It's Showtime!

Alert! Portion control is on the fritz. The entire row of us sit
before our skimpy lunch portions, gaping in amazement at some
of the steepest peaks known to humanity: Mount Vesuvius,
Mount St. Helens, Mount McKinley and Mount Rushmore,
right before our very eyes in the shape of macaroni masses.
The trays being carried to the next row of tables are ridiculously
stacked. They are piled so high that the scene resembles Saturday
Night Live tomfoolery. Avalanches of elbows, drenched in a
white film, cascade from precarious piles.

Each fortunate recipient is attempting balancing acts en
route to their table. Efforts to contain toppling pasta piles
leave fingers coated with a milky stickiness. The procession
of oversized loads passes by in what seems like a Most Outrageous
Video scene.

I direct my vision to the meal on the
sloppy, wet plastic receptacle resting in front of me...
The truly astounding factor is the difference in the serving size
compared to the mountainous heaps across the way. I cannot
help but break into a subdued chorus of “one of these things
is not like the others.” My dining partners glance around at
our spreads and then back toward my dumbfounded expression.
I gesture an infi nitesimal nod toward the next row of
lunch goers. The sky-high portions of elbows are flopping
onto the table and into their laps.


Tim, a regular at the prison because of his “out of control
Irish temper,” points out, “See that woman over there that
just walked in?” All eyes roll toward the doorway to view a
dark-skinned woman entering the chow hall; entourage follows.
“She’s the deputy warden.” Thus, the mystery of the
macaroni overdose is solved. We are putting on a show for
the head honcho. See how well fed and happy we are?