lunch lady land

Perhaps you were curious about that random lunch-lady mention. (Perhaps not, but it would make a better segue if you were. Let's pretend.)

A little while after I moved here, I got to thinking about how nice it would be to volunteer with a local organization, by way of "meeting people," "being pro-active," and/or "contributing to society," all of which I've heard are important endeavors worth exploring.

First let me emphasize the fact that, much to the disappointment of my parents, I am not a joiner. Never have been. You know that space on college applications, the empty box where you're supposed to list all of your extra-curricular activities, clubs, organizations and volunteer work? The space often followed by the suggestion, "Attach additional page if necessary"?

Let's just say that there was never any need for additional pages. Let's also say that, on occasion, I may have been required to do a little truth-stretching in order to fill up those provided few lines in the first place. (Does memorizing the opening sequence from The Real World count as an activity? What about Fifth Grade Student Council? Bus Patrol?)

So, after moving out of New York City, where "getting involved" is pretty much forced upon you every time you step out your front door -- (Interested in removing the crackhead from your steps at two o'clock in the morning? Get involved!) -- and on to an island where everyone is either related to each other or about to be, it became clear that in order to survive here I would have to step out of the old comfort zone and get to joinin'.

I heard about an organization that does great work supporting local farms and farmers. I started helping out at events and maintaining their website. When they got involved in a Farm-To-School campaign to bring more local ingredients into school cafeterias, I wrote up a press release or two. And when they asked if I would be willing to go into the schools and talk to the lunch ladies about how the program has been working so far, I said "Sure thing! Whatever you need! I'm here to help!"

That's the thing about being a joiner, I guess. You say "sure thing" and there are a lot of exclamation points involved.

Anyway, so I agreed talk to the lunch ladies. EVEN THOUGH I was right there at the community meeting where they stomped through the door EN MASSE, less than thrilled that a bunch of neo-hippies in clogs and corduroys were questioning the way they'd been preparing their government-issued mystery meat for years.

Was I scared?

Absolutely not! I sat right down at my computer, ran off a list of fifteen questions, got the names of parent volunteers from each of the island schools, and promptly emailed them their very own "Interview Guide" so that they could conduct the interviews by themselves! Look at me, volunteering without even leaving the house.

I did realize it would look a little suspicious if I didn't take on one of the lunch ladies myself, especially considering that the Charter School is practically in my backyard. Also, it might be of particular interest to note that the Charter School, as an independently run entity, has been using local ingredients in their kitchen for years, and that their lunch lady, a proud clog-wearer herself, was basically at the forefront of the campaign to begin with.

All this to say, the prospect of sitting down with this woman should have been totally and completely non-threatening.

Why, then, has it been weeks since I took this assignment and still I have yet to get my interview done?

Could it be because the only free time lunch ladies have is between 8 and 9 in the morning, which happens to coincide with my very important daily granola-eating/dog-walking routine? Or perhaps it's because I have some deep-seated psychological block for lunch ladies as a group, stemming from some long-forgotten incident involving an accidentally-stolen order of Cajun Fries?

Regardless, let it be known that I DID wake up this morning with every intention of leaving the house in time to drive a quarter mile down the road. I DID copy down the questions and ready my digital tape-recording device. I DID get into my car. And it DID NOT start.

Which leads me to believe that all of this hemming and hawing must go much deeper than schedules and cafeteria food. Maybe, just maybe, I'm not cut out for joining.

Not that a joiner would have necessarily remembered to turn her headlights off, thereby removing the dead car battery from the equation.

But I'm fairly certain a joiner would have walked.