As Mr.

McGee drove to work on a cold winter morning before Christmas, he couldn’t help but
notice how many people smiled and waved to him from the warmth of their cars. “Small towns come
with a lot of pros and cons, but one thing is for sure: the people are always nice.” he thought to himself.
“I’m glad I never took that teaching job in the city a few years ago.” Pulling into the school staff parking
lot, he parked his truck, grabbed his backpack heavy with marking and lesson plans, and made his way
up to his classroom.

As the day wore on a slow growling built up in Mr. McGee’s stomach. By period 3, the class
before lunch, even the students had taken notice. “So here in Act III you can see that Shakespeare…” Mr.
McGee began but was drowned out by the echoing reverberations of hunger coming from his stomach.
The students in his class snickered, giggled, and then bellowed in laughter as this cacophonous sound
was followed up by an even louder rumble from his wanting abdomen. “Sorry folks, I’m starving, as you
can hear. Like you, I’m counting the minutes to lunch so I can run down to the cafeteria for a sandwich.”
The mention of food triggered another wave of hunger, punctuated by the bell signifying lunch.

“Finish your Act III questions for homework,” cried Mr. McGee as his students rushed from the
room. “And make sure you have a good day and take risks!” He often had odd things to encourage his
students as they left the room. Some students smiled jovially, some rolled their eyes, while most others
didn’t hear a word he said as they rushed towards their lunch plans.

Mr. McGee quickly straightened up some papers on his desk then made his way to the cafeteria
to satiate his vast hunger with a delicious sandwich. The lines for the a la carte menu and cashier were
long and chaotic, but thankfully there was no one in front of the pre-made sandwich area. Mr. McGee
rushed past the other lines to finally grab something to eat.

The reason so many famished students avoided the sandwich area became painfully apparent
when Mr. McGee reached down for an egg salad sandwich. Despite the firm plastic wrapping, the
sandwich felt like goo in his hands. A quick inspection revealed more mold than bread making its way
around the back of the meal. McGee’s stomach tightened in revulsion, and he fought back his stomach
heaves. Gently placing the mess off to the side, he searched for another sandwich with less vomit
inducing proclivities. Most had varied levels of fungal growth, from small blue dots to partial liquidation.

Finally, after many long, gagging minutes, he found one that did not appear to have any
advanced stages of decomposition. Submitting to hunger over reason, he grabbed the sandwich and
joined the slow moving for the cashier. “No one will care if I take a few bites before I pay for it.” He
thought, as his hunger pangs began to return. He careful unwrapped the sealed plastic. Before the final
layer was removed the sweet, curdling stench of rotten chicken and mayonnaise assaulted his nostrils. A
fresh round of heaves took over his body, along with several other students.

Mr. McGee quickly wrapped up the sandwich and launched towards the nearest garbage can,
not looking to see whether or not the trajectory was true, and ran back up the stairs towards his
classroom. Throwing open the door he took in a deep breath of fresh, teenage B.O. laden air.
Miraculously, his hunger did not abate. Rather it seemed to grow as a steady growl turned into a roar
from his stomach.

“That’s it, I’m going to Subway!” He said. He purposefully marched across the room to grab his
coat and car keys. He would not be kept from eating any longer.
 He would have a sandwich, one way or another.

Mr. McGee quickly left his classroom and made his way to the parking lot. As he neared his truck
he reached for the keys in his right pocket. His hand found a small 3D print of a frog one of his children
had made a week earlier, but nothing else. A frantic search of his left pocket revealed nothing but lint.

“Where are my bloody keys!” Mr. McGee yelled, as he shoved both hands into his pockets and
searched frantically. His search yielded nothing except a plastic amphibian, more lint, and a loose thread.
He checked all of his pants pockets, his jacket pockets, and even the zipper vents of his coat. Finally,
defeated, he let out a lough sigh, echoed by the rumble of his famished stomach.

“What’s wrong McGee?” Mr. McGee turned to face the familiar voice. It was his friend Andler
Butterson, a vice-principal sauntering out to his car not far away from where Mr. McGee parked.

“I can’t find my keys and I have a mighty hankering for a sandwich,” he explained. “The
overpriced slop in the cafeteria is literally rotten so I thought I should head down the road to subway, but
I got all the way out here and now I can’t find my keys!”

“No worries,” replied Andler. “I’m on my way to the elementary school to work with some of our
reading buddies. I can drop you off if you want and pick you up on my way back through. We should be
back well before lunch is over.”

“You’re a life saver!” exclaimed Mr. McGee. The sentiment was supported by his rumbling
stomach, which drew a chuckle from Andler.

“Hop in and we’ll fix you up.” Mr. McGee quickly opened the car door and hopped inside. Andler
made his way slowly out of the school parking lot, being sure to avoid the many students walking
aimlessly without direction or purpose, lost in the blue glow of their phones and online reality.