Saturday, around 11 p.m., I was struck by an idea. "Why, I ought to go to Ollie's Eatery, Brandeis' splendid late-night diner, and acquire a milkshake and some toast," I thought to myself. After all, I've grown rather fond of Ollie's since it opened. A Louis Late Plate makes for a perfectly delicious end to a long, stressful day.But that night something went horribly, horribly wrong.

When I arrived at Sherman, it was surrounded by police officers and secretive-looking men in suits. A large crowd of students was gathered outside the downstairs doors, and all other entrances to the building were sealed off. Inside more police officers stood next to what appeared to be metal detectors. I tried to worm my way through the crowd to go up to Ollie's, but was reprimanded for "cutting in line."

"Line? I'm not in a line. I'm going to the pancake shop," I informed the interloper. "What's the line for?"

"eXtaSy," the person replied.

"I'm afraid I do not know what that is," I politely responded. What I found out after questioning a number of passers-by was that "eXtaSy" was some sort of godawful dance-party designed to keep me from getting a midnight milkshake.

I looked mournfully up at the windows of The Stein and saw Ollie's patrons being escorted to tables. My beloved diner was clearly open. But thanks to the crowds and cops that had gathered for the dance, it looked as if it was going to be impossible to get my milkshake.

And then I spied a fellow traveler!

"Uh, I'm trying to pick up an order from Ollie's. What am I supposed to do?" another student was asking one of the men in suits. The man in the suit gruffly suggested that he try pushing through the crowd, past the ticket booth, up the stairs and through the metal detectors. The student obliged, and I followed at his heels.

We successfully made it through the crowd, but were stopped at the metal detectors by a slew of surly policemen.

"Everything out of your pockets," one of them barked at me.

"Ah, I'm just going to the diner," I corrected him.

"You still have to go through the metal detector."

"I have no desire to go to the dance. You can watch me go into Ollie's. I'm just getting a milkshake."

"And I'm just doing my job, kid."

Now, normally I don't make a fuss, but tonight I had a particularly large number of things in my pockets that I had no desire to remove and put back in again before I received my milkshake. Nevertheless, I gave a sigh, and proceeded to remove:

1 wallet

2 hairbrushes

63 loose coins of various

denomintions

3 packets of gum

1 Sharpie

1 roll of Scotch tape

1 cell phone

1 iPod

1 hip flask

As soon as I removed the flask, I knew I was done for. I'd forgotten it was there, and pulled it out instinctively. I don't drink alcohol of any sort, but the officer, of course, did not know this. He gave me a look as if I were the basest sort of lowlife he'd ever encountered, snatched my flask, examined it, opened it, sniffed it and stuck his eye to the drinking-hole.

"It's got water in it. You can have a sip!" I protested, as he smudged the steel with his grubby fingers. He did not respond to me. After what seemed like an eternity, he tossed the flask back at me and gave a little grunt.

"Go on through," he muttered. I complied. When I got back to my room, munching my toast and sipping my shake, I could not help but be irritated by what had happened. I find the idea of having to be searched before entering a Brandeis restaurant to be utterly ludicrous. If the restaurant is open, let students walk freely inside, without having to spend 15 minutes of their time being subjected to the suspicions of overzealous security officials. The rigors of the procedure I had to undergo on my way to Ollie's exceeded those of an airport TSA line.

Of course, I had the option of simply turning around and walking away, but students wishing to eat at Brandeis dining establishments shouldn't be faced with these two alternatives: Either show cops everything you have on you or go hungry.

I understand that dances need security, but security should be restricted to the dances and not imposed on other aspects of Brandeis life. If I do not want to go to a dance, what business of the police is it what I keep in my pockets?

Furthermore, even for those who did want to go to the dance, the behavior of the security officials was utterly unacceptable. They showed absolutely no compassion or manners and conducted themselves with sheer, unreasonable authoritarianism. Their job is to keep us safe, not to eye us with suspicion and treat us as one would treat cattle or convicts.

Too often police overstep their authority and treat ordinary citizens with contempt. Saturday night I was given a reminder of the depth to which logic and rationality have been removed from the procedure of security lines and from the police mentality.

What I suggest is that anybody hired to provide security for Brandeis be given a course in ethics and courtesy. A school that values individual freedom should make sure its police officers respect students. We are no longer in high school. Furthermore, Ollie's Eatery is a diner, not a high-security compound, and I should be able to visit it freely without being inspected.



The writer is a member of the Class of 2011.