My Lunches

I hate school lunches. I usually spend them either with people I don't like, know or want to know. Or I just eat alone. It's not that I don't have friends; I just always have the opposite lunch as the people I like.

So on Friday, I was sitting in one of the worst places imaginable; with former friends who I don't get along with anymore. You can see how this is a problem? Anyway, these old friends are the kind who stay behind with the freshmen when it's time to grow up. They're the kind who throw spitwads and spraypaint cars weeks before graduation.

When I sit with my old friends on Fridays, they laugh and play and half-include me in their games. I was in a good mood during this particular lunch, so I chose to lean forward in my seat and take part. The guy next to me, Andy, was creating air bubbles in straws and making people flick and pop them. Everyone would laugh. I watched and laughed with them for a while, and my feet were becoming uncomfortable, so I sat back in my chair and pushed away from the table a few inches.

Everything looked different from those few inches away. The girl next to Andy, my former best friend, was putting fries in her neighbor's ear. The girls across the table were throwing food at Andy now, and the guy next to them was cutting up his lunch plate with a plastic knife. I had to look away. It was one of those moments I raved about earlier, when everyone around me seem to be raving lunatics, immature fools parading around here because they have no where else to go and this is where their friends are anyway. And there I was, away from it all, hoping they wouldn't notice that I was gone from them again, looking down on them, because I didn't want to make them angry and start another argument; another reason to feel awkward when I sat with them on Fridays.

But the anger and annoyance and anguish of it all started to feel stronger. It burned in my stomach as I watched my former best friend glare at a girl walking by. I wanted to stand up and leave, but I knew that the action would cause questions, and questions would lead to conclusions and they would be talking about me, my arrogance and my rudeness, for the entire rest of the day.

So I took a deep breath and scooted forward. I leaned back into the table and flicked at Andy's straw, popping it and causing the table to break out in giggles.

Does that make me a hypocrite? Do five minutes of indulgance, in order to escape from the annoyance and anger threatening to make me explode, mean I should be labeled the same as them. I don't know.