A small tragedy

Disclaimer: This title of this post prompted a worried text from my father. This blog post is a joke. It is about cake. No reason for alarm.

I was having a wonderful day at the American College of Thessaloniki on Tuesday when tragedy unexpectedly hit. I’ll explain.

Our language class with Maria was great as always. There was even a special treat: she made us halva, a traditional Greek dessert made with olive oil, semolina, honey and sugar. Class was followed by an engaging presentation about Greece’s economic crisis and the European Union by George Anastasiadis, an economics adjunct professor at ACT and an advisor for international hedge funds looking to invest in Greece.

But then, as I was diligently doing work in the cafeteria, Hsiang-Yu presented what initially seemed to be an incredible opportunity: having a bite of her chocolate cake. I was eyeing the chocolate cake earlier when we first arrived at ACT, but had decided at the time that 9 a.m. was too early to consume such a dessert. Now, I had a second chance.

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Just look at this beautiful chocolate cake offered to us at our very own college cafeteria. / Photo by Olivia Arnold

As I tried to scoop some of the cake, my heart beating with excitement, my plastic spoon inexplicably snapped—despite the fact that the chocolate cake was SOFT. Modern science will never be able to explain the circumstances surrounding this tragedy. I suspect a wormhole opened up at the exact minute that my spoon grazed the cake, and some malicious energy source that has not yet been discovered by man destroyed my spoon.

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Me with my broken spoon and Hsiang-Yu’s uneaten chocolate cake. / Photo by Hsiang-Yu Wu

The wormhole may have broken my spoon, but it couldn’t break my spirit. I continued to eat my couple of bites with the bowl of the spoon (I made Isaac look up what this part of the spoon is called, referring to it as the “scoopy thing”).

The cake was amazing, as expected, and it tasted even better knowing that I had persevered in the face of unexpected tragedy.

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