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. The giant spoon gleamed in the sunlight, greeting each new breakfaster from its proper place above the pancake tray.
The first time Stu had tried to attach the spoon to the wall, it had come crashing down in minutes. Velcro, it turned out, was not a sufficient adhesive for a utensil of such magnitude. Then, fortunately, no one had been in its way, and when Stu brought in screws and a screwdriver from home, he thought he had preempted any future disasters. Yet in his hurry to get the spoon up on the wall before he opened the doors for the day, he had left one screw just a little too loose. For weeks now, it had slowly been working its way out of its socket.
On an average weekday, at least five hundred people eat lunch in the Silliman dining hall. Today was no different: the long line curved around the servery and out into the open foyer. And, with the stomp of so many feet and the clatter of so many trays, the screw gave out at last. Stu dove out of the way just in time as the giant spoon swung towards him. With a tremendous clang, it upturned the tray of meatball marinara, splattering everything: Stu, the other dishes, and the entire line of hungry, now wet students.
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