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Communal Kitchens and Why I Hate Them

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by Rebecca Dance

I have lived in Maxey Hall for my entire four years here at Roanoke College. I have been cooking for that same amount of time, because I wasn’t going to give up fresh-made pasta and grilled cheese for the dining hall version. So, I’ve always had things in a kitchen cabinet labeled with my name and room number. In honor of a jar of missing peanut butter, here are some of the lowest moments in the communal kitchen. 

#1. When I walked in and realized that freshmen were using my singular pot to make apple pie stuffing, and they all stared blankly at each other upon realizing nobody had asked me to use the pot. 

#2. When I blearily walked into the kitchen to make coffee using my Keurig only to find it was already in use. The trespasser upon my caffeine only shrugged when I asked why he thought it was appropriate to use it without asking. He did not even live on my floor. He had just seen the Keurig one day and decided to use it. 

#3. When I went to make scrambled eggs for breakfast and found that two of my eggs had gone missing, but there was no evidence of anybody cooking eggs in any way in the kitchen. I still don’t know where they went, but eggs are expensive and I want revenge. 

#4. When there was a cockroach living in my loaf of bread and I screamed about it. 

#5. When I tried to cook pumpkin bread only to frantically wave a towel around the kitchen after I preheated the oven to disperse the smoke after someone didn’t clean their mess out of the oven. 

Long live the communal kitchen. May you one day have floors that aren’t sticky.