Monday, December 13, 2010

Leftovers, Part II

(Student-written similes in italics)


On the way through the cafeteria's back doors, I spied a calendar menu. Faced with the endless, wretched possibilities, I was as nervous as a pre-shaven sheep. Saying a silent prayer, “Please not chili. Please not tetrazzini. Please not beef tips,” I scanned the month looking for the date.

And though it’s not mentioned specifically on the list, let me tell you that there was also strawberry milk. Lots and lots of strawberry milk. The silver lining? Today was Friday and not Wednesday...Mexican Pizza day.
Once in the kitchen, I relayed my sad tale to the cafeteria workers. They, who truly understand how revolting middle school lunch leftovers can be, offered moral support and latex gloves. One of the few men among their ranks showed me the way to the dumpster and grabbed a milk crate. 

Now, this is the part of the story where I REALLY wish I had personal pictures to illustrate. However, as you know, my phone was somewhere in the depths of the dumpster, so you’ll just have to know that the next part went a little bit like this:

And my view was a little bit like this:

And afterwards, I looked a little bit like this:

But perhaps I’m getting ahead of myself. Before my hands were covered in flecks of chewed corn and mayonnaise, I decided to introduce myself to the kind stranger with the milk crate.
Me: You really don’t have to do this. My name is Ms. P.
Him: It’s no problem! 
Me: What’s your name? I’d like to bring you brownies to thank you on Monday.
Him: They call me BeBop.
Me: (Thinking to myself) Well if I wasn’t going to write this story up for my blog before, your name just sealed the deal, sir.

BeBop faithfully passed each black bag down to me below, and I dove in past melted sherbert, defrosted pear halves, Thursday night’s leftovers, and slobbery chicken sandwiches in search of the elusive Kroger bag.
Bag 1. Bag 2. Bag 3. Bag 4. Nothing.
Finally, at the bottom of Bag 5 was....

I spied it, red light blinking and smeared with a thick, unidentifiable substance. I slowly removed it from the filth, as carefully as a zookeeper handling an ostrich’s egg. Wiping it on my oversized t-shirt, I felt for the power button. Miraculously, it lit up! In fact, it had received both text messages and emails at some point in its journey from my classroom to the trash bag.
After a thorough bath in hand sanitizer, it is now in working order. In fact, one would never know of its sordid past, except for a faint hint of strawberry milk. The Epic is proving to be as loyal as a California King, I tell you.
Considering writing a love letter to BeBop AND Samsung,
Ms. P

Homework Assignment:
What material possession, if any, would drive you to dumpster dive?

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