The Surgeons of Lunchtime

Lunchtime is something of a strange occurrence here in my experience. Every day, I start getting hungry around ten-thirty, but when lunch rolls around (12:40 at most schools) it brings with it no comfort, no solace. Whether or not I'll be full by the end of lunchtime on any given day is anyone's guess, and the question always fills me with apprehension as fourth period draws to a close.

I never considered myself an especially picky eater when I lived in America. There were certainly things I wouldn't eat (mustard-flavored ice cream, for instance), but I didn't feel my range of tastes to be out of the ordinary.

The problem is in Japan, 75% of food is out of the ordinary, at least according to American standards. Don't misunderstand me here; there are plenty of Japanese foods that I love. I'm fascinated by Japan's many varied and delicious interpretations of the humble noodle. School lunch, however, is a completely different animal.

I won't bother with giving you the details; they would serve only to bore or horrify you. Simply let it be known that I am not terribly fond of school lunch. Furthermore, let it also be known that the previous sentence was an immense understatement.

More interesting than lunch itself is the way it's served. In American schools, lunch is prepared and served by school personnel whose primary function is to prepare and serve lunch. In Japan, these people do not exist, having been replaced long ago by robots which were - according to Japan's Ministry of Education - cheaper and more efficient.

Sadly, these robots began to break down all over Japan and were never fixed because the engineers who designed them starved to death while working on a solution. Now lunch distribution is handled by the students themselves.

Every day, trucks pull up to the schools, their holds full to bursting with strange and exotic foodstuffs. These are passed off to the students in gleaming metal buckets and then dished out onto plates for individual consumption.

Methods vary slightly from school to school, but the main points stay the same. Every day at the same time, bad pop music kicks in over the school's speaker system, compelling the students to action. Quickly, they don their aprons and organize themselves according to some mad, indecipherable scheme. Then, their dark work begins.

The only notable difference is at the elementary school, where lunchtime is serious business. Here they wear not aprons, but rather full smocks, along with special caps and masks. As they scurry about, their eyes solemn with the weight of their responsibility, the resemble nothing so much as tiny surgeons.