Picture this scene:
You’re ten. You enter your school’s cafeteria with dozens of other ten-year-olds. Try to recall the sights and smells of the elementary school cafeteria: green beans swimming in a pool of stagnant, green water, the square pizza with cubed pepperoni, the fruit cup which does not seem to resemble any kind of fruit you’ve ever seen in your life, the unnatural fluorescent lighting, exacerbated by the fact that there are absolutely no windows.
Enter—the Lunch Ladies. Or as I affectionately refer to them, the Lunch Nazis.
Now, imagine you sit down at one of the long tables upon the “seat,” which is really more like a revolving Frisbee, you begin to unpack the lunch your mother so lovingly prepared for you in her 6:30 a.m. pre-caffeine stupor, when you hear, “Let’s go! You got seven minutes! No talking! Pick up your trash! Okay now three minutes!
Holy Salisbury Steak, Batman! Are you kidding me?
Oh, and I know it’s got to be difficult to keep that many kids seated and eating in an allotted time so the next group can get in. Lord knows, I can barely manage to keep three kids seated at the dinner table. But for the most part these kids are well behaved and the few that are ruining it for the rest of them should eat in the principal’s office.
The latest in the lunchroom saga is that they are now going to have assigned seats in the cafeteria. Ugh! Assigned seats are the worst! I have a feeling they are going to make it boy/girl alternating seating, because this is what they did to the sixth graders in another school where my friend’s daughter was attending. And then, to reinforce the no talking policy, they turned off the lights. Wow, that is brilliant. How did this idea get started? I imagine something like this: “Hey I know, let’s sit the boys next to the girls and then … oh, this is good, we’ll turn off the lights! That will keep them quiet.” Hello? … McFly! Have you ever heard of a little thing called hormones? Do you watch the news?
Having said that, I will say that I tip my hat to the women who work in my kid’s cafeteria. Although they do scare me, I’m sure they are perfectly lovely outside of their job and I don’t envy what they do. But there’s got to be a better way. These kids need some down time, for their mental and social well-being, not to mention their physical well-being of not having to inhale their food. I guess they could always raise my taxes and build a bigger cafeteria. Really, at this point what difference would it make. They can use the money I lose on half-eaten ham sandwiches.