The lunch bell rang. Children streamed into the cafeteria, some eager to eat, but most dreading their meals. ..
The eager children were the ones whose mothers packed their lunches in cute brown bags stuffed full with artfully sliced sandwiches, cups of fluffy, sweet, prepackaged pudding, crisp fruit, and “naturally flavored” boxes of juice. They could enjoy eating.
The rest of the children, staring enviously at the students fishing juice boxes and delicacies wrapped between bread slices out of neatly packed paper sacks, shuffled cautiously down the lunch line, trying not to breathe in the foul fumes of what lay ahead.
Lucy found herself in this line.
Usually a brown bag kid, in the rush to catch the school bus she had neglected to grab it. She had wanted to survive by nibbling bits off her friends’ meals, but no, Mrs. Gerdbin, the school’s evil lunch monitor strictly forbid the sharing of food. “Germs,” she would always say, “the horrid creatures constantly crawling in and out of your mouth, up and down your hands, swimming around in your fingernails…sharing food will just get you more of them. We don’t want that now, would we?” Having said that, she would gleefully pluck the morsel out of the hands of the unfortunate student she was lecturing and toss it into the nearest garbage can.
Mrs. Gerdbin also loved watching the horror pass over students’ faces when she proclaimed to them in a sickly sweet voice, “Now, every good growing boy and girl needs good nutrition, so I’m going to give you a free lunch ticket and kind Myrtle and Dorothy here will feed you a nice, nutritious meal. Make sure you finish it, because you know how we feel about wasting!” Gerdbin would then crack her knuckles and bare her decaying yellow teeth at her victim in a smile while pointing at the lunch ladies, who grinned evilly and waved.
Having sat fearfully through all of Gerdbin’s routines, Lucy was plucked out of her seat and marched over to the lunch line. “I’ll be making sure you get that nice healthy meal of yours!” the lunch monitor sang as she skipped away, happy to have ruined the day of another innocent child.
Lucy had heard that the stuff the lunch ladies put into the weekly meatloaf had the same ingredients as the stuff that paved the sidewalks in front of the school. She had heard that the principal had hired these ladies as a way to get revenge on the kid who stole his briefcase years ago. She had heard that to save money, the lunch ladies spit in the food instead of seasoning it. She had even heard a rumor that one of the ladies was secretly a scientist studying the effects of eating radioactive waste on middle schoolers.
Well, so she had heard.
So as the line inched forward, Lucy glanced at the menu.
TOMATO SOUP or SPINACH CASSEROLE
CHOCOLATE CAKE or PEACH COBBLER
WATER or PUNCH
Being an optimist, Lucy decided that chocolate cake couldn’t get that bad, and that nothing could be wrong with the tomato soup. She would order those. And punch sounded pretty good, too.
But then she was hit by the most horrible stench in her whole life. It smelled like a skunk had rolled around in a pool of elephant poop then drowned, and floated around in the pool for a month then was immersed in a cow fart and peed on by a naughty little boy. The smell was that, but even worse. The odor crawled up Lucy's nostrils and stayed there, suffocating her. She began to cough.
“AHH,” A scratchy, high pitched whine interrupted her asphyxiation. “Takin’ in thuh delishuhs smell uve da soup, eh?” It was an overly made-up, chunky lady, with a large slightly purple hairy mole over her lip. She was wearing an apron over a greasy blue uniform and a holey hairnet. There was a tiny nametag pinned onto the apron, which looked like it had once been white, reading MYRTLE. This monstrosity was a lunch lady. Lucy had no choice but to say yes, it did smell wonderful, as the lunch lady was licking her unusually sharp teeth threateningly and tapping her unusually long and glittery nails impatiently on the soiled counter.
“SEW, watsit gonna be, kid? Ya bettah be hurryin’ aluong, cuos, we gottallotta kayds ta serve!”
Myrtle pointed an ultra-long fingernail extension to two bubbling pots filled with an oily brown sludge in which furry chunks of something purplish kept floating up that she was standing next to. Lucy couldn’t help thinking that they could be some of Myrtle’s moles…
“I-I’ll take the tomato soup, please.” Lucy watched, feeling very nauseous, as Myrtle plopped a large blob of the brown-purple muck into Lucy’s bowl. “Dessuot is down de lane, kid.” Myrtle said in her high pitched whine.
Lucy slid her tray down the lane, optimism mostly dissolved.
Myrtle loved cooking. She was a self taught chef, specializing in exotic dishes and going off the recipe. She broke many cooking rules, thinking herself a rebel cook as she ripped off her hairnets and gloves, letting her unwashed hair flow free over her dishes. She was especially fond of boiling food, and everything she made was cooked this way. Her whole life, she had cooked as much as possible, for her family, for her friends, for random strangers...
She didn't have much family left now. Most of her friends had passed too. For some reason, they had all died of food poisoning. Myrtle couldn't figure out why, as they had mostly eaten the food she made, and she made sure it was very sanitary. Sure, the occasional bit of toe gunk or fingernail fell in there, but it was probably all sterilized through the boiling.
Despite her wonderful passion for the preparing of food, no one appreciated Myrtle's art. Whenever she offered to cook dinner or contribute to a potluck, the person she was speaking to always turned green and started taking deep breaths before she was politely denied. She was never able to get a job at any restaurant due to her "New Age" style. Close minded old people, she called the people who didn't approve of her ways.
