EVANSTON — Calling it his “own personal quiet time,” Weinberg freshman Kyle Monroe is reportedly really starting to like eating lunch by himself every single day.

“When I come in and grab my grilled cheese and look out at all of the people sitting together whom I don’t know,” said Monroe, “I really don’t get that phased. That just means I can text my mom or read the newspaper.”

Sources indicate that even when said newspaper is not available, the freshman is totally fine just sitting in the back of the dining hall, staring out the window, quietly comparing today’s macaroni and cheese to yesterday’s offering.

“It’s not as creamy as before,” said the sad-sack nineteen-year-old. “Maybe I’ll let them know.”

Katherine Monroe, the mother of the pitiful yet insufferable little shit, expressed worry over her son’s ever-more-frequent calls and texts to his house. “Sometimes Ky-Guy calls me multiple times a day, even if it’s just to tell me about what he had for lunch or what game he wants to buy for his computer. I love my baby, but Jesus Christ, doesn’t he have anything else to do?”

“This is the kind of thing that makes me think twice about the divorce,” she added.

Meanwhile, her son’s hope was sparked by the sight of a familiar face. “Hey, there’s [Medill freshman] Jackson [Stephens]. He lives next door to me. Maybe he’ll see me over here.” Monroe’s ensuing wave, which was really as feeble and pathetic as he was, failed to capture his neighbor’s attention. “That’s ok,” said the miserable, pizza-faced frosh. “Jackson’s really busy. He must not have time to chat.”

“Oh, shit, Kyle?” said Stephens, “Look, I’m sure he’s a great dude, but I swear to God he asks me every damn day if I want to come over and play League of Legends with him. It’s exhausting.”

“He’d probably find a way to fuck up my Champion too,” he continued.

Sources have since confirmed that Monroe had finished eating and, upon wiping his mouth and blowing his nose in the same dirty napkin, lingered for approximately two minutes longer in the vain hopes that he would be joined by someone who was not totally turned off by his persistent body odor and pesky dandruff. When no one came, the inept student gave a sigh and left.

“Another good lunch,” said the painfully-cheerful frosh, plugging in his iPod and putting in his headphones. “Now I can listen to some Dragonforce tunes on the way to class—they’re always there when I need them!”