Every evening (except Sunday, when we're forced to make the long trudge over to Allison Hall) the residents of 1835 Hinman file one by one through the dinner line of our fine SAGA cafeteria. Some come bundled from the cold as they march in from other dorms or from class, while others are free to adopt a more casual attire of sweat pants and T-shirts as they come downstairs, ready for a break from studying. But they all hand over their wildcards to Connie the Lunch Lady to be rung in, they all seek nourishment, and they all wear clothes. All of them, that is, except for me.
On Monday at approximately 6:15, a Northwestern student showed up at the Hinman cafeteria wearing nothing but a towel around his waste and keys around his neck. Now, what, you may ask, would motivate a young, normally modest film student such as myself to bare all and risk possible stigmatization (not to mention the loss of a meal) just to prove a point about social norms? Psychology credit, of course, and that is what this experimenter hopes to receive as a reward for completely forfeiting his dignity. The social norm of wearing proper attire (or any attire at all, for that matter) to eating establishments is one that has been long pounded into our heads by parental nagging (Put on a nicer shirt! We're going to dinner.) and "No Shoes, No Shirt, No Service" signs at even the seediest restaurants. At least this is how I came to learn about it. I've often wondered if "No Pants" was just sort of an implied addition, and speculated about the possible consequences of showing up at a McDonald's wearing only a shirt and shoes, but thankfully I had the restraint not to try this at SAGA.
Being scantily clad at a dining establishment is a bit more serious a norm violation than facing the wrong way in an elevator. I ran into problems right away. Connie, despite being handicapped, was very adamant about not letting me into the cafeteria as I was. "You can't come in here like that. You need a shirt." She stammered out, as the people outside the door selling formal tickets gazed on with amusement.
"I have to, Connie. All my clothes are in the wash, and I'm really hungry." I replied.
"You need a shirt. You can't come in." She repeated.
"I'm serious! You can come up to my room and check, if you want. There are no clothes in there. None. All I have is this towel. Can I please come in?"
But Connie was quite a skilled debater - she reduced my well-thought-out arguments to shambles with one cross-eyed stare. "You can't come in," She said.
I had no choice. Connie had played this brand of ball before. I put my Wildcard back into my towel as my friend handed me a shirt that had mysteriously appeared out of my backpack.
"Look Connie, now I have a shirt. Can I eat now?"
She just stared at me. "Are you wearing shoes?"
I glanced down at my bare feet, and then back up at her. "Yes. Yes I am." She didn't question me, and I walked through.
Unfortunately, my troubles didn't stop there. I was informed by the Omelet-Maker that "Yo, man, it's not cool to be wearin' a towel to dinner. People don't usually be doin' that stuff!" I wanted to ask him if by "people don't usually be doin' that stuff," he meant that pants at dinner were an unspoken social rule that only an idiot would need explained to him, and that my actions could possibly lead to a negative personal presentation. But instead I opted for a more vernacular response:
"Chill, dude. At least I'm wearin' a shirt!"
But the shirt didn't last for long. Out of Connie's sight, off it came again, and I made my grand entrance into the lunchroom. I was greeted by stares from all directions, or so my friends tell me, because I was concentrating hard on keeping a straight face. I sat down and commenced eating. I was now glad that I had brought some friends along to help analyze the public's reaction to my little act of deviance - my back was facing everyone, and I found that whenever I caught someone looking at me, they would quickly avert their eyes. My friend's scientific observations of the surrounding environment were simple but astute: "Paul, everyone in here is looking at you." "Those girls over there are making jokes." "Hey, that one girl keeps staring. I think she wants you."
Popular though I may have been with my fellow students, the SAGA staff was not too pleased. It was not long before the Omelet-guy came out and asked me what happened to my shirt.
"It fell off," I replied, straight-faced. My friends cracked up, but Omelet-Man didn't think it was too funny. He told me that he was going to have to get the manager if I didn't put some clothes on. I started to give him my line about all my clothes being in the wash, but then I remembered that my shirt was sitting right there on my tray. I then considered telling him that I was Scottish, and since it was "Sabre Day," I was required to wear no shirt and a kilt, and since my kilt had gotten lost, this beach towel was the best I could do to celebrate my heritage. But I don't really look Scottish, and my accent is mediocre at best. So I told him the truth. "I didn't see a 'No Shoes, No Shirt, No Service' sign, so I figured it was OK." But he didn't like that truth, so finally I admitted the other one. "Actually, I'm doing this for a Psychology experiment. I'm studying the reactions of people when a member of society such as myself breaks a defined social norm such as wearing clothes to dinner. May I assume by your reaction to my comment about there not being a sign that you would consider this particular social folkway to be widely-accepted enough that it does not merit written reminder?"
Omelet-Man stared silently for a moment, and finally responded. "If you ain't gonna put a shirt on, you gots to leave."
Again I had been out-debated. I had no choice but to put my shirt back on or risk going hungry, a fate much worse than loss of reputation. But my experiment had had its effect. I concluded that the other students in the cafeteria were more curious about what the heck was going though my head than they were about social norms or sanitation. Most of them would stare at first, but then realize that I wasn't becoming any more naked, and that I wasn't going to come sit next to them, so they would go back to their eating. Although it's difficult to ignore a naked man, they tried awfully hard, and I would say that most succeeded. It was only the SAGA staff, who risked losing face and possibly a lawsuit if they let a nudist make a mockery out of their "classy" facility, who raised a fuss. I personally had a lot of fun with the experiment, though I must admit that it was a bit uncomfortable walking into a large room where everyone is staring at you. I suppose that's why not more people do it. But my slight embarrassment was more that vindicated as I walked out of the cafeteria, as I noticed a newly posted sign that read:
