The University of Tulsa offers a great variety of on-campus food options, all ranging in degrees of quality. You already knew that, but whatever. Anyhoo, here’s a comprehensive list of those places (that nobody asked for) ranked by how starved you’d have to be to eat there.
Hunger Level: -3
Analysis: Bruh. If I had the self-confidence to eat alone, I’d be there 24/7.
Hunger Level: You just ate, but oh well.
Analysis: Burritos. Chips. Cheese. Salsa. What more is there to ask for in life? Drown your midterm blues here for a cool $7.75.
Hunger Level: Eh, you have some time to kill between between breakfast and lunch, so why not?
Analysis: I don’t really care if it’s not authentic. It brings light into the caverns of my soul.
Hunger Level: A wee bit peckish.
Analysis: You can never have too much sushi.
Hunger Level: It’s lunchtime.
Analysis: Sweet, delicious carbs smothered in cheese sauce.
Hunger Level: You skipped breakfast to study and now you’re regretting it.
Analysis: Yeah, I could make myself a sandwich, but do I really have the motivation to do so?
Hunger Level: 5.96
Analysis: Should I really feel better about myself when I get a salad for lunch if it’s drenched in dressing?
Hunger Level: Twelve nuggets aren’t nearly enough.
Analysis: The guilt after eating here is too much to handle. Not to mention the cholesterol. Please be kind to your circulatory system.
Einstein Bros Bagels
Hunger Level: Somehow sleeping for 13 hours after passing out on your bio textbook has really drained your energy.
Analysis: Why am I paying so much for a compacted loaf of bread smeared in cream cheese?
Hunger Level: It’s 3 a.m. and tears alone aren’t enough sustenance to keep the study sesh going.
Analysis: How dare they call this pizza!
Hunger Level: You haven’t eaten all day and are now too weak to walk to the ACAC.
Analysis: Sometimes it works out, sometimes it doesn’t. I can’t handle the uncertainty.
Hunger Level: You’ve finally run out of instant ramen. A dark cloud of hunger passes overhead.
Analysis: You pay a dear price for convenience.
That one cereal bar that’s been sitting under your bed for the last three months after it fell there during a rowdy Super Smash Bros tourney.
Hunger Level: You have been trapped under your bed for a week, praying that your roommate doesn’t find you They’ve finally snapped from the stress of trying to graduate on time and have a full-time job. Supplies are running low. The moldy bar glows ethereally, beckoning you.
Analysis: Wait, is it actually glowing?
The Caf Grab-And-Go
Hunger Level: Wow. So this is what death feels like.
Analysis: No, just no.