The South Campus Dining Hall’s Mongolian Grill is an ecosystem unto itself, teeming with life and operated via an unwritten natural code. Technically called Seasons 12, but referred to as such by absolutely no one, the stir-fry line can seem like an enigma, sometimes packed with students and other times a ghost town.

In order to study this fascinating staple of University of Maryland diner cuisine, I sat in the dining hall for three hours, closely observing the intricacies of the stir-fry line and documenting how long the line was at different points throughout the day.

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At 11 a.m. the stir-fry station is open for business and the line for food is surprisingly long. Here an enormous bowl of vegetables, meat and rice is absolutely a brunch food item. Some students look like they have been up for hours while others seem to have exited their bed and walked straight into this line. A girl in a black leather jacket crouches near the trays, staring blankly ahead. Her friends completely ignore the fact that she has decided this is an appropriate place to be crouching. The girl crouches here for far too long. People stare, her friends do nothing. Right as I decide to go over and see if she’s OK, the girl stands up, grabs a bowl and begins filling it with broccoli as if she hadn’t just been in a stir-fry line-induced crouching trance.

The time ticks toward 11:12 a.m. Five people have dropped their order papers in the last three minutes. Do they not know that these papers are the most treasured currency this line has to offer?

A girl in a tan sweater leaves the line at 11:15 a.m. Her tray remains on the long counter. The line continues to move without her. A poor soul who was standing behind her looks around worriedly. You can tell he’s trying to keep a cool demeanor but the fear in his eyes sheds light on his inner turmoil. Is he responsible for this rogue tray now? Will this boy, God forbid, have to go through the effort to not only put her tray back but also tell the stir-fry workers that the girl left the line? He didn’t ask for this, this isn’t what he deserves.

At 11:18 a.m. the seemingly imminent crisis is averted. Tan sweater girl returns, knowing not the mayhem she almost caused.

By 11:25 a.m. the line has died down quite a bit. The workers look happier, they are smiling and one is singing, rejoicing in the fact that the sea of impatient hungry young adults has ebbed, even if only for a while.

A boy in a black beanie lets out an audible “whoa” at 11:55 a.m. as he fills his cup with Sierra Mist, as if he has never encountered a soda machine in his life. Or maybe today, for the first time, he has realized that Sierra Mist is just Sprite’s horrible cousin. I can’t know for sure what sort of epiphany this man has had at this machine, but it’s clear that somehow, the fountain drink has allowed him to see the light.

11:57 a.m. rolls around and the line is the longest it has been all day. Students stretch around the dining hall’s back wall. A boy in an ill-fitting sweatshirt turns the corner and sees the length of the line. With a defeated sigh, he turns to leave. Obviously, not everyone is willing to turn a lunch break into a 25-minute commitment.

It’s noon and black beanie boy is back at the soda machine. However, this time he seems much more familiar with the magic contraption, not a single “whoa” is heard.

A posse near the back of the line refuses to stand single file. How do they expect to reap the benefits of loosely Mongolian-style cuisine while standing in this amorphous blob?

At about 12:45 p.m., a tall boy in a Ravens jersey attempts to go under the divider instead of exiting the line through the front or back. Seemingly unaware of his own height, the gentle giant gets caught in the divider’s retractable belt and falls to the ground, a girl with headphones and a pink sweater steps over him to get to the trays. There is no mercy at the Mongolian Grill. Natural selection has made its choice.

At 2 p.m., after an hour of fairly consistent patronage, the stir-fry line closes for the afternoon. Herds of students will be forced to patron other far less satisfying food stations until 4:30 p.m., when the grills will heat up yet again and the stir-fry line and its rotating cast of characters will spring back to life.