So a few weeks ago, I wrote a little thing for the school newspaper about the low-quality of the food here, and how swiss cheese should not be on quesadillas. People liked it.
Today I go down to the cafeteria, and one of the foods available for consumption was three-cheese lasagna.
Me: What are the cheeses included?
woman (1): mozzarella, you know, a basic lasagna cheese.
Me: But it says there's three. (I point)
woman(1): Oh, I'll go check.
woman (2): Have you been helped?
me: Yeah, I just asked what are the cheeses in the lasagna, she's finding out.
woman (2): are you the guy who doesn't like swiss cheese?
woman (2) you're our worst enemy.
me: I'm a dick.
woman (2) [to another employee]: he's the one that wrote that article. [to me]: why do you still eat here?
Me: I've got this meal card, you know?
woman (2): yeah, i understand. I want to fill up your car with swiss cheese, your sleeping bag. just, melted
Me: I don't mind being smothered with swiss cheese while I sleep, I'm just not big on eating it.
woman (2): I asked my grandmother if she puts swiss cheese on her quesadillas, she lives in .New Mexico, she said yes.
Me: well, your grandmother is lame. (I almost called her retarded, but decided that lame was much less offensive, and I kind of trailed off as I said it anyway)
woman (2): she told me to do this (gives me the finger with her gloved hand)
I should point out that this exchange was largely jovial in nature. I should also point out that woman (1) returned and told me the cheeses, listing three but saying there was one she forgot. One that she named was cottage cheese, which seemed kind of odd but whatever. I bought the lasagna and some ice tea. The lasagna tasted terrible, as the noodles were undercooked and hard to chew. I feel like there's a dead animal in my mouth, and not like chicken or some kind of tasty dead animal; it's like my mouth is where a raccoon goes to die after receiving some kind of wound.
That's a pretty accurate depiction of what happened, but some of the sequencing might be off. The thing about her wanting my life filled with swiss cheese is very much what happened, as is her giving me the finger, and my feeling this mixture of sheepishness of everyone realizing who I was and pride at finally having made myself an enemy.
I feel like I should give a shout-out to my friend Thor, who said that this blog was one of his five favorites on Internet Explorer. When I said that it was whiny, he said that it wasn't whiny, but was wry.
So thanks Thor. You might not be the god of thunder that is your namesake, but you are truly a king of awesome.