Friday, June 4, 2010

lunch

Fulfilling all requirements for blessedness,1 lunch is a Blessed Time. This was originally dictated in 1st Thessaiamgoingtoburnforthisoneicans 4:2:

And six hours shalt thou labor and do all thy work: But the seventh hour, which is conveniently located in the midst of the other hours, so you can plainly see I wasn't numbering these sequentially; therefore, at whatever time thou shalt choose so that thou mightest avoid difficult work, is a holy hour: in it thou shalt not do any work, nor thou, nor thy mind, nor thy finger, nor thy hand, nor any who is around thy cubicle. And he who shall declare thou shalt work more or, yea, much more than six hours, and establish it for a policy, the same cometh of evil, and is not built upon blessedness, but he buildeth upon a foundation of the man, and the gates of hell shall stand open to receive such.

Thus, you'll see the scriptural precedence for waiting until one is asked to work on something urgent, and then declaring one must "go to lunch".

Of course, "go to lunch" is just an expression. The best innovation of the past thirty years has been the cubicle lunch, wherein one minimizes the number of calories expended and maximizes the number of calories consumed. Not only does this maximize your waistline and exposure to the glorious bliss that is unfettered access to the news, but it also allows you to completely avoid any human contact. Never again will you have any awkward lunchtime exposure. You are safe in your sanctuary of shirking.

This is important because lunch was not always a Blessed Time. Who can forget the Seagull Incident of '95? And who can forget the misery of The Great Rejection of '98? These are memories which we must hold sacred always, lest we attempt to sit underneath seagulls again, or we consider approaching a pack of beautiful women on any future day.

Let us, however, refrain from ever thinking upon The Karaoke Incident of 2000, and forever purge Hotel California from our music collection, as well as any other song that might persuade us to enter a crowded cafeteria and sing significantly above our upper register.

Nay, lunch was a dark time.

A time of sandwiches which consisted of large slabs of bread greased only with the thinnest of microscopic layers of peanut butter and jam, whose existence could only be verified via particle accelerator.

A time of desperately begging for water to try and wash down the bread concoction.

A time of re-using the same plastic lunch baggies every day for eons.

A time of re-using paper lunch sacks for those same epochs.

A time of hopelessly attempting to fold and conceal said lunch sacks and baggies in one's pocket, lest Ben, Sworn Enemy and eventual Exposer of Said Re-usable Sack Scheme to All Women, discover the plot.

A time of mercilessly failing in that effort.

A time of bringing that plastic baggie home to be re-used, whereupon they would be "cleaned" with a white-now-turned-grey-and-older-than-me wash rag2 and readied for its use the following day.

A time of us, as a family of eight children, using a total of thirteen lunch baggies over the course of thirty years, whose constant re-use saved my family a grand total of twelve dollars and thirty six cents, which was roughly the amount of money my father made in thirty seconds as a Cardiologist.3

A time of my sister being punished for wasting one of those plastic baggies in the Great Flushing The Donut Attempt of '89.4

Yea, those were dark times, and times we shall avoid by sitting at our blessed cubicle, eating our blessed food over our blessed keyboard, all while reading the blessed news and avoiding any cursed human contact.

Bless the day.

1. The requirements for blessedness (or blessednicities as my little brother might refer to it) are: food, unrestricted access to Google Reader, and complete avoidance of human contact.
2. I attribute all of my childhood sicknesses, and all of my current immunities to that one thirty-year-old wash rag.
3. Also, a time of my father making loud, accusatory-and-demanding-repayment statements making us acutely aware of that after my oldest brother forced him to wait thirty minutes at an amusement park.
4. It involved a donut, a baggie, a toilet, and my little sister's refusal to finish her dessert. It also involved several moldy rolls, stored away for future flushing.

5 comments:

Jess said...

Note to self: never suggest to CP that we go to lunch...save yourself the rejection.

paul said...

My mom reused plastic lunch bags to!

Nathan said...

This was one of your more brilliant rants. One thirty-year rag was all it was?

jeremiah said...

This, my friend, is one of your finest.

Adeline said...

The Seagull Incident of '95... were you pooped on too??!! If so, I had a very similar experience during my freshman year of high school... I probably shouldn't have admitted that...