The Missing Fry Tongs Incident of 2019
I trudged through the dining hall, praying to any god out there that they’d be here today. My timing had been off for the past few days, and every time I’d reach that beautiful section of the dining hall they’d be gone.
Vanished, and left unreplaced.
“WHY MUST THE FRIES BE SO POPULAR?”
I’d had a craving for DAYS for those unnaturally delicious cafeteria fries, but today was going to be the day. I was going to sit by that fryer and wait for them to replace the fries no matter how long it took.
Making my way over to the grill section, I scoped out the area. Many a student were lined up in front of the grill, waiting for their burgers, I presumed. As I neared the grill, I realized once again that the fries were empty.
“No matter,” I said to myself, retrieving a burger and scuttling off to a small table, “Those fries will be mine soon enough.”
I sat at a small table for a few moments until the smell of grease wafted over to me and I realized it was time. The fries had been refilled.
Without any hesitation, I stood up from my table, my legs moving me onward to retrieve my long needed snack, but when I reached the fries, I noticed there were still about five students standing there, staring at the tray like each fry was one of their sins. I looked at the faces around me. They were all so filled with sorrow.
“Why are they waiting here?” I thought to myself, “the fries are full!”
It was at that moment, I realized.
I gasped in horror, realizing that I had joined this sorry crew of students desperately waiting to get their delicious potato sticks, but unable to do anything about it. No one wanted to bather the people working behind the counter. Oh no, that was something you would never do out of respect for them cooking for us. And no one wanted to be the nasty man who reached into the fries with his bare hands and served himself.
So we stood there. Waiting. Thinking that someone, somewhere, would bring us the tongs so we could finally sit down and enjoy our midday meals.
It was at that moment that the hero of this story arrived.
He wasn’t even waiting for fries, he only wanted grilled chicken. But he noticed our pain, and from his angle, he had information that the rest of us did not. He crept up to the fries and the rest of us looked around, wondering if he was going to be the one to break the status quo and seize his fries without help from any kitchen utensil.
Instead, he stuck two fingers into the pile, and from underneath the layers of golden potatoes, slowly pulled out the tongs.
My heart leapt with joy and any belief that I had had that I may not get my fries today disappeared. Those of us waiting for fries share the same joy, the same triumph, until we realized the same thing.
We had all imagined that those working behind the counter were at fault for this, that they didn’t realize what was going on and we didn’t want to prove our superior intelligence by making the problem known. But alas, it was us, the Fry Waiters, who had been fooled, for the tongs had been present the whole time.
We shared glances to establish the order we would sheepishly retrieve our fries, with the tallest white male establishing dominance and going first. And one by one we crept up to the lovely golden crisp spud sticks and serves ourselves.
When it came to my turn (I went third since the rest of the men I was waiting with decided that letting the lady go before them was more important than establishing dominance) I picked up the tongs and immediately YELPED!
“A H!” I shrieked in pain, dropping the silver utensil back into the sea of potatoes and gripping my hand to examine my wounds.
The polite man next to me approached me and with the utmost care he said “are the tongs hot now?”
And I turned to him, tears in my eyes, and said “yeah they’re too hot for me to hold for that long to pick up the fries”
And with that statement, I relinquished my place in line to get fries, and attempted to come to terms with the fact that I would have to wait even longer to serve myself, for my feminine hands could not handle the heat that came with the hot metal.
The polite man gripped the tongs and quickly served himself, throwing the tongs back into the fries and trying not to show the pain he was in. I still stood next to the batch, looking forlorn.
He noticed my sadness and quickly braced himself to pick up the tongs once more, grabbing a serving of fries and throwing them into my basket.
“Here ya go” he said, so bravely. My eyes widened in delight, knowing how much of a sacrifice it must have been to touch the metal once more. With tears in my eyes once more, this time of joy, I turned to him and said
He nodded curtly and turned on his merry way, making no sign of the pain he had just gone through to get me, a measly peasant girl, my fries.
I turned around and looked at the new food in my basket, barely containing my smile at the fact that I had triumphed. The days of waiting were over.
(Actually it was Wednesday but what a plot twist that would be)
I took a deep breath, inhaling the wonderful smell that I had missed over the past few days.
I headed over to the ketchup.
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