A Good Deed for the Decade: Lunch

Photo by Los Muertos Crew from Pexels.

Aajmal Henry

Lunch

With just one class left to go, the day was nearly over.  Still, separating the day’s last class from the previous was lunch.  As per legal mandate, the school did in fact provide lunch for the student body.  The cafeteria was vast, brightly colored and open, sun shining in from the tall windows outlooking the school parking lot.  There was no shortage of seating and several vending machines dotted the space.  They were empty.  They had been empty since not long after they were first stocked.   After having built this marvelous building, the school had little left for pleasantries.  The lunch ladies had all quit after the district offered to pay them in nail clippers and cream soda.  Mr. Emory had offered to convince them to stay, but the district was certain that there wasn't anything that could be done.  Instead they enlisted him, as the summoning teacher, to procure less costly help.  Mr. Emory returned with fire elementals.

Julian had come from English class, and as per use, the lunch line stretched across the room.  It had been a long day.  Mr. Ng had given the first unit test in physics and  Mrs. Sweete had talked endlessly for the entire period.  Julian would’ve used the class as a well needed nap if the teacher wouldn't have called his parents.  The cafeteria was loud, and Julian had a headache.  Tables were filling up as people who brought their own lunches sat down first.  The line trudged along towards the lunch bar.  Disappointed students stepped away with their smoking platters.  Julian approached the bar.  Massive churning elementals, wrought of living, roaring flame stood watch over the lunch bar.  As students approached, they grabbed platters and quickly filled them with the food of the day.  Today’s food looked quite appetizing, burgers served on pretzel buns, and continued to be reasonable after passing through the elementals’ searing touch.  However, all lunch staff are required to wear both hair nets and aprons as per state law, and as Julian’s platter was completed, one of the elemental’s hair nets ignited and fell off.  Julian had managed to dodge the bulk of the debris though his platter was not so lucky, and was now engulfed in heaping flames.  Shocked, Julian dropped the platter and stepped back. The elemental took note of this and slowly raised his arm, drawing the flames into himself, leaving a dry, cold pile of ash behind and the platter half melted.  “So can I have another lunch,” Julian asked.  “Students are limited to one platter per day.  Please return tomorrow,” The elemental replied.  Its voice was soft and erudite.  “But my platter got incinerated!” Julian retorted.  The elemental swelled with heat and fire.  “Please find a seat student,” it replied cordially.  “Please!” Julian implored.  The line behind him was beginning to become peeved. “You appear to be confused. I will help,” The elemental replied, ever calm.  It raised a finger at Julian and began pelting sparks at him.  Julian grabbed his platter as a shield and retreated to the lunch tables.  “Have a nice day and please return for a hearty and nutritious meal tomorrow!” The elemental said as Julian bounded away.  As the next student approached the bar, the fire elemental put on a new hair net, and its apron erupted in flames.

By now all the lunch tables that anyone sat at were completely full.  There were many open, empty, distant tables.  As Julian ambled over to one of the empty tables, he bumped into Mateo, who had gotten up to throw away a wrapper.  “Hey Julian!” Mateo exclaimed.  Julian was off put.  He couldn't imagine that Mateo knew who he was.  “Oh, hi Mateo,” Julian replied timidly, he had to look up to meet Mateo’s brilliant gaze, but did not hold it for long.  “Were you looking for someplace to sit?” Mateo asked.  Julian was surprised, if relieved.  “Sure,” he replied.  “Come sit with us,” Mateo said, pointing to his table.  Julian went over to the table.  Mateo threw the wrapper sideways, and with a swish of his finger, it arced into the trash.  Mateo gave himself a fist pump and caught up with Julian.  “Scoot over! Make space for Julian!” Mateo announced.  The table was extremely accommodating and promptly obliged the request.  Julian was quickly incorporated into the conversation, on the taxonomy of sandwiches and what should and shouldn't be included as such.  Mateo pulled a tray of tacos from his lunch and set them in the center of the table.  “Whoever wants some can have some.  My mom always packs too much for me,” he said.  Everyone started grabbing tacos.  They were hard shelled, and as Alex took a bite of his, he had an epiphany.  “Tacos aren't sandwiches! Sandwich bread isn't connected!” he declared.  Wesley glared at him, undeterred by his challenge.  “Subs are sandwiches, in fact it's in the name!  They're subway sandwiches,”  he replied.  “I thought they were submarine sandwiches,” Aiden said.  “Irrelevant! My point stands!” Wesley exclaimed.  An uproarious debate ensued and the whole table was enraptured therein.  The debate stopped abruptly however, when Nathan was struck by a taco.  Nathan wiped himself off and the table turned in unison to find who had assaulted their comrade.  They found  Lance holding a taco, smiling slyly, his table gathering armaments from their lunches.  Lances’ lunch was just as sprawling as Mateo’s.  Mateo scowled in contempt and Lance smirked back.  Mateo turned to his table.  “Friends! Tablemen! Moments ago Lance engaged in a viscous and unprovoked attack on Nathan.  This aggression will not stand.  Arm yourselves! Gather your wieners, your waffles, and your worcestershire sauce!  Battle without fear, for should this attack go unpunished we will live forever looking over our shoulders, ever wary of tacos flying at our backs.  Show Lance that we will not be trifled with.  For the table!”  Mateo spoke with fire uncharacteristic of him, like he was personally attacked.  The table was inspired, though some were a touch confused.  Nonetheless, they quickly armed themselves with spindled spaghetti and crisp pretzel buns.

