At my office, our lunch is paid for by the company, which is great, although it also means that we generally have to stay pretty close to the office/order from a nearby restaurant. Today we ordered from Panera Bread, which I guess people in St. Louis will tell you should actually be called St. Louis Bread Company. I ordered the Asian Sesame Chicken Salad. This is what scrolled through my brain as I had my lunch break.

 

1st Bite: Uh oh.

3rd Bite: The dressing tastes like weird diet dressing with some kind of fake sugar in it.

4th Bite: Is that a crouton? Why are there croutons in here?

8th Bite: I still haven’t seen or tasted any sesame. Just the saccarine from the dressing.

9th Bite: I THINK I JUST CUT THE ROOF OF MY MOUTH

10th Bite: OWW

11th Bite: OWW

12th-16th Bite: OWW (you get the idea)

17th Bite: Oh, I think it was just scratched. Feels better. Still doesn’t taste good though.

20th Bite: Seriously, another crouton. He must feel so alone, surrounded by mediocre wonton strips. Little does he know that he’s probably safe, since he isn’t even supposed to be here today.

21st Bite: …unless he wanted to be eaten. Then he’s outta luck today, because it looks like he soaked up a lot of that filthy dressing.

23rd Bite: I think I figured out the secret to this salad is, counter-intuitively, not using the dressing. Also, eating somewhere else.

24th Bite: It’s called “Panera Bread” dude. USE YOUR BRAIN NEXT TIME

25th Bite: Stop being such a whiny bitch. It was free, and there are people starving who would love to have this salad.

26th Bite: …but subjecting them to this is probably a class 2 misdemeanor in fourteen states.

28th Bite: Luckily the dressing only covered about 1/6th of the salad, otherwise we might have been in trouble.

30th Bite: May I be excused to go finish my homework, please?

 

PostScript: At around this time the salad was more or less reduced to soggy bits of lettuce that had stubbornly clung to the dressing, which I didn’t feel like eating. The piece of bread that came with the salad, however, was reasonable. 

This is the first in what may end up being a series of posts in which I recall a random experience which I will probably never do again.

Way back in the year 2000, I auditioned for the game show Win Ben Stein’s Money.

If you don’t remember the show, it was sort of like Jeopardy! except, after the first round (which eliminated one contestant), Ben Stein (who in past lives has been a presidential speechwriter, a lawyer, and the teacher who gets hung up on Ferris Bueller’s name) joins the game to prove to you that he’s smarter than you are. Here’s a random sample:

I was a fan of the show, but more important, I was young and cocky enough to believe that my ability to answer these questions in the comforts of my tiny dorm room meant that I would be a worthy adversary for Stein. I was certain that I would easily prove myself in whatever testing regimen they administered and the staffers, recognizing my brilliance, would quickly usher me onto the set to test my mettle against the man himself.

After a long bus ride with several transfers (I didn’t yet own a car), I found myself at Hollywood Center Studios and walked up to the security kiosk.

I gave my name and told the guard what I was there for, and he motioned, without looking, toward a large, warehouse-like soundstage.

“In there.”

I thanked him and walked toward the soundstage, noticing as I did that there was a steady stream of people filtering in and out, more than I might have anticipated.

The moment I stepped inside, I felt, for the first time, that I might have misjudged the proceedings.

Hundreds of people (well, probably 200) were filing about or sitting at the cafeteria-style benches within the otherwise empty stage, chatting or drinking coffee as they waited for the first round of testing. They looked like they were from all walks of life, some young, some old, but all of them older than me.

It doesn’t matter, I thought to myself. Just more people for me to beat on my way to Ben.

I sat at one of the benches and struck up a conversation with some of the people around me. Among them were a history professor, a screenwriter, and a housewife who had not only auditioned for, but been on Jeopardy!, although I didn’t get a chance to find out if she had won.

A few minutes later, staffers from the show began handing out exams and pencils, and everyone began to mentally prepare. The staffers warned that the exam process for this show was “tougher than Jeopardy,” because while Jeopardy! required a certain level of knowledge, what they were looking for were people who could beat Ben Stein.

That was the second time I felt that I might have misjudged the proceedings, as I thought back to all of the episodes of the show I had watched. I felt that I was capable of answering questions faster and more accurately than the people around me. But how many times would I have beaten Ben Stein in the final round? I began to doubt myself, ever briefly. Maybe I was not, in fact, smart enough for this.

It doesn’t matter, I thought. Just focus on the test.

The test began, and I flipped through, quickly scanning to see what questions I could answer immediately.

There weren’t many.

From that point on, the test itself remains a blur to me, although I recall spending much of that time going through my own version of the five stages of grief at my hubris for thinking that I was prepared for this. By the time the test was over, I had already reached acceptance, and figured that my chances of moving on were slim.

Mercifully, the process was over quickly, and we all sat around and discussed the test as we waited for the staff to grade our work and announce who would be moving on to the second round, a mock round of the actual show. All agreed that the test was challenging, including the housewife who acknowledged that yes, this test was much harder than the one administered on Jeopardy!

Eventually, the staffers returned and announced the names of the people who would be moving on. Out of the two hundred who had taken the test, they announced four names.

I, naturally, was not on the list. The professor was. The housewife was not.

We all filed out and said our goodbyes, never to see one another again, and I got back on the bus, beginning the long trek back to my dorm room. I was disappointed, to be sure, and somewhat humbled by the experience, although by the time I got back to campus I remembered that I had a party to go to that night, which cheered me up, and the experience was filed away and generally not thought of again, until now.