Magazine, website & books written by teens since 1989

Acquiring a Sandwich While Remaining Sane

All I wanted was a stupid chicken sandwich and some fries. I don't believe that is too much to ask for. A lot of good chickens and potatoes sacrificed themselves to get there, so I don't think any additional trouble should be necessary. But nooooooo.

Explanation time! It started with a minor problem. My school is a mix of a bunch of different towns in the district, so the number of kids there is high enough to force apart into three separate lines at lunch so no one gets trampled on for the sake of tater-tots. As per usual I spent the period before lunch going crazy getting my art project in on time while also having it look decent (an unfortunately rare feat for me) so I was running a few minutes late.

To raise the stakes, it was Chicken Sandwich and French Fry Day. Now, to you, Random Reader, that may sound like a title even the White Castle by the nearest gas station would find cheap, but my school has this "progressive" health policy. What makes it worse is that thanks to some very big culinary classes the students (consisting mostly of the mouth-breathers from my chem class) made most of the food. So our pizza's were always square, the hamburgers were an undefinable color, and the best things in the vending machines were Goldfish and baked chips. This was our ritual. It rarely ever came, no one ever knew when it would, and when it did, we pounced.

By the time I entered through the doors of the cafe there were no longer any lines so much as giant clumps of people. Of course, out of the three of them I ended up choosing to get on the one that ran out of chicken sandwiches first. When I got to the front I begrudgingly decided to live with what I could get, accept the luchlady REFUSED to give me any fries without a chicken sandwich.

Okay, explain to me what law I’m breaking here if I eat fries with, say pizza or something? Or, God forbid, fries with NOTHING. Forget the Hamburgler, we've got a bigger case on our hands!

So I angrily dragged myself to another line. After THAT long reminder of our planet's large population, this lunchlady gives me the fries a chicken sandwich, but with one of the buns missing. I try to tell her of my minor predicament, but, and no offense to her, on the off chance she might be browsing on an obscure writing website populated mostly by teenagers, she was old and had no idea what I was saying.

"You don't want your chicken sandwich?" she asks.

"NO! You don't know what I've been through just to get this far!"

I ended up having to hand her the whole tray just to get her to figure out the problem. Then she slaps a bun on the tray and leaves me to figure out the rest.

So I go to my table, eat the sandwich, the bell rings, I shove the fries in my backpack, and bolt.




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