Oh, man, I love that. It was a frequently-used phrase Letterman used in the late 90s-- especially on his Top Ten lists from around that time. I think one of the places it was used was on a list about Top Ten Things Not to Say in a Crowded Elevator. He used it again somewhere else. I don't mind if he re-used it. It's funny.
Regarding the subject of baloney/bologna: I don't eat it. I no longer eat any pork products. Sure, you could argue that baloney/bologna isn't really pork, it's...baloney/bologna (hereon referred to as B/B)... but still. I think it's mostly pork. So I won't eat it. I don't dig on swine, is all.
When I was a little kid and I was doin' it up A.M. session kindergarten style, I would come home from school and my Momma would make me a baloney/bologna sandwich. Same thing everyday: white Wonder bread, crusts cut off, with a slice or two of B/B inside. The best part was that my Mom would make a smiley face with the mustard on the B/B. I'd always peek under the bread to see the yellow smushed smiley face.
I kept eating B/B for a few more years, bringing it to school as part of a balanced lunchbox lunch. I think there was a warm sandwich one day, though, and the B/B that day took on a new flavor. Kind of extra salty and warm. I have this memory of staring very closely at a slice of B/B I'd taken off my sandwich and swearing that the meat was sweating. It looked like pink, sweating skin in the heat. Could lunchmeats sweat? I wondered. It was probably just moisture or humidity, but to me it was SWEAT. I could no longer partake in sweaty lunchmeats.
I guess I switched over to tuna sandwiches, with the occassional turkey or ham sandwich, for the rest of my school career. My Mom was always great about making me good lunches, and wouldn't force me to eat things that grossed me out. Thanks, Mom. However, Mom is not off the hook yet, because all this talk about lunches reminds me of The Lunchtime Spy.
My Mom was on the PTA and worked for the school district. She KNEW people. She had her people on the inside. All I know is this: if I decided to not finish my sandwich because I really only felt like eating my pretzels and cookies that day, and I threw the sandwich in the garbage... when I got home that day my Mom would know about it! She'd say, "Oh, so you threw out that nice turkey sandwich I made for you today. I don't appreciate you throwing away perfectly good food like that!"
I was confused. I mean, how the hell did she know what I was throwing out? This continued for awhile. I'd come home from school and she would let me know that she knew I threw away my milk so I could share a Ssips with Melissa Perkins. The details were eerie. She knew shit normal people would overlook. If I ate half a sandwich, she'd know that. She'd know if I only ate the meat out from between the bread and threw away the bread. It blew my elementary mind.
At last, the seedy truth came out: one of my classmates was the spy! Yup. This girl named LAURA was watching me, along with Laura's mother, who was the lunch aide for our class. I had the two of them hot on my consumption trail, apparently. Laura's mom would report back to my mom on a regular basis.
I find it odd. Why so much effort to watch me eat? Mom, how did you pay them off? I am assuming there was some sort of retribution going on between you and the spies. Otherwise, why else would a girl and her mother want to do that? Why is paying close attention to what I did and didn't eat such a seductive call for those people? To this day, I think this was so weird. I wonder where Laura (and her nefarious Mom) are today. Chances are they are watching SOMEONE eat, somewhere. I picture them going back and reporting their findings to some old Patty PlayPal dolls in the attic. I bet they also talk to game show hosts through the TV and wear those shirts with the cats wearing cowboy boots and hats.
These are the things I think about when I think about lunch meats.
11 comments:
You can fool some of the people some of the time, but YOU CAN'T FOOL DA MOM!!!
Mom...! I maintain that yes, a day will come where I will, INDEED, fool you! Watch your back, woman.
(So yeah, what DID you pay Laura and her Mom to spy on me? Did they do it for shiny new nickels? Sugarcubes? Moonpies?)
I'd watch you eat lunch for a serving of moon pies.
I can't resist me the moon pies.
Lots 'n lots of Mint Girl Scout cookies and loyalty to the PTA!
Wasn't there something called a Scooter Pie? Is that like a moon pie?
I'd only do things for a chocolate moon pie. Personally I find the banana flavored moon pies gross.
Loyalty to the PTA?! Pshaw! The only thing them ladies was loyal to was THEYSELVES, and getting some cookies from the woman with the fussy eater! They took you for a ride, Mom. I say we go back to Jersey and check in on those two, if you know what I mean.
Ah, perhaps this gives some insight as to why you don't like being called "Laura" (other than the obvious fact that it isn't your name).
And it's funny, but when I was a young kid on the mean streets of Mays Landing (just for the summer, folks) as a teen, all I could think of whenever my cousin pulled slices of bologna from the toaster oven was, "Wow, that looks like a lunchmeaty diaphragm." Yowza.
I heard about you toughs in Mays Landing. You'd blow in for the summer, sauntering through the streets with that Don't Mess With Me way about you, tearing up slices of toasted baloney with your teeth and spitting them out at old people. I also bet you knocked over garbage cans and spray painted crude pictures of birth control methods on the walls of local businesses!
Delinquents! The whole lot of ya.
i love me some fried b/b...yummm
OH! and don't forget the fried spam.
Yeah. That Hamilton Township/Egg Harbor Township rivalry was crazy. I lost some homies. I don't want to talk about it.
Still, it was worse the rest of the year, living the rough life in Passaic Park. If you think spitting bits of bologna was harsh, you should have seen us in the Double P, roughing up the little kids and stealing their Sno Cones at the baseball field.
Never mind that the "murals" we painted on the racquetball court walls of assorted prophylactics were fuckin' works of ART!
Ew, sweating lunchmeat. That reminds me of the day I broke up with milk. I'd never been a fan, but one day at lunch some kid pulled out a thermos of milk and there were MAGGOTS crawling around the top. I'll say that again, for those of you in the back: MAGGOTS! What. The. Hell.
Also, my mom didn't know what I did at lunch, but our house was right down the street from my school and she always knew if I didn't wear my hat at recess.
Oh, crap! Maggots in the milk?! FUCK.
Honestly, you got me. I totally feel sick thinking about that one. Good job! No, seriously.
I wonder if I'll spy on my kids if and when I ever get any. Knowing me I will have retarded kids who always wear their hats and always eat everything I give them. Boring potential bastards!
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