I remember the business lunches at the high school cafeteria.
We were little workers clocking in at 7:30 and out promptly at 3. Sophisticates we thought, worldly wise and jaded, gathering at the lunch room. There was sloe Mr. Ed, Erik, John D. and me. Rags and Sued joined us too most days when they weren’t in some kind of trouble.
Like Flintstone characters we’d gather at our table next to the north window, our rep ties pulled rakishly aside, imagining ourselves a bunch of Earl Flynns only here for the money only there wasn’t any.
We’d sit down to brown-bag and cafeteria lunches and smash each other’s food if someone let down their guard. Had anything been as satisfying to that point as smashing John D's cupcakes?
To set food flying required, of course, the sacrifice of the food. But a worthy one. Oft I’d ponder the merits of eating a Ding-Dong or throwing it, and as often as not it would be wing’d freely in the spritz’d high schoolian air! Aloft it went ! - towards places unknown, for as soon as it left my hand I’d be engrossed in a speck on the cafe table top. My comrades would relay its splendiferous effects on the target I’d chosen.
We were all rioters then with the same spirit of bourgeois decadence that inflames the cool crowd now. With deadlier consequence now but no less asinine.
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