Maria DiBello eats her prized sandwich (Courtesy of writers)

The time has come, leaves are falling off trees and meal points are dwindling. An unnamed StudLife editor’s student ID was recently declined at the DUC; it’s getting dire. Ironically, both Maria and I (Olivia) have over one thousand meal points left, but in the spirit of empathy, we decided to experiment with the “Free Food WashU” GroupMe.

The “Free Food WashU” chat currently has 3,008 members and operates as a sort of civilian reporting system where WashU students can write in orders they aren’t going to pick up or leftovers from events for other students to grab. It was originally created to reduce food waste on campus but has since transformed into a service for hungry students. While the chat is part of WashU undergrad culture, we wanted to test its practicality and determine if someone could feasibly eat based on the GroupMe offerings for an entire day. 

Night before:

12:21 a.m. (Olivia Salinger, OS): Maria and I decided we would allow ourselves one emergency Clif Bar each, a panic button if you will. Assuming there are no early morning posts on GroupMe, we are planning on arriving on campus around 10:30 a.m. I think we’ll post up somewhere, either the DUC or Olin, but I’m not sure how long I can manage in Olin, especially food-deprived. I’m going to bed on a full stomach, trying not to think about the day ahead. 

10:59 a.m. (Maria DiBello, MD): I’m leaving Shanedling to begin the challenge. Liv has to stop briefly in the Residential Life office, so I will be left to fend for myself. Spirits are less than high.

11:23 a.m. (OS): We haven’t even set up shop in Olin and Maria is already down the GroupMe rabbit hole. She’s discovered that over the past few days, nothing was sent in until the late evening, and she is starting to panic. 

11:35 a.m. (MD): Liv is clairvoyant. She’s having visions of a honey boba at Whispers. I think she’s just hungry. 

11:38 a.m. (MD): We’ve separated again. This time until 12:30 p.m. Sitting in the DUC all by my lonesome in my athleisure, I feel naked and afraid. No messages yet. But my greatest fear? Sprinting to Whispers for a mere boba tea, only to watch it get snatched up just as I arrive. 

11:52 a.m. (MD): As I’m about to text Liv, praying no orders come in while we are separated, I see it — Subway order #25. A sweet onion chicken teriyaki miracle. My heart drops into my stomach. I don’t even like the chicken teriyaki from Subway, but I remind myself beggars can’t be choosers. Within seconds, I’m up and running.

11:53 a.m. (MD): I’m racing to Subway. People actively move out of the way for me. I dash inside and hop on line. My heart is pounding — what if I’m already too late? 

11:54 a.m. (MD): I’m asked for my order number. “Twenty-five,” I stammer out. There is a faint “dang it” heard in line behind me. I’m beaming as she hands me the six-inch. The feeling is one that I can only imagine would be equivalent to winning an Olympic gold medal or the SuperBowl. If only the guy behind me had been a second faster…

12:04 p.m. (OS): I’ve stationed myself outside Graham Chapel. It feels like the most central location on campus. I’ve decided if the time comes for another order I’ll have to ditch my bag. Hopefully this campus is as safe as I think. 

1:36 p.m. (Writers’ Note)

We did something bad. Actually, it’s unclear whether or not it’s bad. We thought that Subway would hold us over more, but it turns out a 6-inch split between two is not a full meal. So now we are back in hunger-induced morally-gray land. And we did something bad. 

1:40 p.m. (OS): I stole two Jimmy John’s sandwiches and a bag of chips from the BSBA lounge. 

1:41 p.m. (Writers’ Note)

We understand this presents a potential breach of the journalistic integrity of the article, as we got this tip off from a friend, not the chat. However, it was free food at an event on campus. Perhaps no one attending was in the free food GroupMe, as it is common for events with free food to be advertised in said chat. Who’s to say. If you can’t tell, we are trying to talk ourselves into feeling less guilty. Oh well — the sandwiches were delicious.

2:01 p.m. (MD): Sitting in Whispers Cafe with Liv and I’m itching for a boba fix. I’ve convinced myself it’s okay to take a Grubhub order if it’s been sitting there for at least 30 minutes. I’ve walked past the counter twice now to inspect for any potential boba prospects. They’re onto me. 

