There’s something about an unlimited salad bar with tiny bowls that just hits me in a weird way. Like at Summerfields. Look at those little things. It just makes me think, in the terms of an extended metaphor, about coming back to school, my eyes wide with thoughts of endless possibilities. I got a miniature salad bowl o’ classes and activities, a pat on the butt, and encouragement to go out and grab whatever I want. Here I come, well roundedness/balanced diet!

And once I’ve got the tiny salad bowl, I can definitely grab some lettuce and probably some sliced tomatoes, and scoop up some fyi’s and an unlimited intro. But the stuff in the back is way harder to get at, especially if you’re tall. I’ve got my face squashed against the plexiglass sneeze guard like the left-winger just checked me into the boards or something. I can sort of get some pineapples, but it’s almost not worth trying. Somebody else will probably get them anyway. No wait, I can get some. Aw, nuts, what was I thinking, I haven’t even declared yet. They look really good though. But crap, this bowl is going to overflow if I try to put anything else in here. I could go get my big plate, I guess, but then I’d have to throw out my fries, which I don’t really want to eat anyway, to make decent room. And if I throw out my fries and the green peppers turn out to be all brown and stuff, then where will I be? That is absolutely right, up shit creek and sort of wishing I still had fries, or even fried classes that I clicked on in desperation last spring.

I must also be very cautious with the dressing container because if I tilt it too fast, my tiny salad will be crushed. I want to put at least a little on, (maybe some crew team vinaigrette or EON light), because if I don’t, this salad is going to be so bland I will totally hate eating it. The soup station is another exciting challenge, and all I know is that I have poured hot liquid on my hands and the floor more than once just for a slurp and two sips of some vegan gumbo.

But you know, I bet somebody who goes in there, squashes their face against the glass, gets a little ranch on their sleeve, and endures some minor burns will probably come out with a solid lunch and some sweet scars, or even a satisfying post-adolescent period. I think I’ll try that next time.