In the basement of Willard Straight there’s a little movie theater. It’s clearly old, the seats are well worn and squeaky. The fading paint on the walls has several famous quotes, most of which I can’t quite recognize, except for Shakespeare and one in Latin. The lights are a fading yellow dim, in a way that would be creepy if it didn’t match the rest of the place so well. There’s something compelling about the quaint little theater; it’s one of those hidden gems of Cornell.
As a senior only a month and a half from graduating, I knew we had a cinema, but I had never actually been before this semester. I just never had a reason to go, and so I never actually took advantage of the opportunity.
In the calm and quiet lecture halls and auditoriums, coughing fits exploded in 10-minute intervals. The sneezing and sniffles drowned out the professor’s voice. The unscrewing of water bottle caps echoed in my ears. Crumpled tissues overflowed the dorm trash bins. And before I knew it, I, too, was becoming a musician in this symphony.
Chipotle is in the food services business; they operate in the competitive for-profit world. Stroll past their storefront on your next drive down South Meadow Street and competitive dynamics affecting their enterprise become clear: Moe’s Southwest Grill, Five Guys Burgers & Fries, Panera Bread, Taco Bell and many others all within a minute’s drive. Priced too high, Chipotle customers may opt to dine at a more affordable, but arguably inferior alternative. If the queue becomes too long, others may turn away. Chipotle has incentives to price fairly, offer distinctively tastier food than competition (hence the fresh, non-GMO, farm-sourced ingredients), and train employees to pack and fold burritos in assembly line manner.