Sloppy Fries for Sloppy Lives

By Kathy Luder

I was in the lunch line with Molly. They were serving sloppy joes over fries, which was considered a “good”meal. It is the most palatable dish offered at our school. It was a crass tactical ploy on behalf of the cafeteria staff. Right after lunch I was headed into negotiations with Mrs.Zaftig on behalf of the student council. Mrs. Zaftig is the head lunch lady, as well as my Sunday School teacher. The student council was hoping I could get her stick to more teen-friendly fare.

Molly was shifting from foot to foot and standing on her tip-toes, scanning the tables.

“Who are you looking for?” I asked.

“Susan. She called last night. She’s bringing Jared for a visit. Are there corn dogs today?” she said.

Our friend Susan got pregnant last summer right after her sophomore year. Her boyfriend, Mark, the star of the basketball team, is the father. Jared was born a few months ago.

“Corn dogs are bad for you,” I said. “Wasn’t Susan here last week?”

“This is where her friends are, Kathy. Where else would she be? I don’t know why you think she should be punished,” she said.

“I don’t think she should be punished,” I said. “Who puts sloppy joes over fries anyway? This is the best they can do?”

“Maybe they’re out of buns. This cafeteria is to culinary arts what Nazi death camps were to medicine. You should really let Mrs. Z have it. This is just wrong,” Molly said. She turned to me. “Why is it that whenever Susan is here you get all moody?”

“She’s here every week. It’s hardly a big event,” I said, attempting to keep the crankiness out of my voice. I tried to lighten things up. “Those sloppy fries don’t look too bad.” I maneuvered toward the serving window.

“Or a burrito? At least with frozen burritos you know what you’re getting.” Molly looked at me. “Why shouldn’t Susan be here every week? Mark is still here. He’s still on the basketball team. He gets to walk at graduation. How come it is so different for him?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it shouldn’t be,” I said.

“Yeah? Well, maybe they should just let them both be here. Why would that be so hard? Show a little forgiveness. They could put up a daycare. Or just let her bring Jared to class. He’s so good that it wouldn’t be that big of a deal,” she said as she placed two waxy burritos on her tray.

“You’re right. It’s not fair,” I said, gesturing to the lunch lady to give me the sloppy fries. “Jared is the cutest baby I’ve ever seen,” I admitted.

“Mrs. Zaftig is waiting,” the lunch lady said to me. I could see her sitting at her desk in her office in the back of the kitchen. I figured I might as well get it over with.

“Tell Susan I said ‘hi,’ and give Jared a kiss for me,” I said to Molly as I took my tray through the kitchen to Mrs. Zaftig’s desk.

“Hi, Kathy,” said Mrs. Zaftig with a huge smile.“What’s on your mind?”

This wasn’t our first meeting. The student council always had complaints, but nothing seemed to get under Mrs. Zaftig’s skin. It was obvious she loved her job.

“Not much,” I said as I sat down with my tray on my lap. “Some of the kids don’t like the food. Last week’s tuna meatballs weren’t very popular. Sloppy fries won’t make up for that.”

“Is something the matter—more than tuna meatballs? You look like you’re going to be sick,” she said.

“I don’t know. I’m not hungry. ”

“Not hungry! It’s sloppy fries day. Everyone loves sloppy fries,” she said. “We’ve known each other a long time, Kathy. The kids always complain about the food. You’re not moping because of tuna meatballs are you?”

“Susan and Jared are here.”

“Ahh,” she said.“So is that why you came straight back instead eating with Molly?”

“I guess,” I said. “You want to tell me about it?” she said, clearing a place on her desk for my tray.

“Why am I not happy for them?” I asked.

“I don’t know. Why should you be?” she asked.

“Susan did the right thing. She didn’t have an abortion. Jared is a beautiful baby,” I said.

“Yes. So?”

“It just doesn’t seem fair. Susan’s mom watches Jared while Susan works at the grocery store. Her parents even bought her a car. She’s smart, and she’ll get her GED three months before the rest of her class even graduates. She’s a grown-up. The kids around here act like she is a celebrity. And nobody even cares about Mark’s part in it,” I said.

“Are you jealous?” she asked.

“No. Maybe. I don’t know. It just doesn’t seem, I don’t know, fair,” I said.

“What’s not fair?”

“Look. I am not saying that Susan should be punished. But shouldn’t there be some consequences?” I asked.

“There have been consequences.You just don’t see them.”

“Yeah, I know. She can’t play volleyball or walk,” I said.

“That is not what I meant. Sin is always messy. It always complicates our lives. It might seem like it’d be great to be an adult early and get out of school, but Susan is missing out.”

“Yeah? What’s she missing?”

“Her childhood. High school. You think she likes working at a grocery store? She’s here so much because she misses it. She realizes what she’s lost,” she said.

“I don’t think so,” I grumbled. “It looks pretty cushy to me.”

“I bet she doesn’t enjoy the celebrity status around here as much as you think. She probably longs for her old life,” she said.

“I suppose,” I said. “It still doesn’t seem fair somehow.”

“There are two extreme reactions that Satan would enjoy. What do you think they are?” she asked.

“I know he’d love us to be harsh. He’d love us to condemn Susan and shun her.”

“Right. What is the opposite extreme?”

“He always wants us to accept sin, to pretend like it’s good.”

“Right. Now I am just a lunch lady. The faculty don’t include me, but I think they struggled with this situation. And I think they did okay with Susan and Mark. It’s hard to find the middle ground. It’s never fair. It is rarely very satisfying. We always wish it were a little cleaner. But Susan is your sister in Christ, and her sins, no matter how great and how many, were paid for by the sacrifice and death of Christ. It may seem unfair to us that God accepts sinners, but if that were not the case then we would all be in a load of trouble, wouldn’t we?”

“I know. I’m sorry. It’s not about fair, is it?”

“I don’t have to tell you, Kathy. You were always my best Sunday School student.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Z. I’ll try harder.”

“Don’t sweat it, Kathy. You’re doing fine. Jesus loves you too,” she said, and for a split second, I felt myself on the verge of tears. Mrs. Zaftig always made me feel good, like I belonged. Suddenly she jumped up, put her arm around my shoulder and said, “Okay. No more tuna meatballs. Problem solved. Tell the student council you won the day. Maybe we’ll have more negotiations. I think this was good. Now go eat lunch with your friends, and I’ll see you Sunday.”

“Thanks,” I said again and walked back to sit with Molly. As I sat down to eat, the sloppy fries didn’t look so bad after all.

Kathy Luder believes grace is the best sauce of all, able even to make tuna meatballs palatable. Y ou can reach her at KathyLuder@hotmail.com.