Today, when the clock struck noon, I felt the rumble in my stomach indicating that a morning's worth of life saving has taken its toll. I prompty dropped what I was doing and went to down to the cafeteria to stuff my body with the necessary nutrients to saves even more lives, perhaps a child or two. I chose the chicken sandwich just yesterday so that option was out, instead I opted for the meatloaf. Everybody knows that any kind of loaf, whether that be bread or meat, comes out of the oven with a slightly tapered shape that's narrower at the ends. When I arrived at the head of the line, they were already at the middle of one of the loaves. Thinking I've lucked out with a huge piece, I asked for 1 serving. The lunch lady silently sized me up and down, took a look at the half loaf in front of her then proceed to swiftly cut a tiny slice from the uncut end. What. The. Fuck. At this point a flurry of emotions washed over me. But as I stared into the post-menopausal, estrogen-deficient, eyes of the ambiguous Asian country lunch lady, I knew this fight was not worth picking. Taking in a big sigh, I grabbed my plate and walked away in tiny-meatloaf-shame.
You win this one ambiguous Asian country lunchlady, you win this one.