Mix It Up

By Sarah Berry - October 3, 2011

Once every year, the lunch aides decide to play matchmaker. In other words, they suddenly come to the conclusion that not everyone is friends with everyone else, and that is just NOT acceptable. So they host a “Mix It Up” day. Instead of sitting at the usual tables, everyone in the seventh grade is forced to pick a number out of a hat and sit at that table instead. It’s a day everyone dreads.

The seventh grade is huge, 200 students in total; the chances of drawing the same number as one of your friends are slim. In the days leading up to the horrible Monday, I imagined several different horrifying scenarios, the worst of which was pulling out a number nine, only to discover that my new table was home to The Plastics from Mean Girls and a group scary guys with beards who look closer to 30 years old than 12. “Mix It Up” day is so incredibly stressful for most students that many resort to emergency solutions; some convince their parents to stay home, while others fall seriously ill (by lunchtime, the nurse’s office is filled to the brim, overflowing with “sick” students). When the day finally arrives, after much chatter and bemoaning in the weeks prior, the lunch aides order pizza in order to up morale. Students who weren’t lucky enough to dodge the event shuffle into the empty cafeteria. The tables are decorated with overly cheerful tables cloths and a sheet of discussion questions in case the conversations become so painfully awkward that it becomes too much. I am one of the unlucky few. I stick my hand into the bag reluctantly and slowly pull out my number. Number nine. This is not a good sign.

I take my time going through the lunch line, trying to avoid my table for as long as possible. Finally, I sit down. I can barely tell who is at my table because everyone is eating with their heads down in complete silence. For the entire 20 minutes, the table is silent save for a couple of coughs. Judging from the silence that envelopes the cafeteria, the other tables aren’t doing much better. There’s no eye contact. After what seems like hours, the bell finally rings, signaling the end of the torture. As the cafeteria empties out, I run ahead and cling to my friends. “Mix It Up” day absolutely did not help me meet new friends, but it certainly made me appreciate the ones I already have.

Works cited: Mean Girls, Lunchroom