Warren Towers Orange Chicken Got Me Acting Straaaangeee 🤤🤤🤤

By: Ces Lodovico

Let’s face it. Marciano’s been flopping. It’s undeniable at this point. It’s not like my ass is making the trek to West for the food, and the smaller dining halls don’t have the same variety. 

Which leaves us with, lo and behold, Warren Dining. And as much as I hate to say it, she’s been hitting lately. Typically I’ll walk past the long ass line for chicken sandwiches and fries, past the nasty ass penne trough, and past the long ass line for stir fry – to the serving station next to the sandwiches. And by god, do they serve. 

I will hit up that line BEGGING the poor work-study motherfucker working there for more than the three grains of rice and single piece of chicken they give you, asking “please sir, may I have some more?” Oliver Twist style. Once they give me a reasonable amount, since they portion control like my almond mom, I go to town. 

Now. The article’s namesake. The chicken. Something about that gelatinous fried outer layer seems 3D printed as fuck, but I really couldn’t care less. I am fully confident that it would pale in comparison to good orange chicken that’s actually good; alas, I am a broke college student who loves a shitty indulgence. And that artificial chicken is the shittiest of all. I think they put narcotics in the batter because every time I see that the dining hall has it I start frothing at the mouth and mauling people to get to the front of the line. 

The other day I woke up and there were feathers all over the room. I figured that they had been from a pillow, but I felt something itching on my back and when I pulled my hand back it was covered in feathers. Fuck. I couldn’t go to my classes looking like this, but I couldn’t bring myself to stay away from the orange chicken station in Warren. 

I began camping out underneath one of the booths and pecking at the ankles of anyone who tried to sit down, so I could optimize my access to the orange chicken. I no longer had a concept of day or night – it was either dining hall is open, or dining hall is closed. I counted the hours based on how long it typically takes to get to the front of the chicken line. My sweat developed an orangey tinge with a scent ever-so-reminiscent of that blessed orange sauce.