Fake-Cheese Taquito I slouched in the back of the line but heard the shouts and screams from the class before us, writhing in agony. A gate stood on the side of the hallway, making me think they’d lock us in here until lunch ended, and only the survivors would walk out. My hands trembled, my steps weakened, my eyes darted back and forth, waiting for the lunchroom to launch its attack. As I stepped in, I saw the pale pink walls against the blue-tinged long tables, along with the scuffed off-white tiled floors. They led us to the outside of a wall shared with the kitchen and told us to wait in line. First day of kindergarten, four feet, six years old, nervous. So far, I survived the day relatively fine, didn’t say a word besides my name – but I liked it like that. To me, a low-stakes environment was the best thing to start the year: the simple question and answer format of the classroom was oh so familiar to me – that was until lunch. The horror stories my sister revealed to me made me scared of the lunchroom already: grotesque food, mean lunch ladies, and crazy students shoving into each other; she refused to eat the school lunch, and I planned to do the same. In fact, I tried to avoid the cafeteria altogether: lagging behind in the line hoping the teacher forgot one extra kid, then going to the bathroom and staying there until lunch ended – but these plans were foiled by the grumpy TA who eventually discovered my schemes, and pulled me back to the line. Eventually, we stomped down the stairs into a dark green hallway that led to
the lunchroom. We felt like inmates being led to our execution – no getting out of line, no talking, just staring forward into our imminent doom. Well, at least for me – for others, it was lunch. Most of my first day fled into the recesses of my memory, along with the rest of the year. I savored every moment before hell – the day before school was heaven. My failed attempts to ditch lunch made me even more desperate to escape. Gouging my eyes out seemed better than facing the disorientation of the lunchroom. I was terrified. The line resembled a snake digesting its lunch. Instead of a single file, different parts were chunky and others were thin. My classmates ran into the heart of the snake as I slipped into the back. Facing the wall, I saw mysterious splotches: dirt, food, blood? I didn’t want to find out, so I turned to face the crowded tables. I watched as people ran up and down the room, waiting for a teacher to give them the side-eye as a cue to sit down. I saw kids fighting over a fruit cup, stabbing their plastic sporks into the glistening mango. However, the more I stared, the less scary and prison-like it looked; I saw tables with people sleeping or nibbling their lunch – my kind of people. The feeling of sitting in a classroom was so different from the jungle of the lunchroom. Like a lamb to the slaughter – I was out of my element. Staring at the thin chalk lines in 23
