It’s been a long time since I've had lunch in the school cafeteria and I must say, man, have things changed. But before I get into that, I'm going to make a confession... I hated lunch time at school, from elementary to high school; and not because of the food either. I was always worried that my mom might have forgotten to pay my lunch money, and would be standing at the end of the line as someone announced, “Rachel Harris, didn’t pay for lunch.” My apprehension got worse, because even though I had friends, everyday I worried that I would have no one to sit by while I ate. (You think I have problems now, well it all started with a six year old with cafeteria anxiety). Let me tell you, now as a reasonably confident adult, I was still nervous to eat with first graders.
I remember my own elementary cafeteria, the smell that made the air feel thick, pieces of squish fruit on the floor, the light from the sky lights above that made me long to be out on the playground, and the excitement from kids of all ages trying to talk above the sound of clanking silverware and plastic trays. The food was something that was always questionable. Even at a very young age, I wondered if my mother would approve of the mystery ingredients that I was sure went into making all the dishes. It could just be Granite School District (in SLC where I grew up) but my friends and I used to use napkins to wipe off grease from the top of the most desirable lunch choice, pizza; and I swear that more than once there were little sticks in the lasagna and spaghetti. The lunch lady, who didn’t actually serve the food but rather she patrolled the cafeteria telling kids to “be quiet!” and “sit down!” She closely resembled the Trunchable, in looks and personality, from the movie Matilda. She scared all the kids who hated and secretly mocked her and dared each other to throw food at her. No one ever did of course, it seemed as though she knew the plan and came right to your table to inspect your tray (and you) just as you were feeling brave. School lunch must have been a scaring experience for me because, as soon as I was given the choice in jr. high, I never set foot in the cafeteria; my lunch came from the vending machines (a healthy choice, I know) which I ate outside even on cold snowy days.
It may not be like this at every school, but at Forbuss Elementary, I am eager to announce that things are so different from twenty years ago. Each grade had recess first then lined up in the lunch ro
om. The kids who would eat “hot lunch” had something like credit card on a spiral key chain, which they wore like a bracelet. They formed a perfect line, like little soldiers (I was surprised because I remember my lunches being chaotic at best). The children sat with their class on their assigned table which only had a bench on one side, forcing all of them to face in the direction of the stage. The greatest shock came not long after I sat down, when “the lunch lady” through far better looking than the Trunchable, began to speak, into a microphone, telling the kids that someone was not facing the right direction. Hundreds of little gasps of shock filled the room. She wanted all the kids to on the count of three to point to where they should be looking. “1, 2, 3” and one hundred kids, like robots, pointed west with saying a word. “Oh, so you do know where to look.” My heart went out to the poor little six year old who apparently “didn’t know” he had to face forward.
Before I can tell you more about the lunch lady, let’s talk about the food. I think all the lunches for the whole school must have been prepared ahead of time. The disposable Styrofoam trays were stacked with tiny packages of food. Orange wedged in wrappers, hot dogs in wrappers, ketchup packets, dinner roll in wrapper, of course milk in the carton, and spork and napkin wrapped too; I am not kidding everything was individually wrapped.
So back to the lunch lady, once again on the microphone (I failed to mention previously that the kids are being quiet, everything is so orderly I don’t know why she thought need the microphone). She has a pathetic, sad sack, voice as she tells everyone how disappointed she is that someone couldn’t open their hot by themselves. I am thinking you have got to be kidding me, why didn’t they open it and put it on the trays before the kids took their lunch? She tells them all that, kindergarteners could do this, and to stop asking her for help, “I will only help you if a see stretch marks on the wrappers where you tried already.” Geez, is she for real? These kids are struggling to try and get their food. It’s like survival of the fittest. Kaylee leans over and tells me, “Hurry and help everyone’s at our table before she sees.” I have to admit there are times when I have had a hard time opening ketchup packets, I guess I should have asked a kindergartener, huh?
I remember my own elementary cafeteria, the smell that made the air feel thick, pieces of squish fruit on the floor, the light from the sky lights above that made me long to be out on the playground, and the excitement from kids of all ages trying to talk above the sound of clanking silverware and plastic trays. The food was something that was always questionable. Even at a very young age, I wondered if my mother would approve of the mystery ingredients that I was sure went into making all the dishes. It could just be Granite School District (in SLC where I grew up) but my friends and I used to use napkins to wipe off grease from the top of the most desirable lunch choice, pizza; and I swear that more than once there were little sticks in the lasagna and spaghetti. The lunch lady, who didn’t actually serve the food but rather she patrolled the cafeteria telling kids to “be quiet!” and “sit down!” She closely resembled the Trunchable, in looks and personality, from the movie Matilda. She scared all the kids who hated and secretly mocked her and dared each other to throw food at her. No one ever did of course, it seemed as though she knew the plan and came right to your table to inspect your tray (and you) just as you were feeling brave. School lunch must have been a scaring experience for me because, as soon as I was given the choice in jr. high, I never set foot in the cafeteria; my lunch came from the vending machines (a healthy choice, I know) which I ate outside even on cold snowy days.
It may not be like this at every school, but at Forbuss Elementary, I am eager to announce that things are so different from twenty years ago. Each grade had recess first then lined up in the lunch ro
om. The kids who would eat “hot lunch” had something like credit card on a spiral key chain, which they wore like a bracelet. They formed a perfect line, like little soldiers (I was surprised because I remember my lunches being chaotic at best). The children sat with their class on their assigned table which only had a bench on one side, forcing all of them to face in the direction of the stage. The greatest shock came not long after I sat down, when “the lunch lady” through far better looking than the Trunchable, began to speak, into a microphone, telling the kids that someone was not facing the right direction. Hundreds of little gasps of shock filled the room. She wanted all the kids to on the count of three to point to where they should be looking. “1, 2, 3” and one hundred kids, like robots, pointed west with saying a word. “Oh, so you do know where to look.” My heart went out to the poor little six year old who apparently “didn’t know” he had to face forward.Before I can tell you more about the lunch lady, let’s talk about the food. I think all the lunches for the whole school must have been prepared ahead of time. The disposable Styrofoam trays were stacked with tiny packages of food. Orange wedged in wrappers, hot dogs in wrappers, ketchup packets, dinner roll in wrapper, of course milk in the carton, and spork and napkin wrapped too; I am not kidding everything was individually wrapped.
So back to the lunch lady, once again on the microphone (I failed to mention previously that the kids are being quiet, everything is so orderly I don’t know why she thought need the microphone). She has a pathetic, sad sack, voice as she tells everyone how disappointed she is that someone couldn’t open their hot by themselves. I am thinking you have got to be kidding me, why didn’t they open it and put it on the trays before the kids took their lunch? She tells them all that, kindergarteners could do this, and to stop asking her for help, “I will only help you if a see stretch marks on the wrappers where you tried already.” Geez, is she for real? These kids are struggling to try and get their food. It’s like survival of the fittest. Kaylee leans over and tells me, “Hurry and help everyone’s at our table before she sees.” I have to admit there are times when I have had a hard time opening ketchup packets, I guess I should have asked a kindergartener, huh?
Before any of the kids were allowed to leave the tables, the lunch lady came over to make sure they eat enough lunch, that’s probably a good thing (its what I would be doing at home) but too bad for those kids who don’t like hot dogs, I wonder if they save it, and make them eat it for their next meal.
After this experience I’m not feeling so stupid for hating lunch growing up. I bet there’s someone else who will share my school lunch complex as well.
