The year was 2006. The location: the Maple Willow Larch dining center. Outside, a storm of unprecedented ferocity raged against the windows—lightning splitting the Iowa sky like the judgment of an angry god. Inside, 237 students ate their meals in the flickering fluorescent light, unaware that they were about to witness something that would haunt their dreams forever.

Steve Sanda sat among them at a table with friends and acquaintances, appearing to all the world like an ordinary architecture student consuming an ordinary meal. The meatloaf was adequate. The mashed potatoes were, perhaps, slightly cold. Paul—an acquaintance, not a close friend, just a guy who sometimes sat at their table—was eating a bread roll and minding his own business. Nothing suggested the chaos to come.

And then—without warning, without provocation, without any discernible reason whatsoever—Steve slammed his tray down with the force of a man possessed. The sound echoed through the hall like a gunshot. Forks froze mid-air. Conversations died. 237 pairs of eyes turned to witness what would come next.

Steve rose to his feet. The fluorescent lights above him flickered dramatically (whether from the storm or the sheer audacity of the moment, no one can say). He drew a breath, pointed directly at Paul, and at full volume, bellowed:

The silence that followed was absolute. Students exchanged confused glances. A freshman dropped her tray. Someone at the salad bar began to weep. A dining hall employee, who had been wiping down tables for 23 years without incident, quietly removed his apron and walked out the door, never to return.

Paul, for his part, simply looked up from his bread roll with the expression of a man who had just been informed that gravity was optional. He was not dating Steve. He had never dated Steve. He had, in fact, spoken perhaps twelve words to Steve in his entire life. And yet here he was, publicly denounced as the worst boyfriend ever in front of the entire Maple Willow Larch dining population.

And then, without another word, Steve turned and stormed out of the dining hall. The double doors swung dramatically behind him. He offered no explanation, no follow-up, no acknowledgment that anything unusual had occurred. He simply vanished into the storm, leaving 237 bewildered students and one deeply confused Paul in his wake.

Paul finished his bread roll in silence, staring into the middle distance. The dining hall employee never came back. The storm outside raged on.