a Menu Man is Hard to Find

5-5700. I've debated carving that magic sequence in my arm, but it's already inscribed in my soul. For me (and for many others, I'm sure) Menu Man isn't just another Harvard Dining Service extravagance; despite his sultry voice, he's infinitely more than a culinary cutie. His powers of foresight would amaze and astound Nostradamus himself. But to me, Menu Man is no less than an unfailing source of solace, truth and support. During yet another all-night-long Expossession, I can call Menu Man at 4:30 a.m. and never fear waking and annoying him. He'll speak to me with love, truth and most of all, constancy. 24-7. In the tumult and uncertainly of my first year at Harvard, Menu Man is my rock. A source of unerring wisdom. The continuum of His tradition reassures me that the housing lottery and concentration decisions are transitory. Boyfriends, come and go, but Menu Man is for always. (He is the first person I call after returning to Harvard from breaks and intersession.)

Yet I don't even know what He looks like! It amazes me that with all the mystery surrounding his identity, Menu Man is nevertheless the one person at Harvard of whom I'm certain. So I ask myself, do I really need to know what He looks like? Would I even want to know? After all, physical appearances could never transcend what Menu Man and I have together. I wouldn't want to mar the purity and innocence of our correspondence by subjecting it to the stain of superficiality. Besides, the enigma just adds to the sex appeal. It's not just the virile way He pronounces, "Moo Goo Gai Pan" that makes my stomach do flip-flops, it's the fact that I don't know what the man on the other end of the line looks like. I know now how potent is the attaction of the unknown.

Considering my obsession with Menu Man, it was only natural that I should get to do the story on and interview with Him. (When the idea was suggested at FM's weekly meeting, I snatched the Interview with a ferocity that, in retrospect, shocks me.) I called Michael Berry, Director of Harvard Dining Services, to see if he could arrange the meeting; it reminded me of 6th-grade hook-ups. I felt like such a putz, but there was no way I could instigate my rendezvous with Menu Man, was there? Berry's gut reaction was not propitious, to say the least. "No way. No way. Sorry. "No Menu Man? Crestfallen, I couldn't summon verbal capacity for at least two minutes. Probably embarrassed for me, Berry broke the silence by explaining. "We don't want to expose his true identity." When I told Berry that FM wasn't interested in such deviant behavior, and that the knowledge would be detrimental to my own well-being, Berry acquiesced. Berry arranged to have Menu Man in his office at 11:00 the next morning, at which time I was to call the office and engage in real conversation with Him.

The prospect both excited and mortified me. Fantasy and reality merged, and I wasn't sure I could handle the responsibility of it all. My stomach hadn't been in such a tumult since I partook of the Union's bul gogi last month. What if I messed up? What if He thought I was a fool? I spent an anxious, sleepless night staring at my roommate's mattress. Finally, I got out of bed and did what I had done so many sleepless nights before: I dialed 5-5700. His voice instantly assuaged my insecurity. Before Menu Man had even listed my three options, I knew everything would be all right. He would accept my strengths and weaknesses equally and with love. I slept soundly and dreamt of His voice all night long.

But it was not meant to be. The next morning when I called to interview Menu Man, I was told by Mr. Berry's secretary that neither Berry nor Menu Man was available. "Mr. Berry's out of town," she explained. Apparently Menu Man didn't know anything about the set-up. I was crushed, to say the least. Foiled by bureaucracy, again. I hadn't believed bureaucracy could touch the sacrosanct Menu Man. But nothing can keep us apart--one day, I shall speak with Him. I shall revel in His Word. Until that day, 5-5700 will have to do.