BRRRING
[No matter what is actually being served for lunch that day, the vaguely unsettling scent of boiled cabbage and very old rubber - testament to years, decades of uninspired lunches - greets entrants into the Custodes Senior High School cafeteria. It's in the windowless basement, and the fallout-shelter signs don't contribute to any reassuring, warm, fuzzy feelings. The cinder-block walls are painted in white and we-got-this-at-a-discount sea-foam green and the rows of end-to-end fake-wood-topped folding tables are edged in haphazard rows of ancient folding chairs. The fluorescent lights are each a slightly different color, the light from each one is a slightly different quality, and a penetrating hum goes unnoticed at first but contributes to turning the brain to cottage cheese after about fifteen minutes in the soulless room. There is a white board on the wall beside the door.]
TODAYS LUNCH
ENTREE: Pasta with meat sauce
SANDWICH: Sloppy Joe
PIZZA
SALAD BAR
[The long room is open on one side, windows framing steaming trays of food and scowling lunch ladies. It doesn't matter who you are: student or faculty, class clown or up-and-coming valedictorian. They do not like you. Get your food and sit down.]
TODAYS LUNCH
ENTREE: Pasta with meat sauce
SANDWICH: Sloppy Joe
PIZZA
SALAD BAR
[The long room is open on one side, windows framing steaming trays of food and scowling lunch ladies. It doesn't matter who you are: student or faculty, class clown or up-and-coming valedictorian. They do not like you. Get your food and sit down.]