Giant Spoon

But for the fact that one of the screws holding up the giant decorative chrome spoon had come loose, today was a day just like any other in the Silliman dining hall. Chef Stu and his staff had been there since six thirty in the morning, and, as always, they were busy from the time they arrived, washing out last night’s pots and pans, sweeping the countertops, preparing breakfast. By eight, when the first bleary-eyed students began to wander in, everything was in its proper place: bagels waiting to be toasted, fresh cups of milk thirsting to be drunk, oatmeal ready to be poked at disinterestedly. A freshman forgot to spray down the waffle iron, and was obliged to scrape out the failure as best he could with a fork. Already patting together meatballs for lunchtime, Stu chatted animatedly with a student whom he had seen at last night’s hockey game. The team’s stick handling had never looked better. They had a good shot this year.

Then came lunch. Today’s long line curved around the servery and out into the open foyer. Little did they know what excitement they were about to witness. With the stomp of so many feet and the clatter of so many trays, the fateful screw was slowly working its way out of its socket. Suddenly, it stripped its hole entirely and hit Stu on the shoulder as if in slow motion. Looking up in surprise, Stu only just saw out of the corner of his eye as the giant spoon began to swing towards him perilously. He barely had time to move out of the way before the spoon came hurtling down into the meatball marinara, splattering the entire line of hungry students in its range.

(Narrate an incident with an object at the beginning that assumes a critical function by the end)