It all started very innocently. A few chips and queso. The occasional slice of pizza. A cookie here or there. It wasn’t healthy by any means, but it was under control. This describes the first years of my post-bar college eating habits. Control is the key word.

And then senior year I moved one block away from Green Street. What I thought would be a blessing — a short walk to class, a reasonable trek to grab Starbucks, a quick hike to the bars — has turned out to be a curse in disguise. My roommates and I are surrounded, and there is no escape.

A study released this week found that people who live near a bar tend to drink more than those who live further away. Although the study didn’t mention so, I believe the same correlation could be made for proximity to late-night eateries.

The breaking point came last week when after a Halloween celebration, I awoke to find my bed covered in queso dip from a certain food truck that I can almost see from my bedroom window. It was a low point in my life, and something needed to be done.

But it wasn’t just me. On any given night out, at least one of my roommates and I will go on the hunt for something to satisfy our late-night binge needs. I’m convinced that it is not even because we are hungry — it’s because of the convenience. Who can deny the scents of Green Street? That street is a haven for bad diet decisions.

It’s not just the extra calorie consumption that is the biggest issue here. While a $3 chips and queso deal might not break the bank from one night, I think my apartment has funded a great deal of their income this semester.

So after waking up that fateful morning spooning a comforter full of queso, it was time to take a stand against late-night binging. It was time for an intervention.

As my roommates and I talked out the problem, the deep-seated issue came out. The only issue is, we just all love food. While that may never change, we pledged to cut down on our late-night eating. We would take a stand against the open signs that called to us on our walks home. United, we stand; divided, we fall. We were ready to conquer the weekend, together.

This past Sunday morning, my four roommates and I awoke to a beautiful sight — not a single stale, crushed tortilla chip littered our apartment floor. What had become a pretty consistent sight in our apartment was nowhere to be found that morning.

Sure, the counter might have been covered by white plastic foam boxes of delicious mystery items, but it’s all about baby steps.

All that I know is, the issue needs to be addressed before that Wendy’s goes in on Sixth and Green streets. I don’t want to wake up to empty Frosty cups next semester — that might need an intervention all its own.

Kelly is a senior in LAS. She can be reached at [email protected].