high school lunch on the table

While my mother has an extraordinary skill for articulating all-about-tables for dinner parties, navigation of lunch tables is my particular ability . . . and my anxiety too.

My high school lunch experience was acutely atypical. To start, we called it "The Dining Room" not the cafeteria. For the three and a half years that I attended my institution of secondary education, I had assigned seating every day. We were arranged around round tables set with real plates, cups, and silverware (well, the fork at least), and a white linen tablecloth. One member of the table was the assigned "server" who had to go get a tray of food from the kitchen to be consumed family style. I, of course, was practically always server, a sick joke by my Dean of Students who knew I was characteristically clumsy.

As much as being assigned a seat in high school was a pain (I thought I was done with that nonsense after the 6th grade), it really did prepare me for life in a lot of ways. The administration put a lot of thought into it. Mixing up class years, every table had either a senior or a teacher to get inter-generational dialogues going. My favorite assignment rotation was when the tables were broken up based on first name. At my table there were 4 Lindsays, 1 Leslie, 1 Lisa, and a Louise. While interactions could often be confusing ("Lindsay! No, the other Lindsay . . . No, the other Lindsay . . ."), it was a remarkable ice breaker.

At lunch time, no homework was allowed and social interaction was required. Skipping was a punishable offense. Even though at times I really needed to study (or sleep), in hindsight, it was a nice break from the "daily grind." (On this point my father would disagree--He called my school "The Country Club.") Even if you didn't feel like talking, which would have been awkward, students were forced to engage with their peers. Specifically, one had to participate in the debate over "nose goes" or "you kill it, you fill it," a ritual in which you decide who is responsible for refilling the food. At the end of the meal, you had to work collectively to clear everything and reset the table, cloth and all. It was often a misguided race. Try that at your next dinner party!

Where does the anxiety part come in? Well, the day of assignment rotation, we always held our breaths to make sure "that weird kid" or "that mean teacher" were not at our table (place-card switching doesn't work in this case, mother). But in the end, no matter who I ended up eating with, I always learned something new about someone new, finding common ground on a surprising number of subjects and issues. So embrace the unknown. It might taste good.