Coppell Observer is a humorous weekly column about life as a teenager. Please be warned that any and all sass is due to the writers’ similar situation as teenagers (even though we feel so much older). You, the reader, should not take any of these words seriously. Seriously. If this article makes you laugh, leave a comment.

By the time third period rolls around, I am ravenous. 

As I walk to my AP statistics class, the growls in my stomach mingle in with another sound – the bright voices of the lucky students blessed with A lunch. As they gleefully skip towards their food-filled future, I am left to wonder what sins I committed to be burdened with C lunch every A day. 

Why had I not been born with the God-given right to enjoy lunch at noon?

It seemed as though our counselors were acting as divine beings when they determined the elite from the dregs, as they separate the blessed from the cursed. 

I know I am not the only person to be consumed with hunger, waiting an extra hour before I can enjoy the experiences the A lunchers have as soon as the 12:04 bell rings. In fact, the highlight of my stats class was learning that, with the adjusted bell schedule, our lunch would begin a few minutes earlier. Never before had I seen teacher and students alike united in glee for something as simple as a slightly earlier lunch – but because C lunch is so incredibly far away, even the tiniest crumb thrown our way is enough for celebration. 

Even having B lunch, which I am lucky enough to have on B days, is significantly better than being banished to the depths of culinary purgatory.

At least with B lunch, they know their salvation comes with the bells right after the end of A lunch. At least at the point, B lunchers know their period of suffering is coming to an end. 

Not for C lunchers. 

No, each time we hear that bell, the first signaling A lunchers to exit and the second signaling B lunchers to enter the cafeteria, it serves as a cruel reminder of how we live in an unfair world. We are forced to suffer as we listen to the content voices of A lunchers walking out of the cafeteria and past our class and the eager voices of B lunchers who surge towards their dining destiny. 

Many a time have I seen people rise from their desks at the wrong bell, eyes sparkling with the glimpse of the food so soon to come. Once they realize, and it’s always a second or two before they realize, I see that sparkle die. In its place, there is nothing but a dead glaze. 

Thirty more minutes until freedom – technically 35 with the time between the dismissal and exit bells. 

It is as though C lunchers are like Tantalus, the Greek mythological king punished by the gods with eternal starvation. Our Hades is the classroom and though we may reach for the fruit upon the overhanging trees, the crispitos, mashed potato bowls and Chick-Fil-A sandwiches, it is pulled back from our grasp. 

The lunch one is given is truly something that could make or break one’s day.

On the bright side, it is not as terrible as the accursed D lunch of my freshman year. 

Now that was a time I would gladly forget. 

Follow Sally (@sparampottil) and @CHSCampusNews on Twitter.