The Strength of a Milk Carton

Thursday, December 9th

Sat with: Table #18
Accompanied by: Steph

There were plenty of tables I was afraid of. Plenty. I sort of failed to notice table #18.

Conversation:
Steph:(Puts her bag down next to her)
Girl: Excuse me. Is this your -------- bag?
Steph: Yeah, my friend's coming.
Girl: Well, ----. That's where ---- I sit. Aren't you gonna move your ------- ---- bag?
Steph: Lauren! Hey, I got us seats!
Me: Hey, Steph.
Steph: Hey . . .
Girl:Turns to the boy next to her You know, I better never live to see the day you turn into a- Turns to us ----- PREP. 'Cuz I ----- hate preps. I sure ---- ---- hate preps a ------ lot. Cracks her knuckles and waits for us to bolt
Silence
Steph: You ready to leave?
Me: Yes. I grab my lunch tray, and my milk carton spills. The entire table is soaked. You know, just my luck.
Me: Oh- I'm sorry- I'm sorry-
Steph and I bolt for napkins. The rest of the lunch period consists of us frantically racing back in forth to grab blobs of napkins, hoping we don't receive a punch to the face.

Conclusion: If I had been dreading table #18, feeling sick about it for days, I probably would have proceeded to knock over the entire table or something. Like someone famous who's name has escaped me said, "Worrying does not empty tomorrow of it's troubles, it only empties today of its strength." So, if your strength is knocking over a milk carton, go with it.