Cafeteria Justice
There are many folk out there that may recall being placed in the corner when acting up during grade school lunch hour by the ever-vigilant monitor (usually an older woman or a school custodian pulling double-duty between his daily rounds of sprinkling that Janitor Dust* on freshly spewed vomit from the seemingly endless kiddies with timid tummies; perhaps said puke-age a result of the cafeteria's culinary wizardry...but that may be a tale for another time) whether for talking too loud, flaunting your cuss word lexicon to the table's token eternally picked upon geek, a well-aimed bread roll projectile, or any other host of pre-teen shenanigans. Heck, the rabble rousers at my grade school would have LOVED to spend thirty minutes staring into a corner (and picking strips of caulk out to wile away the time...a universally embraced corner-standing past time if there ever was one...although these days it may be accompanied with some light rapping to work out the kinks in your lyrical flow skills...a cute lil' soundtrack to break up the monotony of ripping sealant out of the wall seams...who doesn't love these kid-ly troubadours?) compared to the punishment meted out by our monitor.
Misbehave during lunch at our grade school?
Then you were guaranteed a donning of the bologna vest.
A pinkish waistcoat (several of which were made weekly by the school's resident meat tailor/lunch lady of, quite obviously, very specialized skills) that the punishee would be expected to wear for the remainder of the lunch hour.
Oh, the shame...the smell...the cacophany of your peers' snortling giggles.
Not allowed to finish your own lunch, clad in meat product, your own body heat warming it and releasing it's fetid aromatic stink lines, alarming your olfactory senses whilst also taunting your stomach to remind you (in it's own gurgling calls for nourishment) that the S'Mores Pop Tart you had for breakfast wasn't going to be adequate to get you through the rest of the day.
Purgatory of a sort.
There was only one child that ever ended up in the bologna vest twice...and his infamy carried over well-past college and beyond (and even landed him a brief stint on the killing floor of the area's Hormel plant). The rest of us learned our lesson and never again acted up during the remaining years of our grade school education.
Bologna Vest as deterent.
Spread the word.
T
*copyright TIPTONE PRESENTS 2004
There are many folk out there that may recall being placed in the corner when acting up during grade school lunch hour by the ever-vigilant monitor (usually an older woman or a school custodian pulling double-duty between his daily rounds of sprinkling that Janitor Dust* on freshly spewed vomit from the seemingly endless kiddies with timid tummies; perhaps said puke-age a result of the cafeteria's culinary wizardry...but that may be a tale for another time) whether for talking too loud, flaunting your cuss word lexicon to the table's token eternally picked upon geek, a well-aimed bread roll projectile, or any other host of pre-teen shenanigans. Heck, the rabble rousers at my grade school would have LOVED to spend thirty minutes staring into a corner (and picking strips of caulk out to wile away the time...a universally embraced corner-standing past time if there ever was one...although these days it may be accompanied with some light rapping to work out the kinks in your lyrical flow skills...a cute lil' soundtrack to break up the monotony of ripping sealant out of the wall seams...who doesn't love these kid-ly troubadours?) compared to the punishment meted out by our monitor.
Misbehave during lunch at our grade school?
Then you were guaranteed a donning of the bologna vest.
A pinkish waistcoat (several of which were made weekly by the school's resident meat tailor/lunch lady of, quite obviously, very specialized skills) that the punishee would be expected to wear for the remainder of the lunch hour.
Oh, the shame...the smell...the cacophany of your peers' snortling giggles.
Not allowed to finish your own lunch, clad in meat product, your own body heat warming it and releasing it's fetid aromatic stink lines, alarming your olfactory senses whilst also taunting your stomach to remind you (in it's own gurgling calls for nourishment) that the S'Mores Pop Tart you had for breakfast wasn't going to be adequate to get you through the rest of the day.
Purgatory of a sort.
There was only one child that ever ended up in the bologna vest twice...and his infamy carried over well-past college and beyond (and even landed him a brief stint on the killing floor of the area's Hormel plant). The rest of us learned our lesson and never again acted up during the remaining years of our grade school education.
Bologna Vest as deterent.
Spread the word.
T
*copyright TIPTONE PRESENTS 2004
posted by Tony at 1:14 PM
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