Both tables were evenly matched and the battle was fierce.  Many other tables quickly took sides while some hid beneath their stools to avoid the onslaught.  Opportunists snatched food from the air and stole it from adversaries in the chaos, filling their bellies with the spoils of their plunder.  Combatants were smeared with tomato sauce and smattered with cheese.  In ranks, they launched their burgers which spiraled as seasoned frisbees towards their targets.  Lance and Mateo struck out at each other personally, though it was as if some invisible force seemed to protect them from even the slightest blemish.  Scavengers scoured the floors in hopes of retrieving ammunition for their chosen faction.  The fire elementals stood by, watching the intrigue.  Julian hid underneath the table, waiting for it to be over.  Casualties mounted.  Ryan’s white hoodie was streaked with mustard.  Ezra was drenched in orange juice.  Nathan’s cheeks were red after being beaten during the bratwurst charge. Landon had sour cream in his pants.  Still, the battle raged on and grew in scale.  Papayas were thrown, exploding on impact and scattering hazardous seeds that impeded the movement of enemy forces.  Shearing tortilla shurikens whirled on both sides.  Conjured minor elementals  rained whole watermelons from above.  There was much devastation, and the battle raged.  The bell was out rung by the din of war. 

 Principal Grey rushed in.  “Enough!” she yelled.  “You’ll get detention!” she yelled.  The combatants continued, undeterred by or unaware of her presence.  Principal Grey began freezing tables with cones of glacial magic, though this was taxing on her.  Mr. Emory floated in from above and the cafeteria grew a little darker, a little colder.  Principal Grey continued frantically freezing tables.  “Ms. Helena Grey, are you trying to stop this chaos?” Mr. Emory asked.  He spoke softly from the other side of the room, though she heard him clear as day despite the distance and the clamor.  She did not need to respond, Mr. Emory’s question was a courtesy.  Her desire was known to him, and the students stopped.  They stopped immediately and in their tracks, food descended from the air and back onto platters.  The mess on the floor mopped itself up and into the trash and the students were flown by the seats of their pants back onto their benches.  Again there was order, perfect order, and Mr. Emory faded away without a trace.

Principal Grey unfroze the few tables she had managed to freeze.  “What is the meaning of this?” she yelled.  The entire cafeteria erupted in argument, previously silenced by the miraculous end of the conflict.  “Quiet down!” she yelled, to no avail.  Just a moment later, they were all perfectly silent, as if they didn't have a choice.  The cafeteria was heavy with phantasmal force.  Principal Grey was both a touch confused and relieved.  “Who started this catastrophe?” she asked.  Lance and Mateo immediately pointed at each other.  Principal Grey raised an eyebrow.  “So who did it?” she pressed.  Mateo spoke up.  “Lance threw a taco at Nathan, so we shot back,” he replied.  Principal Grey facepalmed.  “Mateo, that's a detention.  See if you can convince your brother to serve some of his.  I don't think we can add any more to the system,” she replied wearily.  She then looked to address the whole cafeteria. “As for the rest of you, your stained and smelly clothes should serve as punishment enough.  Now go to class! You’re all 20 minutes late!” she yelled, and walked back to her office.  

Later that day, Principal Grey called Mr. Emory into her office.  He was there before her lips closed from making the request.  “You rang?” he asked.  She nodded.  “That was some good work you did back in the cafeteria.  How’d you manage all that?” She asked.  Mr. Emory stared at her.  “I am very good at my job,” he replied blankly.  Principal Grey nodded.  “You are.  That's why I called you here.  You seem very good at making sure people follow the rules.  I want you to hold detention on saturdays”  she requested.  Mr. Emory’s expression was inscrutable.  “Details.  I hear prying secrets from people’s souls is considered impolite these days,” he responded.  Principal Grey chuckled in amusement.  “We just need you to watch miscreant children as they’re punished by having their Saturday morning wasted,” she explained.  “Yes… subjugation and domination are some of my favorite pastimes,” he replied.  “No, nothing like that  But feel free to put the class to work around the room if you need something done,” she responded.  “I will endeavor to make it an educational experience,” Mr Emory replied.  Principal Grey Laughed.  “Sure, but don't tire yourself out.  It's really just meant to waste their time,” she responded.  Mr. Emory looked straight through her.  “All is well Ms. Helena Grey.  I won’t be tired. I don’t sleep,” he replied, and he was gone.