Fish Friday

Friday. With good reason, a favorite day to some. Almost the end of the week, classes the next morning aren’t until nine and that’s not considering if you have your first couple of classes off. Yes, Friday is a fun day but everything seems to change once E block starts to come around. Most of us miss breakfast all for those precious extra minutes of sleep in the morning, so when lunch gets here; it’s going to be our first meal of the day. You’ve been working hard all morning, eager to finally sit down and talk with your friends all while enjoying a fulfilling meal and hopefully a sweet dessert later on (depending on whether they decided to fill the freezer with ice-cream sandwiches today). Point being, your hunger grows as you approach the dining hall, and with it your expectations. You’re walking down the boardwalk, care-free, you probably have a few classes left after this, you might even be done for the day, so you move to open the door to the Dining Hall and see a couple of people walking out. “What’s for lunch?” you ask innocently, drawing an image in your mind of what you might have today. They return a dark, empty look. “It’s Friday” they say, and with those words your heart sinks. Fish, you think. It’s Fish Friday. Again.

So you walk inside, finally, and look around at what people are eating. Plates are filled with pizza, salads, and sandwiches but only a few brave souls dig into a dry, tasteless fish and you can see in their faces that they regret not waiting in line for a couple of slices of cheesy salvation from fishy hell. It can’t be that bad this time, you think. There’s no way they don’t realize that no one ever eats fish. Maybe this time will be better. Your thought continues as you peek into the empty hot food line at a tilapia you wouldn’t dare taste. A voice interrupts your thoughts; “it’s good food guys. Come on, eat it.” And you suddenly realize that Harold has been standing there the entire time. There’s a certain pleading in his tone that sends me at least, on a guilt trip. So, in an effort you valiantly serve the smallest piece possible on your plate, proceed to your table, sit down, and move a piece of fish to your mouth. ‘Here we go again’ you think, but even then a small gleam of hope shines inside you hoping that this will be the last time you have to do this. You hope that they will finally realize that no one eats the fish. Maybe all they need is someone to tell them. I hope to do my part with this post. After all, there are other more appetizing dishes that start with the letter F.

Photo Credit: www.bluewedges.org