Little third grade me did most definitely not think it was possible to hate chicken nuggets. I believed it wouldn’t be possible to ever hate the succulent little bites of chicken covered in warm, crispy breaded crust. However, this changed the first day I bought my own lunch.
Lunch came and I rushed from class to get a good spot in the lunch line. As I waited in line thoughts of pizza, tacos, ice cream and cookies ran wild through my mind. But I knew today the cafeteria had chicken nuggets, and I couldn’t wait. What could be better than getting, hot, crispy delicious chicken morsels at school. Finally it was my turn. I started in on the stainless steel buffet tables containing all the possible meals. First I had two drink options, milk or chocolate milk. But these milks were not normal. These milks had been packaged in plastic bags and came with an attached straw with which you were supposed to use to puncture the milk bag to get to your milk. At that moment when the bagged milk staring up at me I should have turned and ran. But I was hungry, so I grabbed the bagged milk and moved forward.
Next came the sides. Before me was a very hard choice, carrots or carrots. As one could probably guess I picked the carrots. The carrots too came in a plastic bag which highlighted their slight off orange color. Again I persevered, hoping that the entrée section would yield something that looked slightly edible.
I approached the final table. On the table was something that resembled pasta, a salad, and finally those glorious nuggets. Not thinking my self-much of a salad guy, and not particularly wanting to eat what looked like angel hair pasta covered in vomit, I went for the chicken nuggets. Third grade me naively believed that there was no way someone could make atrocious chicken nuggets. Boy was I wrong.
I sat down at my designated table with all my class and dug into my meal. First was the lovely bagged milk. I stabbed the straw into the bag and it went straight through, puncturing the bag and squirting brown milk all over my tray. Luckily my Nuggets were saved. I opened the nuggets, coated them in ketchup and threw one in my mouth. Poor choice. What should have been the savory crispy breaded outside of the chicken had the consistency of a soggy piece of white bread and the tasted like it too. The soggy exterior, which should have given way to a succulent morsel of chicken, actually revealed a hard rubbery piece of meat which was more reminiscent of a boot than any form of poultry. If I hadn’t known I was eating chicken I would have thought I had bitten into a tire. I dropped the nugget in disgust and watched as the chicken nugget bounced. I promptly threw the milk flooded nugget tray away and solemnly ate old carrots. So I guess it is possible to hate chicken nuggets, because I know I can never look at the crispy little morsels the same. And I know I never bought lunch at the cafeteria since.