Column:

Columbia isn't so awful

By Hannah Hayes

Published Feb. 5, 2008

There isn’t a decent pie joint in Columbia. This isn’t a baseless or loaded statement either, trust me.

Thursday night my friend had a hankering for apple pie, the likes of which I have never faced before. So we scoured phonebooks, Ninth Street and the Internet for hours in search of a reasonably priced, moderately delicious slice of pie. But we turned up short and hungry.

My friend’s girlfriend let out an exasperated sigh at the end of our quest and said “I hate this town,” as she pulled her apartment door shut and my friend looked at his sneakers in defeat.

But I couldn’t agree.

Yes, pie is a wonderful and almost essential part of being alive, but I don’t hate Columbia. Sure, it’s no metropolitan playground and lacks its fair share, i.e. Jack in the Box, Village Inn and good concerts before the Islands show in March.

But it sure as hellfire beats being stuck on a hill with a slew of Norwegians eating lutefisk in the snow.

Let me explain.

Last semester my parents moved from my beloved Wichita, Kan., to Minneapolis. So, deciding to reassess my life, I transferred to one of those hoity-toity liberal arts colleges located in a very small Minnesota town.

This particular school was famous for its numerous choirs and large Norwegian population, influence and sweaters. My singing voice is comparably worse than Alanis Morissette’s, and I’m definitely not Scandinavian.

Let me tell you, feeling ostracized is worse when a 25-degree wind chill accompanies it.

So while my classmates ate pickled fish and practiced their Nordic skiing, I dreamt of Sparky’s pineapple upside down cake ice cream and shows at Mojo’s.

And when the wind froze my eyeballs open, I tried to think of how sensational the first day of spring feels in Columbia instead of blinking. Visions of couches at Ragtag and used T-shirts from Maude Vintage filled my head as I rode my bike through the hordes of athletic blondes shuffling to class.

So take it from me and stop the Columbia bashing before you figure out why Robert Frost just stopped by those snowy woods and you develop a sweater-induced itchy rash.

Okay, that probably won’t happen, but, trust me, Columbia isn’t the worst place you could find yourself in.

To some, particularly the students I encountered in Minnesota, Columbia might as well been Canaan.

I guess this sounds like when your parents tell you at dinner how the Ethiopian children would love to eat your spinach, but, seriously, there are kids out there who can only dream of Chipotle being a five-to-10 minute walk away or their social lives not seeming like a campus-sponsored event.

So with this new-found appreciation for our fair city, go out there and eat at all three Taco Bells on Providence Road, swing at the park on William Street, bicycle to the outer reaches of Broadway, check out 48 CDs from the public library, and when you’re done, know that you are more than a student.

You, my friend, are a Columbian. Pie only tastes good when your mom bakes it, anyway.