Few people realize this, but, I have a little fat girl living inside me. I call her Sheila. She’s been following me around like a drunken regret for years, and if Sheila’s anything at all, she’s hungry. All the time.

Sheila prefers cheese fries to lima beans and sloppy half-pound burritos to club sandwiches sans mayo. If I can convince her to order a salad, she demands three sides of ranch to get through the ordeal. And then, without fail, she’s hungry again in two hours.

Feeding Sheila on a law student’s budget is a formidable task at which I’ve failed miserably. And every Monday, shortly after my 9am class, I’m reminded this is in no small part due to the exorbitant, Communist-era prices of the law school canteen. Oops, I mean, the “Courtyard Café.”

The law school canteen was not always the underground gourmet you’ve come to cherish. The aisles of silver buckets bearing leafy spinach greens, provolone, sprouts, and a variety of food-coloring disguised white bread are all recent developments in the gestational habits of over-worked, highlighter-crazed law students.

Things were simpler back in 2005. The law school canteen didn’t ask to be called anything more than it was: a glorified vending machine. The offerings were more humble, less ambitious: mashed potatoes, pulled pork on a bun. Coffee was only 75 cents, allowing me to put back three cups before 11 am without batting an eye. A side of mac and cheese only set you back $1.75. A few shakes of salt and four pepper packets later, you’d be staring down a veritable feast.

This was the time and era of Casey. Or was it Sherry? Screw it, I can’t remember her name. I was a 1L and trying to memorize the 12 different mens reas that could garner someone accomplice liability; so some of the details of everyday life escape me. What I do remember is “Sherry” ran that canteen with an iron fist; and smart law students knew that getting on her good side reaped serious benefits. Bonus points, if you will. And by “bonus points,” I mean “two extra scoops” of whatever you ordered. A resourceful student would venture down around 1:40, right as “Sherry” was closing up shop. See, “Sherry” hated throwing away unsold food. And I was always there, arms outstretched, ready to assist her conscience.

Sometime between 2006 and 2007, everything changed. Sherry’s regime was overthrown and Food Services marshaled in a new era: the Courtyard Café. And with the Courtyard Café came a 300% increase in the cost of feeding the wild-eyed, sleep-deprived law students that wander the halls of the BLB.

Perhaps Food Services banked upon our cumulative sleep deprivation; perhaps it hoped we wouldn’t notice the conspicuous jump in prices. But we noticed. Enchanted by the promise of building my own panini, I ambled up to the counter one day. I was hungry, hopeful, and completely naïve as to what was about to happen to me and my U-Bill.

I will say this: that was one delicious panini. I chose to build a grilled cheese—choosing provolone, Swiss and American cheeses. I added red onion. I picked up my small container of pasta salad. I added a diet coke; and then nearly choked when the cashier asked for almost $9. To be fair, part of my reaction derived from the fact that I’d already consumed a bagel, strawberry yogurt and three cups of coffee that fine day. But the indisputable fact remained that I’d been at school for less than five hours and managed to charge $20 worth of food to my U-bill.

The Courtyard Café unsheathed a double-edged sword: with its inception, we got hummus from Oasis, paninis, and even Diet Rock Star (which is far easier to sneak into the library than a plain old cup of french roast). I can’t tell you how much the Rock Star costs; I had to block out the memory because it’s so painful. But along with the increased selection, we endured a significant mark-up on all food available at the BLB. The fact remains that I can construct an entire salad bar for the same cost as purchasing a three-day-old buffalo chicken salad from the Courtyard Café.

Having not done any research to substantiate my opinion, it seems to me that Food Services can’t possibly justify the mark-up. Overhead prices can’t account for charging over $5 for six California Rolls. Or increasing the price of coffee from 75 cents to $1.25 for each 8 ounce cup. Or charging almost $6 for a week-old chicken caesar wrap that consists of little more than lettuce, a green tortilla, and gamey chicken breast. This is all above and beyond the fact that closing the canteen at 2pm leaves BLB’s tenants with no access to coffee after mid-afternoon. And let’s face it. We are tenants.

At least until 2^nd semester of 3L year.