Ah, school lunch in elementary school.
The cafeteria, aka the “all-purpose” room, with the fold out tables, no windows and sometimes a stage at one end. Teachers aides, or occasionally the teachers who weren’t quick enough to invoke “planning time” roamed the polished linoleum trying to police who was rolling tater tots across the room, or squirting each other with juice boxes, or which second grader needed saving from his own lunch.
True the threat of violence from one’s own lunch seemed far fetched to some, if not all except the second grader in question. I mean have you see what they put in lunch meat these days?
Be honest, now. How many of us, fearing the silent threat of bologna on rye (I mean, c’mon it’s like whoever made this lunch has never met me) would squish that god-awful sandwich into oblivion and head straight for the Fritos and the Twinkie.
Following which some aide or teacher would witness an act of sandwich-cide and with narrowed eyes say, “Some starving child would be happy to have that.”
To this there are many replies:
They can have it. Send it to them. No they wouldn’t. Maybe if the kid was a goat, and so on.
If we were lucky, our home packed lunch would be so bad we could use it to torment and gross out our table mates. But, honestly who could get that lucky?
Probably the worst luck you could have would be forgetting your lunch on the bus or the kitchen counter, or the days when all that was left was the stale heel from a loaf of bread and mom would send you with — oh, crap — lunch money!
Yea, I guess the only thing more dangerous to a six-year-old boy than pop math quizzes, or bullies, or six-year-old girls is certainly cafeteria tapioca. Come to think of it, cafeteria tapioca is probably life threatening at any age.
Part of the Blogging A-to-Z Challenge.