Playing Hunger Games

This happened during my freshman year of college, about twenty years ago.

My university had just opened a brand-new dining hall. To help fund it, they required all new students to purchase a 150-meal plan each semester. Coming from a lower-middle-class family, this was a big financial burden, but my parents scraped together the funds to make it happen.

Shortly into the first semester, I found out that unused meals didn’t roll over. Since I lived off campus and rarely ate on-site, I knew I wouldn’t use them all. By November, I realized I’d likely have 60 to 75 meals left, and I vented to anyone who would listen. It just felt like such a waste.

My cousin was a senior at the same school. He was the classic prankster type, the kind of guy who lives to poke the bear. One night while we were drinking, he tossed out a wild idea:

Cousin: “What if you brought a bunch of homeless people to use up your meals? How much would that p*** off those self-righteous b*****ds?”

We laughed, but the more I thought about it, the more the idea stuck. Over the weekend, we refined the plan.

On Monday, we visited the local Salvation Army just down the road. (Say what you will about the organization now, but in small-town USA in the early 2000s, it was the only game in town.)

I told the woman at the desk I wanted to donate my meal swipes to people in need. She was skeptical at first but eventually agreed. It would be a huge blessing during the holidays.

Together, we organized two days the following week, where around thirty people would meet me at noon. I told them I’d be wearing a distinctive hat so they could recognize me.

The first day arrives.

All kinds of folks showed up: unhoused individuals in ragged coats, parents with wide-eyed kids, even a quiet family who looked too embarrassed to accept charity. I made a point to greet everyone and make them feel welcome.

At noon, I led the group into the dining hall.

Me: *To the cashier.* “These people are with me. They’re my friends. I’d like to swipe them in.”

She looked unsure but let us through.

The reactions were… intense.

Some staff looked visibly irritated. Some students laughed. Some gave me the silent applause. A few snobby faculty members looked appalled. I didn’t care.

Eventually, a dining hall manager approached me.

Manager: “We know what you’re doing, and we don’t like it.”

Me: “These are my friends, and I paid for these meals. Am I breaking any rules?”

She was stumped.

Day two was more of the same, except this time the university president was there. She approached me and, while she asked that I not encourage other students to do the same (since the staff wasn’t equipped for the extra diners), she told me she was proud of my compassion.

The next semester, I did it again, this time using my meal plan even more sparingly to save up more swipes.

The memory that sticks with me most? 

A group of kids from one of the families, squealing with delight at the pizza bar and soft-serve ice cream machine. They giggled nonstop.

It’s still one of the proudest moments of my life. 

To this day, my friends and family still laugh about it over drinks and remember the scandalized stares from all the “snooty” onlookers.