Monday Bananas

Misadventures remembered from High School

The other day was a Monday. Of course this story begins on a Monday. This story is about a ridiculous event that would only make sense on a Monday. This particular Monday was in January. It was a brisk Monday in January, not outstandingly cold but not warm enough to sneak outside with only a sweater. I was at school because it was Monday, and because it was Monday I was tired and unhappy. I was even unhappier on this Monday because I was in Math class.

               My mood had lifted slightly because it was time for lunch. I wandered into the cafeteria. I had no particular agenda for my diet, but I thought Nachos would be an acceptable choice. With no idea what was in store for me, I attached myself to the tail of the appropriate line. My mind drifted, entertaining the amusing notion of using my senior privileges and cutting in front of someone. The nachos were not quite tempting enough to convince me it was worth the argument which would doubtless ensue.

               I cast my gaze shrewdly over the tray rack, searching for the rare orange one. Disappointed yet again, I was forced to take a uniform green tray. I ordered my nachos, anxiety pounding through my veins as the lunch lady stared down at me from her pithy four feet tall.           How does someone so much shorter than I manage to look down at me? I moved along, shaking my head wondrously. Mere feet from the register, sheer inches from the end of my journey I made my mistake.

               I saw a banana.

               Bananas are healthy. Bananas are a miracle fruit which contain potassium, amino acids, and Vitamin C. I had received an E-mail about bananas and their many healthful qualities the past weekend. I took the banana.

               I paid for my food and marched away in relief. Buying lunch at school can be so stressful when Doris is on the clock. Fifteen minutes of chatter and chewing passed. I grew bored with the chips, cheese, tomatoes, and sketchy cafeteria meat. A feeling of suspense, of excitement grew within me.

               It was time to eat the banana.

               I felt good just picking it up. I felt like my body would want to send me a Thank You card, would remember this next time I needed to walk up a big hill or lift something heavy.

               You owe me, I thought, gazing in rapture at the yellow fruit…Wait, what’s that?

                My heart stuttered, and then picked up double-time. There was a gaping gash in my banana, a stab wound by the look of it. Angry, betrayed and disappointed, I spun on my stool and marched straight back to that diminutive yet intimidating lunch lady.

               “Excuse me, my banana has a hole in it,” I said meekly as her eyes bore into mine with invisible laser beams. All my righteous anger quailed beneath her fearsome gaze.  “Can I maybe get another one?” I hated being reduced to begging, but I had promised myself a healthful banana experience and I was determined to have it. After several uncomfortable moments of silence, the lunch lady suspended her unnerving scrutiny to nod once.

               “Thanks!” I scrambled for the fruit box, eager to escape her maddening glares. My relief faded. Staring back at me from the plastic basket were three apples, two oranges, and absolutely no bananas. I turned in a daze to the lunch lady. Doris had by this time moved her imperious stare to some unfortunate person far more significant than I. She shifted the spotlight of her gaze back on me.

               “Th-there's no bananas,” I stammered, articulation as well as courage failing. “C-Can I go to the other line?” Again, the imperious nod in response.

               I sprinted in hopeful desperation to the other line. I exploded into the cramped den like a leopard amidst a herd of gazelle. My presence felt unwelcome, foreign and inconvenient. I shrugged away the heavy weight of the lunch ladies’ displeasure. This was their territory, unlike the nachos line out in the dining section of the cafeteria.

               I approached the two plastic boxes. I peeked inside and rocked back, head reeling. No bananas. What kind of place is this? My mind was in an uproar. I leaned forward again, hoping against hope. Somehow, I thought. Somehow, I just didn't see the bananas.

               I was forced to accept the truth. There were simply no yellow fruits in the basket. I reached an unwilling hand into the box. Nose wrinkled in disgust I lifted out a small, malformed apple. This apple, I thought, is too small. I barely paused to explain my unusual situation to the resident register woman. She leered but accepted my excuses. I returned unscathed into the bright light of the cafeteria once again.

               I contemplated my dwarf of an apple, tightened my grip, squeezed my eyes shut, and bit into it.

               From the first moment, the bite was not pleasant. The apple was not chilled, but room temperature. Somehow my teeth could not quite gain purchase over the rubbery skin. The bite was abnormally shaped. I chewed speculatively, swallowed unsatisfied. There was no flavor or substance to this fruit. I thought wistfully of the banana that was almost mine.

               I wondered dreamily if it would have been possible to cut out the unacceptable bits. The thought of explaining my plight to Doris the crone; of asking for the safe return of what I had so briefly called My Banana was too daunting.

               I set my jaw with determination. I gave the apple a glare to put it in its place, tell it that I was going to enjoy it and it had better get used to the idea. I took another bite and shuddered.  It was just as terrible as the first, lacking only the bitterness of disappointment.

               Choosing that moment to intervene, some divine power directed my attention to the left.  I saw with gloomy resignation that I was passing the trash cans. I gave in with a sigh. Carrying my apple with the solemnity of an executioner that just wasted money, I bowed my head and approached the refuge of refuse. The relief I felt at the idea that I would not now have to actually eat the apple equaled my disappointment at the realization that I had just thrown away food I had paid for.

               I returned to my seat, the sense of irony bearing down on me cold as the shadow of a noose. Morose and reflective, I contemplated the events that had just befallen me. I could see no purpose or definite reason for what I had just experienced. It wasn't until later, on a Tuesday in January, that I had recovered enough to understand.  

               This experience was only one of the regular trials that Life takes us all through. This was a test, an examination of my character. I took this unusual, whimsical, seemingly irrelevant experience, and attempted to squeeze some sort of pearl of wisdom out of it, some usefulness. Whether or not I was successful depends on the reader, for this story is the “fruit” of my labor.

Author's Note

Not everything I write is about food, I promise!