 |
| Evan Williams is a senior journalism major and writes 'My Bucket of Parts' for the Daily News. His views do not necessarily agree with those of the newspaper. |
Eating lunch is different on everybody's plate.
Some prefer a slice of beef, while others enjoy a simple bowl of cereal.
I am the bowl of cereal type. My metabolism is so fast that it wouldn't matter if I ate the beef or the cereal. In the end, I would weigh the same and females would continue to say, "I hate you."
It's difficult to be hated at such a young age. I think that's why I often eat lunch alone. I am my own company; however, it depends who I'm eating around. I eat in public forums daily and technically will never eat alone -- I am surrounded by conversation.
And, do you know what I do with that conversation? I eavesdrop.
Don't act so shocked. You do it too. It's better than reality television.
The conversations range from one-night stands to bad kissers to shy bladders, sacrificing goats to roommates that walk around naked, and the occasional sex talk.
"You did that position?" asked the shocked girlfriend.
"Not only did I do that position, but I also did this position."
I hear the clink of silverware, and you can just imagine what the fork is doing to the spoon. I fear even more if the one-night stand actually involved forks and spoons.
But I am distracted from the good conversation, because across the way a large laughter penetrates the dining air, and my eyes drip blood. This person fills the booth, jiggles in her seat, and defies sophistication with her mouth full of mashed potatoes, slamming both hands against the broken table.
Yikes.
But more entertaining than the sex-talkers, or the loud-mashed-potato-laughers, are the theater majors that perform during my lunch hour.
I've never been to a dinner theater, nor do I ever want to -- thanks to all the over-dramatic karma I've received from theater students during lunch.
They sing their welcome to the full table of denim, bleached hair, magenta hair, pig tails, stripes, spandex and Gap, and they all stand up in their chairs with choreographed moves, pelvic thrusts like "Greased Lightnin'," and, again, sexual references made with forks and spoons.
Conversation is impossible to overhear at the "Rocky Horror Picture Show" table, and at that point, I drown out every noise with my CD player and headphones and become the degenerate, anti-social Gen-Xer I've been labeled. But, the production becomes louder than Pantera in concert, and so I succumb to their racket.
At this point, I realize they are performing the finale -- it's always louder and longer, isn't it?
The theater table's good-byes are so dramatic that they spend extra "dining plus" off their meal cards to purchase fireworks and colorful streamers for their exit. It starts with a huge blast from a firecracker, and then sparklers fizz in every which direction. They all put on their white gloves, and wave good-bye, while singing some unfanciful tune composed by a dead cow. By the end of this, they are all standing in positions on the table, chairs and kneeling on the floor while the lights in the cafeteria have dimmed, and the fireworks continue a geyser of bright light.
They never bow, though.
Then again, I never clap.
In the end, I am amazed at the noise levels produced by all the vocal cords combined during lunch. With all the chatter from the sex-talkers, fraternizing big shots, mashed-potato-laughing-girls, and the theater crowd, they could create enough noise power to send a school bus to Uranus.
Write to Evan at emann@mr-potatohead.com
Read More
Three Air Jam teams take home the win
October 12, 2012Nineteen teams shimmied, shook and flipped for a sold out John R. Emens Auditorium on Thursday night during the 25th annual Air Jam.
Bill Clinton Speaks at North Central High School
October 12, 2012Former President's Speech Could Have Effect on State Senate Race
