Diary of a Forgotten Sandwich

Ever wonder what life is like for items left behind in school lockers over the summer? You know you have, and this is your lucky day. But be warned. This column is not for sissies.

Lying beside the last remains of a sandwich, the following journal was unearthed this week by a school janitor who respectfully wishes to remain anonymous. The sad discovery was written in mustard and mayonnaise on a random scrap of loose leaf and I’ve agreed to share the sobering final writings of this lonely sandwich with my readers.

Day 1. It is hard to believe that only this morning I was lovingly assembled from two fresh slices of whole wheat, roast beef, cheddar, lettuce, and pickles. I was a glorious creation! I was carried to school by an excited young man who chattered nonstop about it being The Last Day. I have no idea what The Last Day means, but by his enthusiasm, it sounds delightful. I eagerly anticipate Lunch Time when my big moment on the lunchroom stage will finally come to fruition and I will truly shine.

Day 2.  I must have dozed off. When I heard commotion in the hallway outside the locker door, I thought it must be Lunch Time and my moment of glory had finally arrived. Alas, instead of reaching in and picking me up, the boy began dragging everything else within the locker’s confines into his large black backpack with the Angry Bird on the front and Peter Ralph on the back. Since the boy left me behind, I can only conclude it must not be Lunch Time yet.

Day 3. I still wait. The ruckus of yesterday grew to deafening proportions as the boy was joined by swarms of others, all seemingly scooping the contents of their lockers onto the floor or into large plastic bags. Could this have something to do with The Last Day? Today, an eerie quiet has settled over the room.

Day 4. The silence continues. I fear my lettuce leaf may wilt before the boy finally decides to unwrap me, but I am determined to hold onto my youthful splendour if it kills me.

Day 5. The silence continues, although I heard explosions in the far distance late last night, followed by faint strains of “O Canada.” I wonder what this could mean. Has the world gone to war?

Day 6. The silence continues, with the exception of some type of motorized equipment being used on the floor outside my locker door. It raised my hopes, only to shatter them again when the noise came to an abrupt halt.

Day 13. I keep up my spirits by writing this journal and my strength by daily unwrapping myself from my baggie, climbing out, doing 100 push-ups, and crawling back into the baggie.

Day 27. My future looks bleak. My lettuce leaf has turned to slime. I know I smell bad. I am considering forcing the locker door open and taking my final plunge. I no longer return to the baggie after my exercise routine.

Day 45. My roast beef has turned green and my bread grows a curious layer of blue and white fuzz. I am encouraged. Although my dream of being a delicious school lunch is over, I now hold out hope that I can shine as a Science experiment.

Day 46. No hope remains. I feel only despair. The end is near. I no longer exercise as I am too weak.

 

Day 47: I heard whistling in the hallway today, and for a brief moment a waxy, chemical smell overpowered my own stench. But the brief moment of hope it offered only made the pain of my captivity that much heavier at the end of the day.

Day 59. My strength is gone. This shall be my final entry. Farewell, cruel world.

May this story serve as a sad reminder to parents and students alike, so that the life of this poor sandwich was not wasted in vain.