After two years of hassling, whining, and ruckus-causing, I've finally squeezed my way into student government. Yes, that's right, I'm a senator, the lowest form of student government. The thing that surprised me the most was just how easy it was to become a senator. I mean, before, I spent hours working on posters and coming up with clever, if somewhat offensive and controversial posters. Well, only a few people found them to be clever, and Kylen was the only one who found them to be offensive. But even after all that tireless work and enduring through primary elections, I lose by a landslide to Jared. Jared...How I loathe him. But that's all in the past now. I got what I want. And that is to hold a student government position without having to do any real work. Excuse my redundance.
It does kind of upset me that they don't really ask me to do anything. I mean, c'mon, I'm able, I'm willing. I may not have the grace or ogling skills of Taylor Killian, but I'd at least feign doing a good job.
My thoughts turn to the first real assignment I was given as a senator. The BBQ at lunch. It was the senior senators' job to organize it all. The dominoes had almost all fit into place. I could tell that no one wanted me involved, but I was a senator, fair and square. They tried to give me a stand-on-the-sideline sort of job like bring the buns or supply the gas. My suppressed repartee knew no bounds. But then, to their dismay, we discovered that only those with a food handlers permit could cook the food. And, haha, I happened to be one of the few who had sat through the 2 hour power point presentation to become qualified to prepare food for large crowds of people.
The day of the barbeque came and I was as excited as ever. They gave me the smallest and least-powerful of the three grills, but who cares? A grill is a grill. Or at least a glorified hotplate. I crammed 4 burgers and about 8 hotdogs on my grill and began to wait. I saw a bunch of pink wads of apron and decided that I was definitely one of those eligible to where the honorable accesory.
The lunch bells rang and kids began to make their way outside to our setup. It was great. The kids started to get a little unruly for having to wait, so I threw a few hotdogs at them to settle them down. One of the hotdogs hit the sidewalk and left a small dent in it. Sidewalks just aren't made like they used to be I guess. I made a few adjustments the ice started melting off the hotdogs on the grill in no time. I decided that the first burger done would have to be tasted by myself to ensure it's quality. It was certainly up to par, and I can definitely verify that the next 2 or 3 burgers were as well.
Some of the kids began to complain of severe stomach pains for having no food. This was very irritating. I mean, I was slaving away at the grill for their benefit and they couldn't show a single ounce of respect in return. Little did we know that my indignation was to be ratified about an hour later, when the real stomach pains started to set in. Poetic justice at its finest.
On several occasions I had to lecture the kids on the importance of being patient. Grease-coated spatula in hand, I made sure to drive every point with a flick of my wrist. I could tell I had a real effect on them from their sharp screams of agreement and their rush to find cold water and soak various parts of their bodies. Satisfied with their response, I checked on the meat and re-greased my spatula for the next group of bodies.
Many of the complaints were that the burgers weren't cooking fast enough. I assured the kids that I was under direct orders that I give no person an underdone burger. One kid became extremely bothersome.
"Look, I've been waiting here for over an hour. That burger is done," he said.
I check the burger.
"Nope, it's still got a little grey in the middle."
"You're a terrible chef. Most of those burgers are ash."
This was pushing it too far. I don't mind people degrading my standing as a chef, but poking fun at my ash, that's just too much.
"You don't like how I run my grill?" I ask. "Well, how about this? NO BURGER FOR YOU!"
I use my spatula to direct him to the back of the line and I can tell that he gets the point as he screams and covers his eyes in shame.
"And let that be a lesson to the rest of you!" I scream while waving my arms violently. Several other people scream and cover their faces as well.
As the crowd finally dispersed, I had a feeling of accomplishment. I had done what I was assigned to do. I could tell that the "upper class" student government was very pleased with my work as well. They even went so far as to try to retire me from ever helping them again. What an honor. Those guys are so nice.
The meat was all gone, and now was time to clean up. My grill was really greasy and I had nothing with which to clean it. Then I remembered the apron I was wearing. I quickly pulled it off and began to scrub vigorously at the grill. I had the grill looking good as new and placed the soiled apron on the table.
"Has anyone seen my aprons?" asks Jared.
I run. Fast.
"They're not mine," he continues.
I'm almost out of sight.
"I had to give my wallet as collateral!"
I finally get around the corner of the school before I burst out laughing. Yeah, I'm evil. What's it to ya?
I'm a Senator, aren't I?