It’s the first day of school.
I wonder who my classmates will be.
I hear Jessica has never used a dining utensil in her life.
And Robbie is a big fan of baloney sandwiches slathered in mayonnaise.
But no matter who is in my class, I will be greeted with horrors in my elementary school cafeteria today.
I nervously look at the clock and count down until we are dismissed for lunch.
45 minutes…
20 minutes…
I hold my breath as we walk single file to the cafeteria. I am the caboose. The smell of barely defrosted chicken-like nuggets seeps into my body through my pores before we even reach the library.
I squint as I enter beneath the harsh florescent lighting.
The cacophony of sneakers squeaking on the vinyl floors, laughing, screaming and burping forces me to cover my ears.
No one has an “inside voice.”
I dodge landmines of spilled, unnaturally colored liquids of unknown origin. “Nothing one drinks should be this blue!”
Despite my efforts, my shoes are somehow sticky.
I dart my eyes to find a table free of crumbs to no avail. I convince myself I do not need a table, so I find a seat and gingerly sit on the edge while I try not to make eye contact with a child eating pudding.
I have no appetite.
The SpaghettiO slathered grins, the smell of soggy french fries, and the sight of whole milk consumed with pizza would haunt me forever.
After 5 long years in the war zone, I cannot bear it any longer.
And that is why I spent fifth grade eating lunch in the classroom with the teacher.
BS