Being Cautious

Two weeks ago we had a staff luncheon. We all brought food for a taco lunch. Not the gringo/a tacos of my childhood. Since I work with a lot of latina ladies, we had a great lunch of slow-cooked, shredded beef with tiny corn tortillas, assorted salsas, cilantro, onions, good chips. My friend Alex even made horchata, which I'd never tried - it was good.

And then about half the staff fell ill. It was one of those times you wonder where to point when you go to the bathroom. C. wisely said, "You SIT on the toilet, and point your MOUTH into the bathtub." He's smarter than I am.

I was laid out for the whole weekend. And took part of Monday off when I realized that half the staff was gone - doing the same bathroom dance. I wasn't in any shape to be around kids. Could you imagine? "Excuse me kids, I'm going to explode, you just carry on tracing the letter "M" and I'll be right back after I waffle around in the school bathroom where there aren't any bathtubs."

I didn't want to be the one to say it, but I think it was food poisoning. I always thought F.P. started really soon after you'd eaten whatever it was that was going to do a number on your upper and lower G.I. tract. But I was mistaken. It can happen anywhere from a couple of hours after you eat the food in question to a couple of WEEKS after you eat whatever it is that is going to make you into a whirling dervish of indecision. Whoa! For most of us, it happened mid-day the day after we'd enjoyed our lunch. Anyway, after we'd recovered and returned to work, my boss says to me in a whisper, "Do you think it was the lunch?" I looked at her and said, "Heck yes, there isn't any other common denominator." Unless you count the fact that we work with kids who think it is ok to rub snot all over our teaching tables, grab our whistles, or hold your hand after they haven't washed theirs after using the restroom. It could be that we work in an underground school - literally halfway buried underground, and it has tested positive for radon. It may be the mold. The school is underground. Anyway, we think it was the food. After-all, we're pretty darned tough. It would take more than a few unwashed hands to take us down.

I was absolutely horrified to see another email go out this week calling for another all-staff luncheon. The crazy people wanted to go another round with the toilet. And they were loudly demanding a baked potato bar. Oh my goodness, potatoes are lethal. I could just imagine the carnage. Baked potatoes can KILL you. They're the one food the caterer I used to work for would NEVER let us take home. And he let us take home salads, steaks, chicken - chicken for goodness sake!

Uh-uh, I vociferously declared to my husband. No WAY am I going through that again. And I didn't - I skimmed through the lunchroom, eyeing the potatoes as if they were small, aluminum clad Klaus Barbies. Someone smart (one of the cooks) had heard of the plan for genocide and brought in a chafing dish and sterno. I caught her checking the flames and heard her muttering, "Potatoes - they're the one food that can KILL you." So I felt justified in avoiding the whole starch, sour cream, synthesized bacon thing.

Not for me. I'm too scared. No more staff luncheons for me, my friends. From now on, I'll sit companionably in the staff room enjoying a tepid tuna fish sandwich of my own making, but I won't be tucking into anything that someone brings from home. I think our bathtub will thank me.