I work from home on Wednesdays, which is phenomenal in many several ways, not the least of which that I get to work in my pajamas. Shit, I could work in the nude if I wanted to (I don’t) and nobody would be the wiser.
Besides the whole nude/pajama thing, it also affords me the option of making myself a breakfast that doesn’t consist of wheat toast, peanut butter, and honey. Which, ahem, if you must know, has been my work-breakfast just about every single frickcockin’ day Monday through Friday for approximately the last 18 million months. Is tragical, I tell you, that my office kitchen does not have a stove, or frying pans, because in the same time it takes me to toast the bread and spread the peanut butter and honey, I can also create this:
I shit you not—no time at all. Looks a little fancy, doesn’t it? It’s just scrambled eggs with a little chive mixed in, served on a mini bagel. And it was delicious. Thanks, Telecommuting Wednesday, for allowing me to cook breakfast at home.
Breakfast isn’t necessarily a new concept for me, but it is definitely one that’s become infinitely more important since joining the workforce so many moons ago. If I don’t eat breakfast I’ll usually start gnawing on my knuckles by 10 am, and licking my keyboard for stray crumbs from yesterday’s lunch by about 11:30.
Not so much.
If I remember correctly, in grade school/high school it was usually a Nutri-Grain bar and a Diet Coke/Pepsi (whatever was on sale that week at The Jewel) (for high school…juice boxes, probably, in grade school? When did my pop addiction start?)
In college I gave up the ghost completely. Breakfast fell by the wayside in favor of sleeping, to be frank. In the four years I spent at SMC, I think I can count on one hand the number of times I went to the dining hall before the 11 o’clock hour. And those days it was before 11 am were probably Sunday mornings, at 10:45, and I had probably woken up mildly hungover, and probably stomped down the hall or down a floor to AnneNoraStephanieBethAly’s room demanding we go to the dining hall now because I was going to hit someone if I didn’t get an omelet from the make your own omelet station. And some motherfucking bacon. And a Diet Pepsi. And maybe some Cocoa Puffs. Possibly a grilled cheese. And for Christ’s sake, who smoked all my cigarettes last night?
My junior year roommate, the wondrous Sarah, was the complete opposite of me. Breakfast was her mainstay, because lunch? Lunch was fickle. She was a nursing major and up at ungodly hours to get to the hospital, and I’d often hear stories about how she and half my friends, who were education majors and also had to get up early to student teach, had some adventure in the dining hall that morning.
True story: Sarah used to get up, seriously, at like 6 am, because of these godforsaken clinicals*. She would shower and watch the morning news and blow dry her hair in our dorm room and I swear to you I never once fucking woke up. Totally Awesome Sleeper when I was in college.
The dining hall building as we knew it has since been knocked down—it happened a couple years after we graduated—and in its place is more of a student center, with the book store, and a snack shop, and of course, the foodstuffs Sodexho serves up daily, cafeteria-style. But even before it looked like what a typical student center should look like, as it does now, the old DH was our student center, if only informally. Big, round tables, in a big, wonky building that looked like a space ship from the outside. We’d trickle in two or three at a time, though sometimes if we could get it together enough, 15 of us would tromp in and line up patiently for Evelyn to scan our IDs before making a bee-line for toasted ravioli and the sizzlin’ salad bar.
God I f-ing loved Friday night dinners at the DH. Appetizer bar and Sizzlin’ Salad bar? Be still my heart. And get me another refill of Diet Pepsi. And quick! Because I have a beer to catch at Club 23.
And we’d spend hours there, particularly at dinner, when there were no classes to dash off to, no homework to get started on (not that there was never homework, we just never wanted to do it), but plenty of stories to catch up on from the day, plenty of raucousness to start, and plenty of fro-yo and rice krispie treats to keep us full.
It was, now that I think about it, my first taste of Family Dinners of the non-blood family kind.
And I miss them.
I’d go back and do each and every dinner over again if I could.
And if I could do it all over again, I might even get up in time for breakfast.
Happy 9th Graduation Anniversary to all my Belles, Class of 2001!
*Not godforsaken that they were awful, of course, except for the early hour, they were quite useful, I’m sure, and Sarah has gone on to become a very successful nurse and in fact I think she’s actually teaching nursing now. Huh. Note to self: Catch up with Sarah. Ask her about this weird spot on my lip.