A student approaches the bright lights of Maggie's. Illustration by Míceal Munroe-Allsup.

Maggie’s Ought to be Praised to the High Heavens

The Backdoor is a work of fiction and humor.

IN EARLY November, an article was published that sparked both outrage and critical acclaim. There is a war going on between two opposing sides, and I fear that our side, the right side, has been unheard for far too long.

As a first-year student at Lewis & Clark, I was thrilled to hear about the prospect of having a café nearby. The idea of getting my snack on in the evenings was just too good to pass up, and let me tell you, ever since the first day of NSO, I have indeed been getting my snack on.

I’m ruthless at Maggie’s. I spend flex points more often than freshman dudes on Tinder respond to texts with just “k.” People have often complained about the price of the items at Maggie’s and this defamation is downright criminal. Sure, certain items are a little on the pricier side, but you pay for what you get. That twenty dollar jar of JIF peanut butter will taste all the better on the night when you’re … just really tired, man.

Let me set the scene: it’s been a long night at Watzek, and you’ve been writing various papers, your eyes bright red and dry from staring at the screen for so long. You are weak. You are weary. But as you trudge up the hill towards your residence hall you see a light in the distance, a faint light, but a light nonetheless. You see that beautiful neon sign, whose color you are unsure of, and realize that you are in the Motherland. You are greeted with open arms, the energetic sound of chatter, and perhaps an underground anime being played on the TV at 98 percent volume.

You happen upon the rich cornucopia of processed carbs that looks set for a junk food feast, covered with everything from Ritz crackers to Oreos. An obelisk of Pringles towers menacingly, like a crispy potato Mt. Hood  You shell out half your remaining flex dollars to afford your peanut butter and decide to toss in two or three of those Lindor chocolates your Gam-Gam would give you when you finished your chores — just for the rush. Sure, Maggie’s isn’t perfect, but it’s foxy, fierce and here to stay.

Despite all this, the best thing about Maggie’s is the music. From a track of the mating call of the humpback whale, to the entirety of Hamilton on shuffle, the atmosphere is perfection. I once sat inside of Maggie’s during finals week, and heard nothing but Death Grips and Soulja Boy, and I’m truly convinced that’s the reason I passed all of my tests, it was the motivation I needed. I spent the better part of today in Maggie’s writing this article, and I still have the “What’s New Scooby-Doo” theme song stuck in my head, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Maggie’s has more than just the potential to be a great on-campus spot for studying. It has surpassed that potential, and reached a cacophonous, and carby nirvana. Your move, haters.

Written by Marc-Anthony Valle.

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