I went to the Pete once. It was a Friday, I think. I remember because I had just gotten done… I went to the Pete once. It was a Friday, I think. I remember because I had just gotten done with my Aspects of Language lecture and I’d heard that there was a “pasta bar to die for” waiting at the top of the hill.

So, as I stood there at the bottom of the hill, in the shadow of the Great Petersen Events Center, I thought to myself, “Sure, why not? I’ll give it a shot.” Sure, Schenley was closer, but I was in the mood for something edible. Full of anticipation and hope, I began my ascent.

I whimpered – OK, cried – while climbing that monstrosity: The steepness, the blistering weather, the unsurmountable heights, the slow necrosis of my calves; I might as well have been climbing Everest. Seriously, all I was missing was an oxygen tank and a Sherpa.

Now, why should I dig up my freshman year trauma and share with you, my doting admirers? There’s a point, I promise. My freshman experiences, coupled with what I’ve observed this year, lead me to one undeniable, utterly logical conclusion: The formation of the upper campus elite.

Although I, as a human being, am certainly prone to making mistakes, my tastebuds are constrained by no such limitations. I ate at Jocks’ Place a few weeks ago – I took a shuttle – and ate a French bread pizza that could only have been baked by the gods themselves. The stir-fry wasn’t that bad either. And, if there was any remaining doubt as to the superiority of upper campus dining, consider this: Jocks’ is the only dining area on campus that sells Reese’s Pieces. The other premier dining facility, of course, is the Pete, which I briefly described in my dramatic introduction.

Setting aside the pasta bar, the Pete also boasts a Burger King, a value pizza block and chocolate chip cookies the size of bicycle tires. Now trust me, I’m the last person you’d ever find complimenting Sodexho, but the fine food staff at the University of Pittsburgh have obviously proven themselves up to the task of producing gourmet-quality meals. So why is it then that whenever I go to Schenley, my foot-long veggie on wheat ends up as a foot-long pile of mush reeking of teriyaki chicken? Or, why do I feel so violated when Eddie’s onion rings cost me a dollar a piece? My first claim: The University picks the creme de la creme – there’s a rigorous Iron Chef-style selection process – of Sodexho to serve above, while the rest are relegated to lower campus and are instructed to make us wait, at minimum, five minutes for every ounce of food we order.

Admittedly, there’s a slight hole in my theory. How to explain the scrumptious tomato and mozzarella sandwich I get every Tuesday in the Cathedral Cafe? Surely, the Cathedral isn’t upper campus