At first glance, the scene is nightmarish: hundreds of hungry Emersonians crammed into the Dining Center in relentless pursuit of a full plate. The bread and cheese line stretches back to the milk machine. “American Pie” by Don McLean plays as that guy from freshman year Love and Eroticism dips his pinky finger into the chocolate fountain. But don’t fret. Gaze into the faces of these turkey troopers, and you’ll discover a look of unmistakable glee. 

“Friendsgiving … truly is the happiest day of the year,” says Lily Ventura, a junior acting major. “It’s just joyous. In the cold months of Boston, I think joyous things rarely occur.” 

Seemingly half the school scrambles for a spot at an open table. Downstairs, a booth is occupied by a single person, which would surely violate the Geneva Conventions of Friendsgiving if there were such a thing. Some unlucky friend groups are even driven to the sensory dining room—an obscenely white room banished nearly 20 feet from the mess. 

Yet, as more people pour down the stairs, spirits remain high. Long-lost acquaintances are reunited (“I haven’t seen you in years! I love your top!”); a group displays their selections from the dessert table as if they just returned from a distant nation with astonishing riches; a nearly seven-foot man laughs at Instagram Reels while walking far too slowly in front of a dozen people. 

There’s a sense of adventure that permeates Friendsgiving at the Dining Center. Food is hardly obtained before people are off to scavenge for more. One particularly swashbuckling student is overjoyed at this ethos: “I’ve eaten off of everyone else’s plate. I haven’t had to wait in line once,” says Kash Connors, a junior interdisciplinary studies major. “Which is how you do it—it’s like family style, like Chinese food, except it’s all American.” Connors takes a long pause. “Was that racist?” 

Though Friendsgiving is certainly popular, it does have some competition when it comes to Dining Center holidays. “I’ve personally always preferred Breakfast for Dinner, ’cause they had a breakfast pizza my freshman year that was just delicious,” Connors reminisces fondly. “But I think what they’re really trying to do here is bring us all together… which I really appreciate.” 

Around 15 friends congregate around a single table, each sharing something they’re thankful for this semester. The heartwarming episode is interrupted when one of them spills an entire glass of lemonade on their friend’s hoodie. At a different table, someone is shouting across the room to their friend by the grill—a friend who either can’t hear them, or pretends not to. Two others examine the anatomy of a cheese danish by gutting it with forks.

After the dessert table is picked clean, the dust settles momentarily. In the main room, a fake fireplace crackles on a projector. The Emersonians sit down to enjoy their mountains of turkey, gravy, and stuffing surrounded by friends.