(28) More Food for Thought

“This is disgusting.” Charlotte cries, her silver heart bracelet banging off of the table as she uses her brown paper bag to hit old food items off of the table and onto the floor. I watch pretzel pieces, saran wrappings, and plastic condiments fly in all directions. The room is filled with students laughing loudly and talking with an occasional slam of a cash register every now and then. It’s first shift, and the cafeteria has had its maximum seating arrangements completely filled up. We all resort to sharing seats with one another.

“Why doesn’t someone clean this all up?” Patsy complains from her side of the table as she spreads mustard on her turkey sandwich.

“If you ask me, the custodians should come do this!” Britney takes a large bite out of her chocolate chip cookie with frustration. I sit there quietly though, opening my large, lunch bag and pulling out its contents. My mother had been in such a good mood this morning that she let me stop at Vavalas to pick up my lunch for the day. Hungrily I pull out my chicken parm on a hard roll and cape cod potato chips, not caring for the moment about the seating situation even though I am so close to Patsy who is next to me that I can smell what kind of shampoo she uses.

“Daria, I just love that new turtleneck!” Patsy says between bites. The table nods and smiles at me in agreement

“Oh thanks, it’s actually my sister’s-” I take a large sip of soda and then slam the can back on the table with Satisfaction. “I stole it.” I say as I catch my breath, “Anyways, so did anyone watch the inauguration of the new President? I scoot my chair in as a guy from my Geometry class tries to pass our table.

“I did!” Alexandria cries and starts to talk, using her usual hand gestures to explain her views on the new décor of the white house. Her hand hits my coke can as I watch it fall and pour quickly down the table. I immediately feel something wet on my leg, and as I glance down I discover a splash of coke is soaking into my favorite, black pants. I glimpse back at the table, and put my can of Coke back upright as I grab some napkins and start dabbing at the darkening spot.

“Oh my gosh! I am so sorry!” Alexandria flusters around me trying to help me soak up the river of Coke heading off the table and onto my lap.

“It’s all right, really.” I reply through gritted teeth. I have an urge to start yelling about how clumsy she is, because after all, these are my favorite pants, but I come to the understanding as I am wiping it all up, that if we weren’t practically on top of each other while eating in this high school cafeteria, she wouldn’t have been as likely to have attacked me with my own Coke.

“So, you were saying?” Charlotte takes a bite out her balsamic vinaigrette salad impatiently.

“Oh, right, so I think the new off-white rug in the oval office with touches of melon and sage just isn’t as traditional as the regular dark blue carpet from the other Presidents, don’t you think?”

I and the rest of the table nod in unison, not really caring about the new furnishings of the White House, but trying to seem politely interested.

“I thought,” I mumble through bites of chicken, “that the whole tradition of the new President signing his papers with a new blue and gold fountain pen for each document just isn’t necessary. I mean one pen will do the job.” I start to unwrap my package of yodels.

“Maybe they sell those pens that he touched only once to a charity or something.” Charissa starts to peel her banana slowly.

“Doubt it.” I reply detaching the first chocolate layer off of my desert. They probably give them to museums or something.” I bring my elbow back down onto the table.

“Daria, careful I think I saw a trail of-” I pull up my elbow slowly out of a small puddle of dark, red, ketchup. The most-likely-to-be-eternal stain is seeping through the threads of my sister’s brand new crème turtleneck. “Thanks.” I mumble with a great absence of enthusiasm at Charissa’s some what late warning.

“I think we should rebel, Daria. We could start petitions, or something to get the custodians to start taking care of all of this. You should go to the principal and show him what happened to you. It’s just because of the stupid garbage on our tables. Isn’t there some health law or something connected with this?”

I listen to Britney as I sadly examine the sleeve of my shirt. I glance up at her as she continues her list of possible threats to the school while picking up the last crumbs of he coffee cake. “I don’t know, it’s not that big of a deal. I should have watched where I put my elbow.” I reply. Then I see it. Britney smiles at me as she as she unmistakably adds her own plastic wrapper onto the overflowing pile.

“Britney, you’re not just going to-?”

“Oh Charissa, get over it, it’s not like there isn’t trash on our table already.

Then it hits me; the sudden memory of my same friends and I eating at a lunch table in middle school. The usual murmur of crowds of students had surrounded us, and all of our lunches were spread out in front of us. We had all touched our noses to eliminate ourselves from washing the table, and glancing around to see who had been the unlucky forgetful person that would have to wipe down the table with the large, smelly, and wet sponge. Charissa had looked at us with both hands on the table. It seemed like Charissa always had washed our table because she just never put her finger on her nose quick enough.
My heart sinks. Here we are now, sophomores in high school, complaining about just having to throw away our own trash! We are older, more mature, and more capable of picking up after ourselves! Custodians or anyone else shouldn’t have to clean up for us; we should be able to do it on our own! Over-crowded seating arrangements maybe we can’t control, but the garbage on the tables is a basic thing. The trashcan is right next to us, we should be able to reach our hand over to it and drop in our waste.

I stand up, the chair scraping against the tiled floor. I pull up my sleeves with determination and immediately start grabbing all of the trash and stuffing it into the trash can behind me. My friends watch me in shock, their mouths dropping as they stare at what I am doing. My leg is sticky, my arm is covered in ketchup, but I am going to put a stop to the garbage issue once and for all.

“Come on you guys, Daria’s right. “Let’s be part of the solution and not the problem. Charissa pulls up her sleeves as well and soon to my amazement and satisfaction all of my friends and I are dumping old sand wich crusts, dripping yogurt containers, and moldy apples into the container even when we know they’re not ours.

“I bet next shift there will just be an even bigger pile left for us tomorrow.” Charlotte gripes as we walk past the other tables.

“Yeah, but at least we’ll have the satisfaction of knowing we are at least capable of doing what others won’t. Britney replies as we exit the cafeteria. The loud laughter and talking is left behind us as the doors close and together we march down the hall towards the bathroom to start cleaning ourselves up.