I'm not allowed to tell you this,

If I've agreed not to tell anyone something, does that indicate that I won't tell the specifics or I won't tell the story? I'm going to take, in this case, it to mean the specifics. So I won't tell you the specifics. (Do I ever? That seems like a good way to never get a job and maybe get sued).

I subbed today. Surprise, surprise. I woke up right when my alarm clock went off, feeling totally awake. I knew I had enough time to go back to sleep, and even though I was wide awake, I took advantage of the half hour. When I woke up, I didn't exactly have enough time to make lunch, so I threw these things in a bag: a container of cottage cheese, a raspberry yogurt, almond butter, jelly, a loaf of italian bread, and a muffin and a half. I don't have a ton of money. Ever. I got a statement about my taxable income from the past...8? years, and I don't quite understand why I don't qualify for food stamps. It's got to be well below the poverty level. Even I was surprised at how little I earned last year, subbing full time and all. So sometimes I'll splurge and get all the ingredients to make a very involved dinner, and sometimes I just eat a lot of beans or toast (but not beans on toast, though I hear that's a regular English snack [breakfast?]). When I arrive at the school I don't have time to put my lunch in the fridge, which is concerning because, as you'll recall, I packed dairy products. It was actually a few hours before I had a chance to do this. By this time, I had eaten the half a muffin. I went to the teachers lounge and put the cottage cheese, the yogurt, the jam and the almond butter in the fridge. I put the whole muffin in my bag, and left the loaf of bread (in its bag in a shopping bag) on the counter. Before I left I noticed a giant ziploc bag of Halloween candy on the counter. Sometimes people leave stuff for you to nibble on. I helped myself to one of the tiniest candy bars ever. The bag was mostly filled with malted milk balls, which I hate. I never understood why people would pay extra to ruin their milkshake like that, and I never got the appeal of the candy. There was one additional tiny candy bar in the bag, and I fought myself for a good thirty seconds before deciding to eat it. I've never been a big fan of finishing up things that aren't mine.

I had felt a little foolish making a point to put my lunch in the fridge at that time, as it would be hardly an hour before I'd be eating it, but oh well.

I went back to the teachers' lounge at lunchtime, and noticed the bag of candy gone. I didn't think anything of this, maybe whoever was sharing decided not to share anymore. I got out my yogurt and my cottage cheese and then realized something else was missing --- my loaf of bread. I've been eating a lot of bread since I bought this loaf. That is to say, I've probably consumed 6-8 pieces of toast, and somehow, the loaf is still larger than most of the smooshy square loaves you find. So, most of a loaf of bread, in its bag in a grocery store bag is no where to be found. I look in the fridge, poking each and every plastic bag contained within. None of them contain a loaf of bread. I look atop the fridge, on the table and counters and in every single one of the cabinets. I stop and think about the steps I'd taken just in case I'd left it somewhere else.

Nope. Definitely left it there.

I find a piece of paper. I write a note. I try to sound as non-accusatory as possible:

TO WHOEVER RELOCATED MY LOAF OF BREAD:

PLEASE RETURN IT OR LET ME KNOW WHERE YOU'VE PLACED IT. I'M SUBBING FOR [such and such a teacher].
EMILY (11/4)

I'M POOR AND HUNGRY, THEY DON'T PAY SUBS TOO WELL! :)

I told the other adult who was working in the room with me. This other adult was furious. This other adult lacks confidence in the trustworthiness of the rest of the faculty and staff. This other adult acknowledged that where I left my bread is commonly read as "up for grabs."

During an afternoon break, I took out a book. A member of the administration poked in the room, asking how my day was going.

"Pretty good, except that someone took my bread...." I really didn't want this to go unnoticed. I was already formulating my blog / facebook status / twitter post about it.

I was angry.

(Dear Thief at Such and such a school. Stealing a loaf of bread? Seriously? They have GOT to pay you more than me. If they don't, I suggest seeking employment elsewhere)

"I heard!!!" the member of the administration replied, voice containing sheer concern.

I described the specifics of the loaf. Italian. Sliced. From that bakery in that town (in case it was spotted).

Soon after, the other adult in the room with me returns, having somehow been filled in on the details of my missing loaf. It feels really pathetic at this point to make such a big deal out of a two dollar loaf of bread, but it wasn't just my lunch. It was my breakfast, lunch, dinner, on and on. It was the vehicle for all the condiments that make up 75% of the food contained within my refrigerator.

