The lunch line gauntlet

A satirical analysis of the lunch line

Staff Writer

The state of lunch at AHS is a never ending saga of suffering. To the students, at least. Complaints of mile long lines and barely edible food are exchanged between students over tables covered in ketchup smears and sticky chocolate milk stains.

The undisputed king of lunchtime grievances—the length of the lunch lines. Starting from the entrance of the multi-purpose room, this behemoth stretches halfway around the building. The students act like a swarm of ants, ready to swarm the cheeseburgers and claim a tasty prize to bring back to their nest of lunch tables. However, unlike ants, students somehow can’t seem to form a straight line without the guidance of an adult present. As Hang Gree (10) puts it, “Getting to the end of the line takes, like, fifteen minutes. But on a good day, I can weave my way through the people and cut it down to ten.” For anyone involved with clubs during lunch, the situation is even more dire. It’s either starvation or missing half a club meeting. Womp-womp.

Luckily, our experts here at the Eagle Era have discovered a groundbreaking solution that many students are already using. We’ve dubbed it “Friendtrak.” This revolutionary method allows students to jump to the front of the line simply by spotting an acquaintance up ahead. As confirmed by our highly trained ethics expert, Dr. Doctor, “Yes, it does instantly become morally acceptable to skip to the front of the line because you made eye contact with that person once during English.” This method has been so refined by some students that we have spotted them performing this solution with imaginary friends.

Moving on from the lines, the experience doesn’t improve much once you reach the end. Your reward for enduring the school’s DMV simulation is a singular condiment dispenser, yet another addition to the neverending line of doom. A far cry from the simple efficiency of a grab-and-go ketchup packet, the pump mechanism ensures that germs are spread to as many hands as possible before being placed on our food. Furthermore, the line is held up even further as students decide that they want ranch to suddenly be their beverage of choice.

As if condiment chaos wasn’t enough already, the latest addition to the lunch line–the self-serve salad bar–has introduced its very own set of challenges. While it’s nice that FUSD doesn’t seem to consider processed tomato sauce an adequate serving of vegetables anymore, the self-serving nature of the line means that students leave with watermelon stacked on their paper trays higher than the result of a Costco grocery run. By the time they get to the tables, their trays look more like abstract fruit sculptures than a side serving of fruit. If you don’t get there within five minutes of the lunch bell ringing, your selections become either half a mushy strawberry or five hundred carrot sticks.

So who’s to blame? Is it the school, who insists on funneling the students in a slow, single file line comparable to Black Friday at Walmart? Or is it the students, who insist on turning lunch into a Hunger Games scenario where only the fastest and well connected get to eat without waiting half the lunch period? Either way, one thing remains for certain: nobody leaves the line without a battle–and maybe a ketchup stain.