2:06 p.m. (MD): Tapping back in to share that none of my friends want to go check the boba counter for me to see if there is a drink to steal. Not even Liv — my supposed partner in free food crime! There’s no empathy for the hungry around here. 

2:50 p.m. (OS): Maria’s asleep, like head-down unresponsive asleep and I’m headphones on, locked in. My phone is propped up on my computer so I don’t miss a notification. And suddenly there it is. Order #322 mango lemonade. At … LaJoy’s? All the way on the East End?! I slam my computer shut; Maria jolts awake with fear in her eyes. Her arm imprinted on her face, I tell her we have to go and she almost starts crying.

2:51 p.m. (OS): “I can do it alone,” I say, and that invigorates her. On the sprint out of Whispers, we are not fully successful in swerving around our peers. I shout apologies in our wake. Maria demands I shorten my strides as she adjusts her contact, which was unsettlingly dry due to her nap. 

2:53 p.m. (MD & OS): We run down the stairs of Brookings like our lives depend on it. We enter LaJoy’s, and heads turn at the cacophony of our entrance. There it is. Glorious order #322. Winded and beaming with pride, we swipe the lemonade off the counter. The crowd at LaJoy’s seems unimpressed. Little do they know. 

Olivia Salinger rests after her lemonade sprint (Courtesy of writers)

4:41 p.m. (MD & OS): We are about to leave for Friendsgiving, a student panel about free expression that is meant to have Thanksgiving food. Our first real meal of the day. They did say first-come, first-served, but we’ve been fighting for food all day — a little scuffle doesn’t scare us. 

5:08 p.m. (MD): I’ve most definitely disrespected the sanctity of the event. There are unspoken rules at a buffet, and I’ve broken nearly every one. You’re not supposed to sample from every tray — oops. Piling your plate into a culinary Jenga tower? Guilty. Moderation and general respect for other buffet-goers? Forgotten. My plate holds a mountain of string beans, mashed potatoes, and chicken. You know it’s bad when I have released all inhibition and stacked my brownie(s) directly on top of the chicken. I feel greedy. 

5:09 p.m. (MD & OS): We had to explain to our tablemates that we were doing a challenge because of the sheer quantity of food we amassed. Also our full athleisure at a quasi-nice dinner. 

5:10 p.m. (OS): Maria made me put a chicken breast on my plate for her. I don’t eat meat and now my green beans are covered in poultry juice. I asked her if she really needed me to and she responded with a resounding yes. I feel crazed, but I don’t care, I’m going back for a third dessert.

10:52 p.m. (MD): Liv and I are currently not on the South 40 — we’re otherwise occupied — when a new notification rolls in: “free cake in BD.” We look at each other. Jaws: agape. Stomachs: growling. My fingers type out a desperate “Til when?” Before I can even process what I’ve written, I click send. 

12:25 a.m. (MD & OS): We are just returning to the South 40 now. We feel that the day was a success and we can retire for the night. 

12:33 am (MD): THERE’S STILL CAKE IN BD. WE ARE SPRINTING. WHAT A WAY TO END THE NIGHT. 

12:44 a.m. (MD & OS): We had our cake and ate it too.

Reflecting a week later: 

First off, we overcommitted — big time. Looking back, there was absolutely no reason for us to be decked out in full athleisure, sprinting to the East End like it was the Free Food Olympics. Upon review of our results, it is safe to say that no one else was doing all that. But we are dramatic and it was fun to take the challenge to the extreme.

Our goal was to determine whether you could survive a whole day eating only free food from the group chat, and our conclusion is … it’s impossible to tell. The thrill (and frustration) lies in the mystery: you never know what’s going to pop up in the chat. That said, we’re holding a grudge because, of course, the week after our challenge, the group chat transformed into a free food frenzy. We genuinely believe that the chat might be playing some kind of sick joke on us.

Despite our lingering bitterness, we are happy to report that the free food movement is thriving. As we wrap up this article, five more people have joined the chat, bringing the community to a current total of 3,013 members.