The other adult in the room is a fan of italian bread. This makes the crime more heinous. The other adult in the room presses a five dollar bill in my hand. I insist that this isn't neccessary, fight it, try to give it back. I finally give in , pocketing this bill. I tell TOAITR that the bread only costs $2, but TOAITR insists that I deserve two loaves. Soon, TOAITR and I run across the principal, who has also heard about the bread antics. The principal reaches into a pocket, saying "please let me buy you another loaf." I inform the principal that TOAITR has already done so, but no one really needed to do that, I just wanted to get my original loaf back. The principal apologizes profusely, and then asks that I please not tell anyone about this.

So I feel like maybe I'm cheating the principal, but maybe not including the story would cheat the subbing portion of my blog. And I'm going to assume that what the principal was concerned about was the story being linked to the (forever unnamed) school.

It's been a tired, cranky week.It's worse when there isn't food to be had. Going to bed hungry results in difficulties waking up.

Do you think I was getting paid back for eating those candy bars?

Do you think my house got egged because I refused to answer my door on Halloween even though I was clearly home? (I didn't have any candy! Or maybe I was egged because some kids hate me because I'm a sub and they know where I live? Or maybe I was egged by that guy in the Jeep because I honked at him?)

...and then I stop eating.

Sometimes, when my kitchen gets really messy, I just look for already-prepared or just-heat-me-up sort of foods. When I eat all of those, I sometimes more or less stop eating.
I cleaned my kitchen the other day. A clean kitchen just begs to be used. I used it to make bread. Mmmmmm....

and a video.

100 (Serving is hard)

I realize that it isn't the privileged I despise so much as the complainers. Today I (along with 3 others from my church, a 'meal team') prepared a meal for 50 people at a local homeless shelter. We do this about 4 times a year.

You really can't please everyone. We do our best to mix it up, we know a lot of people make the shelter guests baked ziti, so we stray away from that. The guidelines are that we keep it a balanced meal - a protein, a starch, a vegetable.

The meal we prepared tonight was one of my conception: black bean soup, crusty bread, tossed salad (with avocado!) and caramel brownies. I did the shopping, which wouldn't have been a big deal had it not been a trying week, and if I didn't have two serving commitments fall on the same evening. I felt I should probably do the shopping because, as my friend Gerri Sherry puts it, I'm a purist. (The brownies were boxed, only add water nonetheless, and the caramel was pre-made cubed. Does it make me more or less a purist that I did that, and that I'm bringing it up now?) I thought home made bread would be cheaper and more delicious. And, if you've checked out this dutch oven long-rise bread thing, you'll know that very little elbow grease is required.

But I never considered how awesome it would be to prepare a quantity of long rise bread for 50. Hmmph.

Oh right, complainers.

So I get there and there is a guest sitting down watching TV, and she asks me what we're having for dinner. "Oh. Vegetarian." She grumbles, clearly disappointed. I correct her and explain that it technically is not, as I'm using chicken stock, but she has stopped listening and probably doesn't care. Apparently, she is from the school of gourmands who consider any meal without a meat course Not A Meal (a snack?).

So the four of us use the entire two hours allotted to prepare this meal (and then some), and when we serve it and sit down to eat, the woman from earlier reappears. She is angry at the lack of colored beverage in the dispenser. There is plenty of water, but the flavored 'drink' is really low, because the staff is about to change flavors, so they are watching carefully for it to run out.

She walks in, yells "THERE'S NOTHING TO EAT AND NO KOOL AID!" and slams the door on her way out to the patio. The four of us do our best to suppress our reactions. There is a full pot of Panera quality (or better!) black bean soup two feet tall and wider than the circle I can make with my arms, a huge mound of fresh baked crusty bread slices, and a very large bowl of salad, tossed greens, spinach, carrots, celery, cucumber, tomatoes and avocado.

Nothing to eat.

The guests sitting with us think she's ridiculous, and let us know. "She's never satisfied," they say. 'Oh yea, what does she like?' I ask.

"I don't know and frankly, I don't care!" exclaims an old man I have trouble hearing (or maybe just understanding). We share a slight chuckle and the other guests go on to say that this woman would only be satisfied with steak or lobster. One suggests she hitchhike to Maine. "This isn't a hotel. This is a shelter. You're lucky you've got food," one notes. It is good to hear that most of the guests are level-headed and appreciative. They praise the meal, telling me how it was delicious and filling. One guest even talked to us for a while, sharing with us how our presence was a real Godsend for him, as he discussed spiritual things with some of us. He detailed his appreciation, for our company, for the meal, for the fellowship.

Serving is hard, but sometimes, there are moments that make it all worth while.