I have to get something off my chest. Ever since I descended into the belly of the West Virginia capitol to eat, the cafeteria and I have had a sketchy relationship. I loved it because kept me alive when my schedule was too jammed packed to get real food. I hated it because eating there was like getting mouth-to-mouth resuscitation from an ugly fat girl with halitosis: appreciated, but not something you would want to repeat any time soon.

Lunch time at the capitol always sparked an internal debate as I tried to figure whether I wanted to walk all the way to my car and drive to a respectable eating establishment or gag down the latest abhorrence from downstairs. I usually went with option C and I skipped lunch.

For a while I ate salads at the cafeteria until I witnessed some nauseating actions by one of the preparers. From then on my food had to be good and dead.

I vividly remember my last meal at the cafeteria. It was fried salmon, green beans, and macaroni and cheese. The fish had been fried so hard it wasn’t there any more; just this crusty, over salted batter with a dead unfortunate shriveled up inside. The green beans were so overcooked they required no chewing and the mac ‘n cheese, well you could still make out the shape of the American cheese squares on the top. As a self-proclaimed food connoisseur, I was ashamed of the human race.

Much has been said about the cafeteria’s social equality. As Phil Kabler, a card-carrying member of the CLC (Cafeteria Lovers Club), aptly put it, only there could the rich and poor get heartburn together. Yes, it did have that going for it. I particularly enjoyed watching the Governors. Governor Wise would go around the room, pumping flesh and passing out Maalox-Max in exchange for political favors. Governor Manchin would just sit at a table and wait for people to come to him; usually it was his gambling special interest group buddies.

Some will remember the cafeteria as a dearly departed friend. I see it as the slain monster that it is.

Ahh! Now I feel better.