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Friday, October 19, 2012

Lunch at the Field House - Indian Rock

How much really changes from school (elementary - jr.high or high school) to the work place?

Whether entry level or executive, report in at a set time, have meetings (classes), a scheduled lunch time and maybe if you are lucky, a break (recess).  I often count surfing the internet for a bit as my recess.  I work with people, ok maybe just one person, who finds it difficult to play with others in the sandbox for long periods of time.  Once in awhile this coworker acts out and throws their pail, yells at everyone on the playground then storms off.  Do you work with someone like that as well?

On a particularly tough day, it's nice to leave the building for about an hour with someone who understands you and shares common struggles and challenges.  A friend to talk about the strict teacher or aloof boss, the workload and how things are in the outside world.

We head to the Indian Rock plaza and the Field House.

Though we decide to eat inside, cafe style seating is available.

Shelves and racks of pizzas, some on cake stands, others rest on glass.  My friend decides on a fresh slice of Sicilian and

a small side salad.

I am immediately transported to elementary school lunches.  Pizza day was always the best day of the week, not only was the food tolerable, but it was Friday.  A meatless day of celebration that was based in religious observance but as children we only knew we didn't have to come to school the next day!

A soda adds to the splurge-like feeling of the meal.  The sweet treat, though known to be simply awful for me, adds a true sense of fun and lightness.  My nine or ten year old self would have been barely able to contain the feeling of joy at the chance to have soda and pizza!

I order two slices; one veggie with spinach, peppers, onions and mushrooms and the other plain with the ooey, gooey, stretchy mozzarella.  Pizza heaven. Fresh from the oven, one side of the brains screams, "That is exactly the right temperature to cause a horrific burn on the roof of the mouth if the molten cheese or sauce touch it.  Let it sit for a minute."  While the other side smiles, jumps and down and laughs, "Oh my God, pizza.  Eat it. Eat it NOW!"

I fold the slice in half, which is of course mandatory in New York, and I swear the crust is so thin I can see light through it.  I can't wait another second and the smallest drop of sauce falls onto my finger and burns it.  Red skin and all.  I pretend I don't see it or feel it and bring the slice to my mouth.  A hot drop of grease falls out the back and drips onto the paper plate with an audible "plop" sound.  If I were a dog the drool would now be a stream from my lips to the table.  Finally, I take that first cheesy bite and yes, it stings a little, but I am in lunch hour heaven.

We chat (a little about women in binders), we eat and are done with plenty of time before having to return to work.  Of course a walk through the nearby jewelery store finishes things off nicely.  My politically correct friend teaches me about Canadian diamonds and we head back to our desks.  I often remark about the real life experience that contributes to a feeling of being Fed Well and though the pizza itself was fabulous, on this day I am reminded of childhood and the little things that bring joy.

1 comment:

  1. That was a nice post. I like the comparison to school and the spinach pizza looked yum!.