The Storyteller Chronicles: Lobster Roll “Lunchin”

If you’ve ever been acquainted with someone who grew up in the inner city of Washington, D.C. or its metro area in the ’90s (maybe even the ’80s), you’ve heard the term “lunchin” before. And, for those of you who haven’t, no, it’s not a misspelling of the name of a formal midday meal (a.k.a the luncheon). The Urban Dictionary sums it up quite nicely as “a word derived from the stoner-culture. It means to act stupid, or do something stupid.” And, I’m not sure there is a better explanation for what I was doing the day I almost ended my, then, still burgeoning career over a lobster roll.

As I ran down the stairs, there was not a train in sight – “in sight” being key because just as my feet hit the platform, there was the ass of the train staring back at me. My stomach weak and my eyes filling with tears, I watched in disbelief as the Yellow line train to Huntington slowly pulled away from the platform without me on it.

The emails kept coming; one after the other. They were asking where I was and what I was doing. Why hadn’t I responded to the earlier emails? Why hadn’t I edited the alert and email to members? Why wasn’t MSN communicator showing me as “Available?” Unable to tell the truth for fear of major self-incrimination, I lied! Everyone who knows me knows that I’m a terrible liar so after I made a call or two to try and cover my tracks, I just turned the Blackberry off largely because just one more questioning email and I might have soiled my pants.

And, to make matters worse the big screen in the Metro station that tells you when the next train is coming was flashing “9 minutes!” Nine minutes was nine minutes too damn long – just too damn long! I was about to crack! I couldn’t take the pressure…my mind started racing…

“Is it really possible to lose your job over a lobster roll?”

A lobster roll from the Red Hook Lobster Pound Food Truck in DC (where this storyteller’s life as she knew it almost came to an end over a lobster roll). Photo by K (Never Turn Down a Cupcake Blog)

“Over a year of coming in early and staying late, working on the weekends and I was really about to f*$% it all up over lunch?”

“Lord, just please let me get back to the office without anymore complications and I will never do it again,” I prayed as I paced the Metro platform mumbling and sweating and holding back tears.

That was so not how I envisioned my lunch hour when I cavalierly strutted out of the office toward the King Street Metro only minutes after I’d reported to work late on that Fall Friday.

The Storyteller Chronicles are a random collection of anonymous narratives told by the women who are usually charged with telling other women’s stories here on The Common Ground Chronicles. It is our way of giving you a glimpse of who we are and what makes us tick.  Check out the last chronicle, “The Storyteller Chronicles: Somewhere in Between Prayer and Meditation,” if you missed it; and, scroll to the bottom of the page and click The Storyteller Chronicles tag to read all of the pieces in this series.