The food is “expected,” the characters are questionable, and the staff is either your best friend or worst enemy. Whether you’re a doe-eyed freshmen or an upperclassman who cannot sever the umbilical cord, Crossroads has been an important part of your time at Cal. Though filled with memories of years passed, let’s face it: Crossroads is a strange place. When the meal points have run out, here are three reasons to remind you that Crossroads has an eccentric culture and a world all its own.
1. Club Crossroads
Photo by Tamara Katoni
The rules go as follows: the cashier, like the driver, always controls the music. Now, this sounds great in theory, but when you are up at 7 am, trying to cram for that 8 am midterm, and the cashier is bumping house music, you’ll think again. There are a select few who will turn it down if you ask, but most of the time you just have to accept it. Who doesn’t love when the older staff rages to the Golden Oldies on a Saturday afternoon when your headache is pounding as a reminder of your night before? And let’s be honest: the dish room, blasting Tupac and Biggie, has better music than half of the frats.
2. Late Night–the DMV for the drunk
Photo by Tamara Katoni
On any given night, there will be a line out the door. You’ll wait for what feels like hours to get a ticket just to queue up again in the hopes of hearing your number called. Because the majority of the Late Night population is comprised of the stumbling frat-goers with a massive case of the drunchies, the staff has created a water bottle graveyard to protect themselves from the already drunk students getting drunker. Whether you’re a part of this drunk crowd or you’re a part of the select few who utilizes Late Night food after a long night of studying, you know that, like the DMV, navigating the system is like an art. If you’re in a rush, it’s obvious that pizza is a bad idea, and quesadillas will have you out of there in five.
3. Crossroads is basically an illegal grocery store.
Photo by Tamara Katoni
We’re broke, we’re car-less, and we have all stolen from Crossroads. Freshmen and upperclassmen alike rejoice in the unlimited food: tupperware containers are filled with peanut butter, backpacks are stuffed with loaves of bread, and hands are teeming with enough fruit to feed Telegraph. Maybe the staff turns a blind eye or maybe we are as stealthy as we think, but either way we usually get away with it (except when you don’t, and your face is metaphorically placed on the wall of shame). According to urban legend, Berkeley adds sixty dollars to your food budget to account for thievery. Let’s be perfectly clear here: I am not telling you to steal, but I am telling you that you paid for it. Supposedly.
And don’t worry about the food–the real reason we go to Crossroads–you’ll just end up eating salad and cereal anyway.
Photo by Tamara Katoni