We have long been implored to give our opinions of the Reynolda Fresh Food Company. We are enticed by the promise of free i-Pod touches and (most recently) a $250 gift card for filling out surveys and encouraged to sit down with the director of campus dining to discuss the quality of our dining experience (does anyone actually attend those sessions?).

I never have. Not even at the promise of a shiny new i-Pod could I muster the energy to care about dining. Sure, I’d complain about it to friends and eat endless sandwiches from the only consistently delicious station (turkey and honey mustard on a bagel, toasted please!), but give positive feedback or constructive criticism? Too much work.

Until today.

Weeks into my junior year, I had yet to have a satisfactory breakfast experience at the Pit ironically due to my affection for Pit biscuits. I had frequently asserted that breakfast was the only meal worth eating at the pit; the only thing the Pit always did well.

Until this year.

I missed the perfect, soft biscuits so much. Please Pit, don't let me down!

What changed? What made my predictable, delectable feast of two hot, soft, perfect, golden buscuits slathered in butter and non-fruit specific jelly no longer the apple of my eye?

Heat lamps. The formerly delicious biscuits are fried under the heat lamp until some poor, late-breakfasting fool like me desires one, takes it, and cuts into a crusty, rock-hard abomination masquerading as a sweet biscuit. Blasphemy!!!

So today, I channeled all my anger into the saddest face I could muster and sat, brooding at my usual table in the corner by the home-cooked meals station. The friendly mint-lady came over, looking concerned and asked me why I looked so sad, and I told her about my biscuit troubles. She looked surprised and then pointed to a man in a white button-up shirt and a woman in orange; “Go tell them all about it,” she said.

After stalling for a few minutes by grabbing more juice, I finally resolved to head over and give them a piece of my mind, but was put off by their disarming customer service skills. “Tell me about your biscuit concerns,” the man said. “I’ve noticed that myself. Maybe we can look into a different product.”

What? You are listening? “I sincerely appreciate your feedback, if you ever find something else wrong, just tell us. You can only make us better.” You… want my feedback? Cool.

Maybe they’ll change the biscuit supplier. Maybe they’ll remove the head lamps. Time will tell. All I know is that I left the Pit much happier than I entered, feeling a little more than foolish that I had allowed my resistant to speak up to destroy my breakfast experience for so long.

So speak up guys, I really do think ARAMARK is listening.