I had gone with the blazer

I had gone with the blazer.

It isn’t a nice coat, its the kind of thing I might wear to a college party to dress like the 1950’s. It made me feel old and stepping into the cafeteria full of screaming 4th graders finishing lunch, I was glad I had it on.

I was on official business, visiting Kizarian School in Providence to meet with the Principle on behalf of a tutoring company that apparently operates with money from the Federal Government. I had gotten the job only a few days before, but for some reason it was decided that I should go and answer questions about the program. I didn’t even wear the coat to the interview.

I was down in the cafeteria because the lady at the front desk, who, judging by her appearance, would be more than happy to consume a student with knife and fork, told me that “Mrs. Blumfield is filling for lunch.” I surmised that Mrs. Blumfield is the Principle and that she was supervising the cafeteria, not being eaten.

I always hated cafeterias, especially in elementary school. I think they permeate the floor tiles with the smell of peanut butter sandwiches; it doesn’t go away, even when a hundred kids are not echoing off the walls. I thought about my younger self in a cafeteria, a shy kid who looked half his age, was rattled by the noise and despised peanut butter.

At this one Mrs. Blumfield was standing at the front with a microphone which she held right up against her mouth to tell “you over there in the brown coat, sit down!” After pausing a few seconds to realize she wasn’t talking to me, I walked up to her, and reaching to slide my hand out of the blazer sleeve, said “Hello Mrs. Blumfield, I am Mr. Knowles.”