I’ve never been a fan of lunch―mostly (although I’m sure there are other reasons) because of the lunch lady who ran the kitchen in my elementary school and her unforgiving fingers—or, to be more precise, her fingertips.
She was nice enough, I suppose, although I can’t recall a single meaningful conversation with her. Most of our interactions were probably her holding out a spoon and me responding with a carefully considered “yes, please” or “no, thank you,” depending on what was dripping from the end of it.
Still, she was kind. I don’t have any strange or scary memories of her or any of the women who made my midday meal, Monday through Friday, September through June. But she did leave a lasting impression — literally — and shaped eating habits that have stuck with me all these years.
But, because of the lunch lady, I don’t eat sandwiches.
Well… not entirely true. As an adult, I’ve been put in situations (company lunches, for example) where cold cuts and sourdough were the only option, and I forced my way through at least part of the pre‑made concoction. But for the most part, I don’t eat sandwiches unless a paycheck is on the line.
I wasn’t always like this. Before the lunch lady made her mark on my young psyche, I loved ham and Swiss on pumpernickel. Every now and then, I still crave one. But I don’t eat ham anymore, so the sensation of sinking my teeth into dark German bread layered with thick slices of ham and Swiss is nothing more than a childhood memory.
Because of the lunch lady, while most American kids ate PB&J, I ate goulash. Instead of turkey on rye, I ate spaghetti. And on meatloaf day, I was the only child with a knife and fork in hand rather than the alternative ham‑and‑American‑cheese hoagie.
Yes — on that fateful day in second grade, I looked at the sandwich on my lunch tray and there, deeply embedded in the top slice of balloonish white bread, were the lunch lady’s fingerprints.
And ever since then, I’ve steered clear of sandwiches.
To this day, lunchtime is still a challenge. Thank God for salads. And goulash, of course.
Caveat, yes, the picture is me, and yea … I’m eating a “sandwich” BUT in my defense, it was a panini from Panini Toscani, and I was in Italy … so you know, “when in Rome” : )!!
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