No Spinach, Please

“No spinach, please.”

Working in a college cafeteria, this is a sentence I hear all too often. Of course, its cousins frequent my ears just as often. “Everything but the spinach.” “Hold the spinach.” “I don’t want any of that green stuff.”

Looking down at the thick, miscellaneous green goo that seems to vaguely resemble food, I can’t help but blame them. But really, what is it about spinach that people hate so much? Certainly, Popeye can’t be blamed; he admirably advertised the veggie as one which can give you that extra bit of strength to help save Olive Oil or whatever her name was (am I the only one noticing a veggie-themed pattern here)?

And, why not? Spinach is rich in vitamin C, making it beneficial for weak eyes (which squinty ol’ Popeye, I’m assuming, suffered from). It can help stabilize blood pressure and prevent tumor formation. By all accounts, Popeye must be a pretty healthy guy.

Looking down at the mushy, green mess in front of me, I can’t help but think not about Popeye, but about his friend Wimpy, hopelessly addicted to hamburgers which are slowly killing him. The burger grill sits adjacent to my serving station, and is certainly much more popular. One thing few people realize, however, is that spinach is considered an anti-aging vegetable. When I see the cute girl (the one with the disarming smile and bright eyes that are so charming, they temporarily distract me from how huge her rack is) walk up and politely refuse the green stuff, I feel like yelling after her “one day you’ll be sorry!” As she walks over to the grill to grab a burger, I picture her in fifty years, her once-glorious rack now a saggy mess, and crows’ feet that stretch from here to heaven. She cries out “Why, oh why didn’t I take that green stuff from that handsome fellow back in college? Now eternal life is forever beyond my reach!”
I shake my nutty fantasy loose (remind me to see a shrink) as I am greeted by a great smile and a small plate. “Could I just have a plate of spinach, please?” Hey, she’s cute. Maybe there’s hope after all. I’m still not going to eat it, though.

           

Our Suburban Adventure

            “Who wants to come on errands with me?”

Surely, any normal child would stare blankly, for a few moments, before returning their attention back to their Game Boy. But I was no ordinary child. When my dad posed the intriguing question, time in and time out, I would dutifully answer, “I do!”

            The massive Home Depot shelves loomed above us like the Pyramids of Egypt; it was exhilarating. I think it gave me dad joy to see me little face, awash with awe and fear. Sometimes, if I was lucky, we would venture into the wild jungle known as the Home Garden section. Truly, the Amazon Rain forest did not contain as many models of floral perfection. The lighting section contained more sources of illumination than the night sky, and the most comforting summer breeze could not compare to the breath of fresh air that dozens of spinning ceiling fans provided.  I never knew what we were buying, and I didn’t care. Shopping was an adventure.

            Now, as an increasingly cynical adult, during the rare times I am at home, my dad will, with a bit more hesitation, ask the age-old question. And, regardless of the circumstance, my younger self dutifully responds as always, and we retreat into our own private adventure, where the world, for a time, can’t touch us; no matter how old we are.