Dear E.,
Yesterday at the office we all got flyers from the university inviting staff to eat lunch in any student cafeteria for $2.00. After twenty-odd years of the same sack lunch—a cold toasted cheese sandwich, sliced peaches in heavy syrup, and three vanilla wafers—I decided more variety couldn’t hurt.
At noon today I walked over to Heimlich Hall, went into the lobby, and got in line. Up ahead, seated inside the doorway to the cafeteria, a white-haired woman in a white uniform was checking ID cards. When I reached the front she asked for my ID. I told her that I had come for the $2.00 lunch, but that I didn’t know I needed my ID and that I had left it at the office.
“No ID, no lunch!” she announced. I tried to reason with her, saying that I had worked for the university’s correspondence course program for over twenty years. She stood up and started opening her cashbox. I suspected that she might have a police baton in there. Just then I spotted Helpwith Hotline, the manager of Heimlich Hall, and I asked him to intervene.
“Samella,” he said, “Lyle has worked at the university since before moveable type. Let him in!” Victorious, I gave Samella a $20 bill. Unbowed, she gave me 9 rolls of nickels for change.
Once inside, I didn’t know where to go. One serving line was called “Grease Garage” and featured fast food. Another, with rich casseroles and decadent desserts, was called “Chez Monyou.” Still another, called “Watercress Express,” featured tiny sandwiches and broth. Finally, I saw more familiar fare at the line called “Bland Ambition,” and excitedly chose a cold toasted cheese sandwich, sliced peaches in heavy syrup, and three vanilla wafers.
When I finished eating, I didn’t know what to do with my tray and dishes. I saw students carrying their trays out into a corridor, so I nonchalantly got in line. At the front, students were practically throwing their trays onto a conveyor belt before running for the exit. I stayed to watch my tray go through the hanging rubber strips. As soon as it did the conveyor belt stopped. So did my heart for a few seconds when I heard an ear-splitting battle cry.
All of a sudden, a woman who could have been Samella’s sister came crashing through the rubber strips on her hands and knees. She had a police baton! As soon as she saw me, she started shouting.
“I should have known. STAFF! YOU DIDN’T REMOVE YOUR PAPER TRASH FROM THE TRAY! SEE THE SIGN?”
All I could think to do was to drop to my knees in a posture closely resembling supplication and beg for her forgiveness, stopping only long enough to tell her how striking she looked in a hairnet.
“You think so?” she asked, immediately changing her tone.
“You are a vision to behold,” I said. “Besides, you convey yourself well.”
You have never seen such a transformation. Without another word she knelt upright on the conveyor, touched a button on the wall, and disappeared backwards through the strips. The expression on her face was positively beatific.
The students must be afraid to leave a piece of lint when they clear their trays.
I’m planning on eating at the cafeteria once a week for a while. I need the variety; I can give Samella a roll of nickels the next nine visits; and I want to test the dish lady by leaving a note to her on a napkin when I drop off my tray.
More later,
– Lyle
Copyright © 2025 John Arthur Robinson
JOHN ARTHUR ROBINSON 