The Case of the Disappearing Dishes
Written by Miha Palancha. Photos by Aashish Kumar Bankala.
If you’re a regular at the Hive Cafe, you may have noticed a disturbing pattern—our beloved dishes are vanishing. One day, you’re enjoying your stir-fry on a sturdy plastic plate; the next, you’re wrestling with a flimsy paper alternative that folds under pressure like a poorly written group project. Forks snap mid-bite. Cups seem to dissolve on contact. The mystery thickens—what sinister force is behind this mass dish disappearance?
At first, it seemed like a fluke. A missing plate here, a rogue fork there. But then it escalated. Entire days passed with nothing but disposable tableware, as if the Hive had silently given up on the concept of reusability. Students whispered their concerns over dry, unbuttered toast, their gazes darting around like detectives at a crime scene. Some, in a bold act of defiance, began carrying their own reusable utensils, waving them like knights with their own swords.
Theories ran wild, each one more ridiculous than the last. “Maybe the dishwasher is broken,” one student suggested, before pausing, wide-eyed. “Wait… where are all the dirty dishes going?” Another theory pinned the blame on a staffing shortage—though surely a few missing shifts couldn’t explain the sheer volume of disappearing plates. A darker, more unsettling theory emerged: what if this is a social experiment? A cruel test designed to make us appreciate the return of the real dishes. But could the truth be even worse?
Determined to crack the case, we went straight to the source: the students of the Hive Cafe.
“I just don’t get it,” said Smriti, aggressively stabbing at her soup with a flimsy spoon. “One day, I have a real bowl. The next? I’m cradling a sad, weak excuse for one that can barely hold my broth. I live in fear.”
“I think someone’s stealing them,” whispered another student, shifty-eyed, glancing over their shoulder. “Have you checked the dorms? You didn’t hear it from me, but… I have a strong suspicion.”
And so, we checked. What we found confirmed our worst fears.
The Evidence: Photos have been logged.
Dishes, bowls and glasses—Hive Cafe property—piled high in dorm room sinks, precariously stacked on desks, repurposed as planters, even converted into makeshift 3D design projects. The pieces of the puzzle were coming together. Someone, or perhaps many, had been taking the dishes. But why?
In a breakthrough moment, we tracked down a suspect. To protect their identity, we will refer to them only as The Dish Pirate. An exclusive interview revealed shocking truths.
Interrogation:
“What tempted you to take such drastic measures? Let’s start with the plates.”
The Dish Pirate: “There was nowhere to sit, so I took it up to my room. Then, you know…I just got too lazy to bring it back.”
“And the rest?”
The Dish Pirate: “Well, we NEEDED a bowl. And listen, in my defense, those glasses are the perfect size for mixing…beverages.”
As if this situation wasn’t dire enough, a new problem has emerged—people are now stealing the paper plates and cups, too. What started as a dish heist has evolved into a full-blown dish shortage. The Hive Cafe’s defenses grow weaker by the day, its supplies dwindling as students continue their reckless hoarding.
Where will this end? Will we soon be eating off our own palms? Drinking from cupped hands? Only time will tell. Until then, we urge students to return their dishes and restore balance to our dining experience.
Stay tuned for more updates on this developing crisis—only at SCAD District.
