The food situation in Isolation Camp Yale sucks. I’ve been stuck here, totally asymptomatic, fully vaccinated and increasingly malnourished, for six days. By my calculations, should I consume every item of delivered food, I am scraping by on hardly 1000 calories per day. At 6’4”, 195lbs (now likely 185lbs), I simply cannot survive on portions I can only describe as appropriate for a picky middle school girl, delivered once daily in a brown paper bag.
I am part of Yale’s ROTC program. Prior to arriving on campus, our unit had a week-long training evolution where we survived eating MREs (Meals Ready to Eat), the classic military ration for soldiers on deployment. These brown packages of often unidentifiable food items were a far cry from the chic menus of Yale Dining, and yet I have recently caught myself salivating at the thought of cracking into one of those dreaded dehydrated meals. My current nutritional situation is what I would expect if I were forward-deployed in Ukraine, cut off from our military’s supply chain and forced to ration the remaining provisions of my rucksack. Obviously this is an exaggeration: even then, I expect the US military could provide more reasonable portions. I can’t imagine Yale Hospitality is using my COVID-19 isolation as a training opportunity to prepare me for future military combat, but it sure feels like it.
Like a raccoon, I have all but started rummaging through Arnold Hall’s overflowing trash cans for discarded food scraps, the scraps themselves being discarded entrees from Commons and near-spoiled food from the Bow Wow. After my third evening of Winter Squash Pasta, something broke inside me. Ten minutes and a tightly-masked jaunt to Ivy Wok later, I was eating like a king; or at least like a ravenous 19-year-old male. Was I gravely endangering the New Haven community by picking up a bag of pan-fried dumplings from the counter of a store less than a minute from my holding cell? Such an act is strictly outlawed by Yale’s COVID-19 policy; delivery only, because grabbing a food order from an Uber driver is scientifically less likely to spread infection. In my staunch battle against starvation, I violated the Sacred Oath of the Community Compact. If the powers at be consider take-out a mortal sin, I will gladly be crucified and die a (skinny) martyr.
In fact, I’ve spent over $200 in the past five days on pick-up and delivery. In this regard, I have been frugal: I, unlike Yale, don’t have billions of dollars to throw at my problems. $200 is a significant amount of money for me, and an unacceptable burden to bear when supposedly recuperating in isolation. It’s possible that this is Yale’s attempt to enact revenge for my previous track record in their dining halls, where my admittedly heaping portions undoubtedly surpassed the value of my meal plan. If so, point made. A more confrontational me might demand a drop of reimbursement from the oh-so-controversial Yale endowment. Currently, I hardly have the physical strength to write this letter.
I understand that Yale Hospitality is stretched thin by rapidly filling isolation quarters and assumedly endless bureaucratic nonsense. Managing COVID-19 outbreaks has clearly been a sore point for the administration over the last two years. I don’t write this email out of distaste for the overworked people of Yale Hospitality: the brave men and women who risk their health to bring me my meager portions are not at fault here. To “shoot the messenger” (in this case spacesuit-clad food delivery staff) is the exact opposite of my intention.
This letter is for an out-of-touch administration which seems clinically unable to take a coherent, consistent stance on their COVID-19 policy. It’s for the Yale dietician who magically created a one-size-fits-all nutrition plan for isolated students. It’s for certain administration officials more concerned with their future job prospects and the public image of their offices than the current livelihood of their students. I’m tired of Yale’s constant redefining of policy, condescending, uninterested administrative responses and shifting of responsibility to a downtrodden, fed up student population. If I am to put up with the mind-numbingly useless COVID-19 measures of this University, I damn well deserve to be suitably fed as I do so.
Maybe I’m spoiled. Maybe I’m showing a lack of empathy for Yale bureaucrats in such stressful times. Maybe I’m just “hangry.” Judge me as you please, but unless Yale admin expects me to learn to photosynthesize, or is willing to risk a Donner-party like fiasco in isolation housing, I will continue to skirt around quarantine, strain my wallet and shed weight.
Cheers,
Cole Black
Yale 2025
COLE BLACK is a first year in Pierson College. Contact him at cole.black@yale.edu.