Jill and the Decapitated Lunch Lady Part 1

"Everybody hurts sometimes...,"the soulful voice of Michael Stipe ruefully crooned out, his notes lingering and lounging along the melancholy cloud of sadness that hung amidst the caramel wrappers and tissue box tossed carelessly by Jill's bedside. After turning it on to repeat, Jill lay sprawled out across her bed, her mascara-smeared, tear-streaked face, contorted in anguish and misery.

"Why oh why did they have to serve garlic at lunch today?" and why did she so desperately want to wear her leotard right now, were some of the questions that haunted Jill, running back and forth like a track runner on his warm-up jog around the track in front of the stands by the away team.

Jill was no novice to the world of pain, both physical or emotional, this was indeed not a new concept to her. She could remember back to the time when she had been reprimanded for forgetting to wear her pink bow to cheer practice, or the utter despair and loneliness at not finding her much needed self-help book in the library, but those were indeed minor in comparison to the pit of despair Jill was now immersed in, the pit that called to her from the depths of the kiddie pool at the local YMCA while Jack, the really hot, but unfortunately epileptic, lifeguard diligently watched the raging waters lapping at the lane markers. So alas, this is where Jill found herself, at these lengths, at these depths, at these measures, at this point--the point where all hope was lost and where even the thought of going up onto the roof and sunbathing in her Hello Kitty sun chair with pink metallic lining, while listening to her hero of old, Yanni, sipping her trademark virgin Diet Coke, careful not to spill on her new pink leotard and multi-color slouch socks, could not, and did not, invite her into the world of the coherent.

And what was the cause of this said agony, of this despair, of this utter and ultimate defeat, you might ask? Well, simply put, Jill, after trying out for the volleyball team and being cut, and then upon trying out for the soccer team, and again finding herself being cut, and then trying out yet again for the basketball, softball, and swim teams, and subsequently, being cut from them all, Jill's resilient nature told her, to bounce back, don't give up, what do these stupid, professional coaches know anywho? And so with one final toss of caution to the wind, throwing all care and pride aside, for yes, as you may have noticed, Jill was indeed miserably cut from 5 teams, Jill decided to put on a happy face.

With "I'm walkin' on sunshine, whoa-o, and don't it feel good," playing over and over in her ears, (literally, she was wearing her headphones) Jill marched lazily over to sign up for the try-outs for yes, the track team. And of course, by try-outs, I mean not try-outs at all, for it was common knowledge that the track coach took everyone because they always were in desperate need of people and therefore, cut absolutely no one. Thinking this is the ticket, this is my road to stardom and fame, I will run, I will run until my little heart is content, and I will keep running until I am told to stop, until I am playing with the big girls, the big dogs, until I am right up there with Madonna and her pointy bra-wearing videos. And this was Jill's fatal flaw. It was this exact, precise, similar, and same even, thinking, that got Jill into trouble, into the trouble that now found her collapsed into the heap of hiccups and sobs on her Little Mermaid bedspread. It was this ridiculous thinking, the thinking that she could be someone, that she was good enough, smart enough, and that doggone it, people liked her, that got her nowhere, that got her lonely and yes, alone, that got her lying there, wishing garlic had not been served that day at lunch, wishing she was wearing her leotard, (and not the new pink one, but the flower one she had almost bought, but instead bought the pink one she was now resigned to wearing), it was this thinking that got the lunch lady killed...dun dun dun (made to be said in the eerily creepy and oh so sinister tune so often played on thrillers like that of "The Twilight Zone" and similar ones by Alfred Hitchock)....





To be continued until another post. This story, among many other infamous "Jill" stories was written by both myself and my best friend since the 2nd grade (who shall remain nameless, but Susan McCauley you know who you are).