Finally, Myrtle was able to find employment as a middle school lunch lady...
The eager children were the ones whose mothers packed their lunches in cute brown bags stuffed full with artfully sliced sandwiches, cups of fluffy, sweet, prepackaged pudding, crisp fruit, and “naturally flavored” boxes of juice. They could enjoy eating.
The rest of the children, staring enviously at the students fishing juice boxes and delicacies wrapped between bread slices out of neatly packed paper sacks, shuffled cautiously down the lunch line, trying not to breathe in the foul fumes of what lay ahead.
Lucy found herself in this line.
Usually a brown bag kid, in the rush to catch the school bus she had neglected to grab it. She had wanted to survive by nibbling bits off her friends’ meals, but no, Mrs. Gerdbin, the school’s evil lunch monitor strictly forbid the sharing of food. “Germs,” she would always say, “the horrid creatures constantly crawling in and out of your mouth, up and down your hands, swimming around in your fingernails…sharing food will just get you more of them. We don’t want that now, would we?” Having said that, she would gleefully pluck the morsel out of the hands of the unfortunate student she was lecturing and toss it into the nearest garbage can.
Mrs. Gerdbin also loved watching the horror pass over students’ faces when she proclaimed to them in a sickly sweet voice, “Now, every good growing boy and girl needs good nutrition, so I’m going to give you a free lunch ticket and kind Myrtle and Dorothy here will feed you a nice, nutritious meal. Make sure you finish it, because you know how we feel about wasting!” Gerdbin would then crack her knuckles and bare her decaying yellow teeth at her victim in a smile while pointing at the lunch ladies, who grinned evilly and waved.
Having sat fearfully through all of Gerdbin’s routines, Lucy was plucked out of her seat and marched over to the lunch line. “I’ll be making sure you get that nice healthy meal of yours!” the lunch monitor sang as she skipped away, happy to have ruined the day of another innocent child.
Lucy had heard that the stuff the lunch ladies put into the weekly meatloaf had the same ingredients as the stuff that paved the sidewalks in front of the school. She had heard that the principal had hired these ladies as a way to get revenge on the kid who stole his briefcase years ago. She had heard that to save money, the lunch ladies spit in the food instead of seasoning it. She had even heard a rumor that one of the ladies was secretly a scientist studying the effects of eating radioactive waste on middle schoolers.
Well, so she had heard.
So as the line inched forward, Lucy glanced at the menu.
TOMATO SOUP or SPINACH CASSEROLE
CHOCOLATE CAKE or PEACH COBBLER
WATER or PUNCH
Being an optimist, Lucy decided that chocolate cake couldn’t get that bad, and that nothing could be wrong with the tomato soup. She would order those. And punch sounded pretty good, too.
But then she was hit by the most horrible stench in her whole life. It smelled like a skunk had rolled around in a pool of elephant poop then drowned, and floated around in the pool for a month then was immersed in a cow fart and peed on by a naughty little boy. The smell was that, but even worse. The odor crawled up Lucy's nostrils and stayed there, suffocating her. She began to cough.
“AHH,” A scratchy, high pitched whine interrupted her asphyxiation. “Takin’ in thuh delishuhs smell uve da soup, eh?” It was an overly made-up, chunky lady, with a large slightly purple hairy mole over her lip. She was wearing an apron over a greasy blue uniform and a holey hairnet. There was a tiny nametag pinned onto the apron, which looked like it had once been white, reading MYRTLE. This monstrosity was a lunch lady. Lucy had no choice but to say yes, it did smell wonderful, as the lunch lady was licking her unusually sharp teeth threateningly and tapping her unusually long and glittery nails impatiently on the soiled counter.
“SEW, watsit gonna be, kid? Ya bettah be hurryin’ aluong, cuos, we gottallotta kayds ta serve!”
Myrtle pointed an ultra-long fingernail extension to two bubbling pots filled with an oily brown sludge in which furry chunks of something purplish kept floating up that she was standing next to. Lucy couldn’t help thinking that they could be some of Myrtle’s moles…
“I-I’ll take the tomato soup, please.” Lucy watched, feeling very nauseous, as Myrtle plopped a large blob of the brown-purple muck into Lucy’s bowl. “Dessuot is down de lane, kid.” Myrtle said in her high pitched whine.
Lucy slid her tray down the lane, optimism mostly dissolved.
Myrtle loved cooking. She was a self taught chef, specializing in exotic dishes and going off the recipe. She broke many cooking rules, thinking herself a rebel cook as she ripped off her hairnets and gloves, letting her unwashed hair flow free over her dishes. She was especially fond of boiling food, and everything she made was cooked this way. Her whole life, she had cooked as much as possible, for her family, for her friends, for random strangers...
She didn't have much family left now. Most of her friends had passed too. For some reason, they had all died of food poisoning. Myrtle couldn't figure out why, as they had mostly eaten the food she made, and she made sure it was very sanitary. Sure, the occasional bit of toe gunk or fingernail fell in there, but it was probably all sterilized through the boiling.
Despite her wonderful passion for the preparing of food, no one appreciated Myrtle's art. Whenever she offered to cook dinner or contribute to a potluck, the person she was speaking to always turned green and started taking deep breaths before she was politely denied. She was never able to get a job at any restaurant due to her "New Age" style. Close minded old people, she called the people who didn't approve of her ways.
Finally, Myrtle was able to find employment as a middle school lunch lady...
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