In Other Words
Created | Updated Oct 10, 2003
I have discovered a new unknown substance. Or rather, a few unknown substances. Please don't read on if you are faint of heart or have a weak stomach.
Imagine: A gooey, sticky, green lump of sickening stinky matter, slathered in melted fatty liquid. By that comes rotten fruity goo on crunchy rock-hard pellets. Then comes what looks a frightening amount like mutant sand grains in boogers. A crime against humanity? Some sick scientific experiment gone wrong? NO! It's meatloaf surprise and gravy, cherry crisp and cream corn! Otherwise categorized as caf...*ahem*...cafet...please don't make me do this...oh, cafeteria food. *puke* 
. Oh the HORRORS! What sick twisted
madman conceived such a horrific idea?!? WHY OH WHY!??!
Ok, I'm over exaggerating. It's really not all that bad. This coming from the person known for having an 'hour and a half' rule for food that falls on the floor, so I'm obviously not picky. But for some reason I don't matter. Everyone else in my school at lunch insists on rolling on the floor clutching their stomachs moaning about evil, food, pain, and the fact that they're certain they're glowing with radioactivity. And I'm just minding my own tray, occasionally scraping off hardened pieces of grease from my pizza to save for later. What's the big deal? Just because the pizza has more collective grease on it than all McDonald's french fries in the Western Hemisphere wrung out over a vat of chicken grease doesn't mean it tastes bad! Besides, if I'm going to clog my arteries, I just as well do it now before I'm too old to drive myself to the emergency room.
No, It's not the food that bugs me. At least they fulfil our daily requirements of rocks, salt, fat, and sugar. What REALLY bakes my noodle is the fact that we have thirty minutes to eat--not including the two hours we have to stand in line waiting for the food. Which means we have negative one and a half hours to inhale our meal and throw milk in our faces before Mr. Scary Table Wiper comes up behind us waving his Dirty Table Cloth Wiper Thingy of Justice proudly in the air, intimidating us into promptly leaving the table and dumping our tray. Is it just me, or didn't I hear somewhere that eating too quickly can cause digestive problems? Pains, ulcers, intestinal worms? No? I think I should sue. I require at least two hours to eat--that has to include cleaning my tray, getting seconds, cleaning
THOSE off, and begging everyone at the table around me to let me have their food, to which they kindly throw their dinner rolls at my forehead. I have such nice classmates.
A rather splendid little game Chauncey and I play is that everyday it is our goal to leave the lunchroom LAST. And I'm talking the 8th grade girls who do way too much talking and not enough eating, therefore end up throwing all of their food away1 didn't even last as long as us. Ok, maybe I should clarify: I spend all of lunch eating everyone's food and Chauncey kindly sits and waits for me. Sometimes I don't know why she puts up with me. This of course
is when Mr. Scary Table Wiper appears and we clear out. Such is my lunchtime.
Prisoners may get better food than we do, but hey, at least we don't have to be chained to each other! Yep, that's me...Miss Optimistic2. Besides, I kind of feel sorry for those lunch ladies; hairnets should be outlawed and burned. Now I'm out, twenty minutes till lunch and I have to start my stretches to prepare for the sprint to the front of the line.
Your Little h2g2'er,
