Please, take a seat.

I’m not your cookie cutter Italian from New Haven, CT, home of the White Clam (a)pizza at Frank Pepe Napoletano. I hate clams. I also hate other classic foods within the Italian palette, like sausage and peppers, capacollo, soffritto, and hell, I didn’t even like eggplant until this past summer. But that’s not what this is all about. That’s not what any of this is about. This is about something that my nonni (bless her soul) or zia or mother would never allow within the confines of their Italian households. This is Chicken Wrap Thursday at Stonehill College.

It was last year that we met, the exact date is lost in my mind. But when we met wasn’t the magical moment. It was when you called back for the first time. I went back to the Commons again the next Thursday, and there you were. I was alone and vulnerable, a freshman without a way. But, standing above the rest, you showed me one. Our eyes met from across the crowded room and suddenly, the thick dining hall air was thinner than the Mile High. I felt weightless. I hurried over to your station, and asked for my usual. “Yeah, uh, can I get uhhh white wrap and crispy please? Yeah, lettuce, tomato, both cheeses. Ranch, too, please. And can I have it to-go? Thank you.” The nice woman positioned second behind the counter wrapped you up, to perfection as always, and sealed my to-go container. I hurried through the door, got my Hill Card swiped for the usual $5.50, and hurried back to my dorm.

Now, in efforts to save people’s appetites, the little editors in my head are telling me to spare the details of the actual wrap consumption. So, you’re welcome, all. Dating back to my introduction, though, I’ve grown up just about as fortunate as anyone when it comes to food. I’d come home from school to smell mom making sauce for the weekend, holidays were always an example of the absolute finest that Italian women have to offer, and my family has long been in the Italian restaurant business. But again, this is not about that. This is about the Chicken Wraps.

I’m reminded of a very famous quote from an equally recognizable movie, Good Will Hunting.  Recall the scene where Will and Sean are seated on the park bench, talking about Will’s problems. At this point, Sean is really starting to pick Will apart. At that moment, during this monologue, my thoughts on this matter were articulated to utter perfection. (Warning: revisions were made to apply to the subject) Sean looks down and says, “I'd ask you about love, you'd probably quote me a sonnet. But you've never looked at a [chicken wrap] and been totally vulnerable. Known some[thing] that could level you with her [crispy chicken], feeling like God put an angel on earth just for you. Who could rescue you from the depths of hell. And you wouldn't know what it's like to be her angel, to have that love for her, be there forever, through anything…” Thank you, Robin Williams; for saying what I couldn’t.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. It may be considered dramatic to think about a chicken wrap at a small college campus. But, you need to know what I’M thinking. And that is, that this chicken wrap means more than satisfying my taste buds until it’s time to drink on Thursday (ha, imagine if Stonehill actually did that). This wrap means the week is almost over, and the weekend is ready to be conquered. This wrap means that the best of human nature is put on display for all Skyhawks alike. This wrap means that I am truly happy, at least for about ten minutes, every Thursday at 1:00.