Wednesday, September 2, 2015

LUNCH SEATS AND POST MODERN INDENTURMENT


Hello everyone and welcome to another edition of Me Talking. Well, first semester has started back up for me, and a small part of me is relieved. On one hand, I enjoy learning or at least having the illusion that I am learning from those who teach. On the other hand, it’s time for the late nights, scrambling to get an assignment finished or the constant fear of going under the radar I have set for myself in terms of grades. I will be frank with all of you. I have not gotten off to a good start with my math class. I know, it’s crazy to imagine, but it’s true. Anyways, one of the more interesting parts of my day would have to be the lunch hour. I’m not intrigued for the reasons you think. It’s not necessarily the idea of me siting in a room filled with hundreds of loud, strange teens that have no control over what they eat, say or the methods to which they conduct said activities. It’s the people that give me an almost infinite amount of personalities. I see all types of character in the room, and although I find some of these personalities to be rather amusing, I think as I make my way throughout the hour, I become saddened by the way some of the people are treated. Let me make it clear, I am not talking about racism or discrimination, but more of like a modernized, condensed, juvenile form of indenturement that can’t be pointed out loud. As I’m writing this I see a few examples of this. You have a boy or girl, perhaps younger than the rest of the people at his or her table, perhaps the seats are all filled, or perhaps there is only one space open. I have seen that in order for said boy or girl to receive the “respect” needed in order to sit down (I put respect in quotes because people at that age don’t really understand the concept in the first place by not allowing said individual to sit down) the individual would need to do a series or a single act or favor that fills the needs of the people sitting at that table. For example, let’s say there is a boy by the name of Jose. Now, Jose is not what you would call a social lad, so in a desperate attempt to find a seat, more importantly a friend, he makes the decision of sitting at a table with people whom he may or may not have known in his earlier years of school. Now, ladies and gentlemen, you have to assume that our buddy Jose here isn’t what you would consider to be one of the elite or reachable in terms of “appeal”. The table he chooses to sit at notices this. They may remember Jose, hell they might even like him, but they still have this false idea in their heads that they are entitled to leadership and because of this they send Jose away to get them something. Now this something almost always (at least from what I’ve seen) has been an object of food. Something like a juice, a sandwich, a bag of chips. Now, Jose gets them this object they desire in exchange for a right to sit down. Now here’s where the stupidity comes in. Jose gets them what they want, but they still DENY him. Now they attempt to pin the denial on a third party such as a lunch advisor or time, but Jose can’t do anything about it, he is forced to reconcile with his party after lunch. The group at the lunch table still doesn’t allow him to sit with them, but they still received payment in the juice or sandwich. Now I witnessed something similar to this just a few days ago while sitting at the table. At first, I felt something close to bad for the boy because he was being taken advantage of without him even knowing (or perhaps he did know) I nearly gave him my seat because he was just standing there looking like a pathetic person, but when I saw him come back with his lunch and I saw him give a girl his sandwich, I burst into something resembling laughter and coughing. I thought, if anyone was that naive in exchanging services for a hope, that person shouldn’t have my seat. I know it may be harsh, but giving something up for an assumption is borderline ridiculous. It’s not bullying because it’s voluntary, and that is what I think is the most offensive. You can’t really find a reason to feel bad for the guy, and that’s what the reality of it is.

 

 

                                                             P.E.N.T.C.I.

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