The Lunch Line

So today at lunch I found myself literally in the middle of the most embarrassing/awkward/lonely situation ever. I was sitting (by myself, as usual) at one of the 2 tables that are normally “DESRON tables”. As usual, lunch consisted of the usual “hot dog station” (or at least that’s what I call it since there is habitually a hot dog choice, a brat-looking choice, and a sausage/peppers/onions choice and buns, beans, chili, etc (that’s in the fast food section- dan you would love it J) and my favorite- crinkle cut French fries. There was also the normal food section- corn, canned asparagus (yum?), rice, mac & cheese, some sort of fried pork patty, some sort of turkey looking meat, mashed potatoes (powered, from a box, as usual), gravy and the usual “20-kind of chicken”. (like the Chinese buffets that we used to go to when I was a kid that we called “20-kinds of chicken”, so is the Nimitz Wardrooms. Every meal consistently has a chicken tender looking choice, friend chicken and chicken wings. So much chicken! (that’s not what we have every day but that’s the type of foods we have in the hot line)

None of this was any too appealing to me, except the brilliant idea from my Pennsylvania-Dutch upbringing- a plate of French fries and a bowl of once-powdered/boxed brown gravy- YUM :) (that was a serious yum, not a sarcastic one)

So I sit down at the table (by myself) with my French fries & gravy, thinking that nothing will comfort me like this combination of delicious-ness. Well, of course, as luck would have it, a few minutes later someone (and by someone, I mean a cool cat in a green flight suit) asks if they could take one of the chairs at my table (there are four chairs at every table, but rewind to middle school when you would try and take as many chairs as you could from tables that weren’t using them so that you could squeeze all of your friends at a table- heaven forbid you couldn’t fit you and your 10 BFF’s at one small round table meant for 4-5.) So of course I give a little laugh and tell him that he of course can take it, not like I need 3 empty chairs. So a few minutes later, someone else asks me if they could take another of my remaining 2 empty chairs. I sigh, and of course say ok, kinda hard to argue/hope that I just might have 2 friends come join me (I don’t even have 2 friends on the Carrier, must less 2 that might randomly happen to sit down next to me).

Then it hits me- it’s the fries & gravy. Everyone must be so weirded out by me eating French fries dipped in gravy that they don’t want to sit by me. Yes, that’s it. Molly’s weirdness once again gets in the way of making friends. It’s just like 6th grade all over again, except this time the “cool kids” aren’t wearing Nike tee-shirts but rather green flight suits.

So there I am, me, my plate of French fries and bowl of gravy and empty chair. Then, some kool kat F/A-18 pilot comes up and asks if he can take my one remaining, lone, empty chair. I sigh, and make some lame joke like “I dunno… there are so many people rushing over to sit with me…” He obviously didn’t get my lame SWO humor and kinda gave me one of those looks that the cool kids gave me in 6th grade (with the raised eyebrow and all). So I say, “haha, nevermind go ahead”.

So there I am, me, and my empty plate of French fries, an empty table and no other chairs. Obviously my weird choice of food is not going to repel any more friends (since I have no chair for them to sit at even if they wanted to). So I decide to indulge in a 2nd plate of French fries and gravy. I was careful though, to leave my jacket on the back of my chair, lest some aviator ray-ban toting green suit with a “I’ve flown 100 hours in my sweet F/A-18 patch and I make sure all the ladies know it” decides he would like to take my chair too. I mean, I still have a LITTLE dignity left, but if I came back from the lunch line with not only no friends but not ONE single chair at my table, it would all be gone.

I eat my 2nd plate of French fries in gravy, feeling rather dejected and lonely, and like every green suit’s eyes are glaring into the back of my neck, thinking 1) who really is that friend-less and 2) and more likely, when is that SWO girl going to get up so we can have her chair. I scarf down my now less-than-comforting food and leave. Sigh.

Alright well, hopefully that painted a decent picture of “How I Survive the Wardroom” on a tri-daily basis. Actually, bi-daily; by giving up breakfast I was able to recover some amount of dignity by only looking uncool twice a day. I am now back in the comforts of our warm office, a converted ammo storage space, as I listen to the kool kat F/A-18’s crash over my heads while my nose is buried in some sort of color coded training and readiness excel tracker, surrounded by my fellow SWOs. Ahh comfort :)