The Betty’s Issue

I love the Amherst College dining staff, and for that reason, I hate Betty’s Kitchen (or just Betty’s). Not for any issues like the trash cans’ complete disappearance or half the stations still not being operational. Many problems with Betty’s can easily be fixed or will be worked out as time goes on. The only true problem I see with Betty’s stems from its structural design, something that couldn’t change any time soon and likely won’t ever.

Before anyone bemoans or discredits a student’s complaint about a part of a building that had its grand opening less than two weeks ago, please hear me out. When an institution invests in a new dining space, it should build on what made the old space, Valentine Dining Hall (Val), beloved and then tackle its biggest issues. Despite the overwhelming feelings I have when I enter Betty’s, there does seem to be more seating than what Val offered. The food quality is nearly identical to Val’s, with some repackaged in new forms and some meals gone altogether, though that can easily change in the years to come. While it actively does, or has the capacity to, tackle those issues, Betty’s takes many steps back in something Val did exceptionally well: fostering community.

Betty’s operates with a supposedly open design, which does create more opportunities for you to run into fellow students and, occasionally, faculty members. It’s nice to stop and chat for a bit, maybe even sit with them for a meal, but community doesn’t just exist between students and sometimes faculty: the staff is part of Amherst too. Everything in Betty’s is designed for you to forget about that.

When you first walk in, you are no longer walking around a checker, who sometimes will greet you or, at the very least, give a faint smile. You scan your ID on the metal rods and walk through them, maybe glancing at the person sitting at the front desk. When you would enter Val, the checker could put a name to your face, seeing your name pop up as you walk past and make eye contact with you. Over time, you’d get to know the few checkers we have, or maybe they would get to know you, and a connection would form. You could talk to people and say, “oh, you know so-and-so, oh, I love them! They’re so sweet!” It’s a very slight thing, never super serious, but it was nice, and it built community in such a subtle way. I fear that, solely based on its design, Betty’s will never give people the opportunity to form those connections in those slight or natural ways.

Every time I get food, I seldom interact with the staff who do all the meal preparation and serving. With the exception of the wok station, I go up to each area, grab the food I want, and leave. The workers aren’t one or two feet away as you grab food — as they were in Val — they’re typically several feet away or not even around. There’s no person there to thank, and thanks to the typical loudness in Betty’s, I don’t feel it’s appropriate to yell while trying to thank someone for preparing the food. I eat my food and don’t have to think about the hard work our staff is doing to make these meals. I don’t get to know the people behind the food or strike up a 10-second conversation with one of them. There is nothing communal about this experience — you actively have to go out of your way to meet, converse, and befriend anyone who is involved in that. Hell, you’d find more community at the Hadley McDonald’s; at least there you talk to the drive-thru person. Not that we all need to be friends, but those 10-second conversations could make someone’s day, especially for shyer people. 

Once I finish eating, I’m led to the conveyor belt, which is likely the most daunting example of staff isolation and anonymity. While I appreciate the wall to help circulate traffic in the area, it actually is an utter downgrade from what Val gave us. Managing Opinion Editor Olivia Tennant ’27 wrote about how the dishwashing system anonymized the people putting in the labor. In her article, Tennant highlights how inhumane and rude it feels to put your silverware down the chutes and see the workers reach in to grab it, splashing them in the process. 

The reality is that Betty’s is worse, since we no longer have to clear our plates, taking a little bit of time to scrape the pieces of food into compost bins. We no longer have to remove our silverware from our plates, nor do we have to clear the fluids from our cups and bowls. The workers, invisible to the students’ perspective, are expected to do all this on their end. Tennant put it best in the article’s last paragraph:

“Doing the small, basic, and unglamorous tasks of simply cleaning up after yourself is not just a matter of etiquette. It is an assertion and recognition that the people who care for this campus are deserving of dignity. It is a commitment to foster a community that is grounded in gratitude, not entitlement, to make our campus stronger, more respectful, and humane.”

These are just a few of the ways I’ve noticed Betty’s giving less and less recognition to the staff, and fewer opportunities for students to meet and appreciate the work they do naturally. You could dismiss this as nothing more than some disappointed student’s rant, but these little things matter. They build a more respectful community that not only appreciates staff but also involves them as equal members at the same table. And, on a personal level, these small interactions can mean a lot to both the staff and students. 

As a very quiet person for the first few weeks and months of college, I’m so incredibly grateful for Renee Alvarez, a frequent meal checker, who not only learned my name but would greet me with such genuine happiness and enthusiasm. They were brief, no more than 10 seconds, but they made my day. I’m not sure if she noticed the shyness or slight anxiety in my demeanor, but she went out of her way to wish me a nice day. Time after time, again and again. I couldn’t imagine Amherst without that, and it gave me further conviction in my choice to attend this college. I worry that there are people just like me going through it now, except they don’t have to acknowledge Renee or whoever the checker may be. 

Despite these issues stemming directly from Betty’s structural design, there are ways around them that require initiative from us. Next time you’re in Betty’s, maybe go out of your way to say hi to the checker. Maybe shoot a smile at a nearby staff member, especially one cleaning tables or at the respective food station. And maybe feel a little foolish and yell “thank you” once you drop off your plate. We may not be able to see each other, but going out of your way to extend some appreciation is a good start.