It was always comforting to know that pizza and ice cream awaited me on stressful Sunday nights. But waiting for the meatloaf and catfish on Tuesdays let me know what sitting on death row feels like.

2. Cost: Dining hall credits cost $10, so that a double swipe at Frist was costing me $20. I can think of countless better things to buy with $20. I will name three: a hardback copy of "Dianetics," a large fragrant candle and a $20 gift certificate to Foot Locker. (A paperback copy of "Dianetics" and a small fragrant candle are also $20 combined and make an excellent gift combo).

3. Schedule: I never understood the last year's to serve dinner from 5:30-7:30 pm, when any normal college student should be napping. How much would it cost to keep the dining halls open another hour? Then again, what would be the incentive? The dining halls provided an excellent lesson in the failings of communism.

To understand how things actually turned out, it helps to know something about my father. My dad lives in San Jose, Calif. and commutes home on the weekends, meaning that he is responsible for feeding himself on the weekdays. This summer, I went on a road trip with some friends, and he let us stay at his place. We arrived starving and greedily opened the fridge.

What we found could have kept the Centers for Disease Control busy for months. Cheese and bread had molded beyond recognition. Orange juice had solidified. One jar of mayonnaise had expired five years ago, which meant that my dad had actually taken expired mayo with him when he moved in two years earlier.

It isn't that my dad was messy; it's that he can't stand to waste food. By his own admission, rock bottom came when he sat down to an unholy casserole of expired bologna and onions. After my mom learned of this meal, she began providing him with Tupperware containers of real food that he could microwave when things got desperate.

Unfortunately, a similar option is not available to me, so I am forced to eat whatever's available until it's gone. Last year I happened upon a large supply of canned tuna, which I ate every day for a month. One day, my mom told me that this was a good way to get mercury poisoning. I Googled the disease and found that symptoms of the disease included memory loss, fatigue and general malaise. I'm pretty sure that I have already been infected.

I am a terrible grocery shopper. I always head to the cereal section first and examine the various Pebbles and Puffs. After half an hour of deliberation, I will buy a box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch and a box of Reese's Puffs. I then grab a couple of things that require much preparation and will consequently sit in dorm room untouched for the rest of the year. When the cereal is gone, I will return to the grocery store.

What I've realized is that the dining halls had provided me with a service I sorely needed. Last week, I finally caved in and went back. I paid the $13 guest fee and entered the Wilson dining hall. I filled my plates with salad, potatoes and fajitas. I grabbed a dessert and two glasses of milk. Sitting among the ungrateful undergrads, enjoying my feast, I marveled at how something that had once seemed so dreadful could again become wonderful. Tom Knight is an economics major from San Juan Capistrano, Calif. He can be reached at ttknight@princeton.edu.