Diners at Arrillaga Family Dining Commons report that, as of 12:15pm last Thursday, some fucking asshole is playing the piano and shows no signs of stopping.
“What, does he actually think anyone wants to hear this shit?” asked a regular Arrillaga diner, junior Arthur Petrula. “Here I am, trying to eat my fava bean chili while avoiding eye contact with that girl across the room who I have a class with, and all the while, this obnoxious piece of shit is just bangin’ away at that mahogany grand over in the corner.”
Arrillaga staff confirmed that the piano-player was not hired by the dining facility for the purposes of entertaining attendees, but was in fact doing this on his own accord, for no discernible reason.
“I don’t know why he is the way he is,” sighed line cook Ashley Rancini. “No one is making any effort to listen to him, and yet he keeps going, pouring his heart and soul into that bullshit concierto like he’s Bach or something. Jesus Christ, man, people are trying to eat.”
Patricia Koi, a music theory coterm, noted that the quality of the music was not the issue.
“His playing is actually reasonably good,” Koi clarified. “I want to be very clear about that — the problem is not that he’s a bad pianist. The problem is that this self-centered prick is acting like this is his own damn private recording studio, while here I am, trying to write a sorting algorithm before midnight in between bites of dry chicken tikka massala.”
At press time, the entirety of the dining hall had let out a collective gasp of relief after the douchebag instrumentalist finished his fuckin’ song, only to burst into tears en masse as he turned the page of his sheet music and entered the fourth consecutive hour of Mozart’s ninth.