Giant Spoon (Edit)

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.

Stu chatted with one of the students and did his best to stifle a yawn. His son was pitching last night, and they had been out late together celebrating the win. But for the persistent bleeps of his alarm, he would not have made it in on time this morning. He had only just remembered to grab his screwdriver again on the way out the door. “She’s a beauty, ain’t she?” he said to the student. “Thirty pounds of pure utensil. First time I tried hanging her up, I used velcro. Nearly killed me.” The student laughed.

In his hurry to get the spoon up on the wall before he opened yesterday, however, Stu had not tightened the screws all the way. He’d had to leave it overnight, too, in order to make to Jim’s game on time. And since he’d been slow getting up this morning, he hadn’t been able to tighten them before opening for the day. For hours, one of the screws had slowly been working itself out of its socket.

When the screw gave out at last, a long line of students curved around the servery and out into the open foyer. Stu dove out of the way just in time as the giant spoon swung towards him. With a tremendous clang, it upturned the pancakes and the watery maple syrup, getting it everywhere: on Stu, on the oatmeal, and on the entire line of hungry, sticky students.