Day 14: School Lunch

More of the thing.

I don't really remember much about school lunches when I was in elementary school. I was a bit of an outcast, and at my first middle school, students were allowed to volunteer in the lunch room for cheaper lunch. maybe that was it, I don't remember for sure. I do remember that it meant I got to choose my cookie. I would always pick my cookie before lunch started to make sure I got the gooiest looking one in the pile.

At my second middle school there was no such program, so I was forced to find people to sit with. Eventually I made friends, armed with a folder bursting with Pokémon trading cards.

At my first high school I spent most lunches in Mr. Ritter's room. He let the Astronomy Club "meet" there every day during lunch. I don't know what made it so magical to eat my lunch in a chemistry classroom, but it could have had something to do with the boy I had a crush on throughout my freshman, sophmore, and junior years.

Senior year we moved across the country, and I encountered my first indoor cafeteria. I never knew such a thing existed (that and lockers). At some point during the year, some friends and I figured out that the bakery at Jewel Osco would write anything you asked them to write on a cake. Thus, Cake Fridays were born. We'd all take turns in the group buying a cake on Thursday night with something ridiculous written on it. Then usually the cake would stay in my locker during the morning classes. My locker was in a corner that for whatever reason stayed cold year round, so it became the unofficial fridge. Whoever was in charge of the cake was also in charge of grabbing a huge fistful of forks at the beginning of lunch, and we'd each grab a fork and dig in.

Once we brought a pie instead for a group member's birthday. I remember standing at the window where they sold soft serve ice cream and begging them to fill a cup with vanilla soft serve, because who eats cherry pie without ice cream? They relented, but not without resistance.

Nothing beats Cake Fridays. Or at least nothing beats inside jokes written on pastries.