THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1996, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, September 15, 1996 TAG: 9609110040
SECTION: REAL LIFE PAGE: K1 EDITION: FINAL
COLUMN: REAL PLACES
SOURCE: BY HOLLY WESTER, CORRESPONDENT
LENGTH: 104 lines
IT'S LUNCHTIME on the third day of classes at Ocean Lakes High in Virginia Beach, and Mike Banks is already counting down the days 'til the end of school.
``A hundred and 77 more days,'' he mutters to himself, looking down at his G-Shock watch and shaking his head in disbelief. ``One hundred and 77!''
Banks, a teacher's assistant and a football coach, does what he always does when he's having a bad day. Heads straight for the faculty cafeteria.
With a funky glass wall separating it from the students, the faculty dining area is where teachers like Banks hang when they're not teaching.
Fear not, nosy ones. Behind Door Number One is no all-you-can eat caviar buffet or massage parlor. It's simply a place for the old folks to chill - to eat and talk, talk and eat, in peace, away from it all.
Away from dudes with jeans hanging off their hips. Away from girls with rings in their eyebrows. Away from bookworms jonesin' for next week's assignments.
Away from reality. Well, for at least 46 minutes or so.
Banks flings open the door and looks for someone - anyone - to listen. Bob Lint is the only guy around, but Bob's too busy with his chicken and rolls.
He walks circles around the place, scouting out a place to sit.
Just like in the students' cafeteria, there's a ``nerd'' table, a ``popular table'' where the young teachers chat about what's cool and what's not, and even a ``jocks'' table, where the rap is scores, scores and more scores.
Nobody's here yet, so Banks grabs a glass of tea and heads out. A faculty cafeteria just ain't a faculty cafeteria if there ain't no faculty to chat with.
Less than 10 minutes later, the stampede begins. It's teachers, teachers everywhere. Three of the five tables fill up in seconds.
``The prices sure have gone up,'' complains English teacher Lisa Long, looking down at today's veggie-filled lunch.
``Yeah, they have,'' agrees colleague Lori Molodow, who brown-bagged a banana, turkey sandwich and Diet Coke.
Long, taking a bite of warm sweet potatoes, says, ``But I can't bring this in.''
Theatre arts teacher Rob O'Leary, wearing a Coca Cola ``bears'' tie, joins them. He has some scoop.
``I found out why the water was brown yesterday,'' he says, tearing open a packet of ketchup for his fries.
``Why?'' Long and Molodow ask.
``The boiler blew up.''
``Ohhhhhhhh.''
It doesn't take long for the subject to switch.
``My feet, you guys, are killing me,'' Molodow says, looking down at a pair of black, pointy-toe heels.
``I'm so tired,'' adds Long. ``Look at me today - no contacts, no high heels.''
Last night's open house is taking its toll. Meanwhile, Frances Sadler, another English teacher, takes a seat. Molodow sips her diet cola.
``I don't let my players drink soda,'' says O'Leary, who is also the boys' volleyball coach.
``Why?'' Sadler asks.
``You pour soda on a bad car battery to eat corrosion away.''
``Think of what it's doing to our insides!'' Sadler jokes.
One by one, the teachers make their way to the door. They all have to get back to ``teacher stuff.''
During second lunch, the ``English table'' becomes the ``interpreter table.'' Two sign language interpreters, who always sit together, pick up where O'Leary left off.
``You're going to eat that?'' Amy Utter asks Wendi Werth, who is pulling out a snack tub of cherry Jell-O.
``Yeah, why?'' Werth asks.
``Did you know it was made from horse hoofs?''
``Ewwwwwwww.''
``Yep. And so is gum.''
``Oh, my God!''
Werth gets Utter back with the hot dog story.
``I am like a spaz about hot dogs,'' Werth says, tucking her ground hoof into her lunch bag. ``The casing is made of intestines.''
Utter isn't moved.
No matter how much they crave food and conversation, the regulars in this dining room know they are faculty and staff members first, hungry faculty and staff members second.
Citizenship Studies coordinator Jim Thompson can attest to that. He had to leave his bean soup before he could take a slurp, because a message on his radio said there was trouble in the auditorium.
Forty-five minutes later, his bean soup had gelled.
Sometimes a there's even a little food for thought at lunch. Teachers share ideas about everything from lectures to punishments.
``Some of the best times we have to talk about our classes are during lunch,'' O'Leary says.
``We just bounce ideas off of each other,'' Sadler says. ``It's great.''
And after the eating, chatting and swapping conclude, the faculty and staffers carry the same ivory-colored trays and pale yellow plates to the same lunchlady their students see.
Then it's back to reality. Back to the baggy pants. Back to the pierced eyebrows. Back to the bookworms.
``It's a nice place to visit,'' O'Leary says, smiling, walking his tray to the dishwasher and looking back at the door. ``But you wouldn't want to live there.'' ILLUSTRATION: Color photo
MORT FRYMAN/The Virginian-Pilot
Sign-language interpreters Weni Werth, left, and Amy Utter always
sit together at the faculty cafeteria at Ocean Lakes High School in
Virginia Beach. by CNB