Microwave Maven

My junior year of high school I practically used the teacher's lounge at lunch time. Well, sort of. I always brought a cold sack lunch because I refused to be inflated anymore than I already was due to the consumption of school cafeteria food.

I have a sad and embarrassing confession. I am human, and I will share my sad story with you now. I was the fattest I ever have been junior year of high school. My freshman year alone I gained 14 pounds. Ahhh! I blame it on all the chocolate milk I was drinking. I ate cafeteria food every day my ninth grade year. After that I started packing the brown bag. The most bloated point was junior year. Anyway, so point is, I brought my lunch.

I didn't think it was very fair that I couldn't bring something cold and then warm it up at school. Why couldn't they provide microwaves in the cafeteria? Really? Were they afraid sophomores were going to put tin foil or cats in it or something? (side note: some sophomores totally did something with a dead formaldehyde reeking cat from advanced biology. They put it in the grill of Bryan Roessler's car. So gross.) I was completely in rage over the unfairness of it all.

At my high school, the office was on the second floor and the teacher's lounge was on the first floor. I noticed that there was this tiny room off of the office that had: a coffee pot, a microwave, and the teacher's mailboxes. One day I decided to sweet talk the office ladies. I was a good kid, so they knew me and liked me (except for Mrs. Kacalek, who seemed to hate everybody). I asked the registrar if I could please microwave my burrito in the microwave? She said yes. The warmed burrito was glorious. It was like biting into a cheese and salsa filled broken rule. I skipped a day and then asked again, could I please use the microwave? She said sure, any time, no big deal. So after that I never asked again.

I would walk straight in with my lunch, zap it for 60 seconds, and then leave. I think I only saw teachers in the same room like twice. It wasn't even that awkward. I'd be cooking my rice, and Mr. Henderson would be filling his coffee pot. "Oh hey," I would say. And they'd say "nice to see you." All my friends wondered how I managed to have warm home-made lasagna. I let them in on my secret, and even offered to take their food in for them to heat it up.

Being the good kid paid off in one respect.