For the last few weeks of school, the credit allowance was removed. With about three hundred dollars in negative student account balances on the books, there's been a real push to get the kids paid up before the summer vacation. Ergo: from May 15th until the last day of school, charging was absolutely, positively not allowed. Any kid who did not have enough money to pay up front for lunch got a milk and one of those dreadful wafer bars.
I confiscated many lunches. And they did not take the new policy well.
One kid cried. Inconsolably. I explained as gently as I could that he did not have enough money. I explained that he would still get a milk and a peanut butter bar, which would certainly keep him from starving until three o'clock. And when he brought in lunch money tomorrow, he would surely get a nice hot lunch.
But no. He took a few steps away from my register, laid his forehead on a table, and began to sob. And there was NO talking to him. I tried, but I couldn't even get him to lift up his head. Teachers came over. No luck. This went on for a while. They did at least eventually steer him away from the register and out into the cafeteria area, and I don't know what happened from there. But wow.
But that was rare. For the most part, it was hard to feel too bad about it. Maybe my Grinch-y heart is hardening somewhat. It's amazing though, just how many of the chronic offenders - kids who claim they just really have trouble getting the money in, are always riding that negative limit and then bring in just enough to continue getting lunch - only needed to be given the alternate lunch once. Next day, there was a check from mom, with enough money to cover whatever was left on those final two weeks.
One kid got aggressive. Not physically...just aggressive in that boisterous, entitled, I-can-abuse-customer-service-people kinda way.
"What do you mean?" he ranted, "I can still charge! You always let me charge a couple lunches!"
Me: "No, I'm sorry. It's been the policy since May 15th. I can't allow any student to charge."
Him: "Well nobody told ME!" Right. You missed the letter home to every student in the school. And the notice read on the morning announcements not once but several times, both before and after the deadline. I don't think so.
He paced, searching his repertoire. "Well still, I didn't know I didn't have any money. You didn't tell me I had no money!"
Again, um, no. Keenly aware that it can be easy to lose track of such things, I've made a point since the 15th of telling children as they pass through my line: "You have two/one lunch(es) left on your account, you need to bring in some money soon." "That was your last lunch, sweetie, please bring lunch money with you tomorrow or I can't sell you a hot lunch." I have the information right there. On a big screen. Which the children invariably look at as they check out, largely because they like the fact that their picture is on it, but still.
I held out the bar. He practically batted it away, snarling, "If I can't have my lunch, I don't want that. I'm calling my Mom. I'm going to tell her about this." And off he skulked, leaving me to quiver in my apron over the tattling I was about to receive.
When he came through my line the next day, he slammed a fiver down on the counter in front of me. "I have money today. I'm taking my lunch. I won't have to call my Mom."
I treated him to my most witheringly unconcerned look. "That's so very nice for you."
Not the most mature response, I know. Hey. He started it!
I confiscated many lunches. And they did not take the new policy well.
One kid cried. Inconsolably. I explained as gently as I could that he did not have enough money. I explained that he would still get a milk and a peanut butter bar, which would certainly keep him from starving until three o'clock. And when he brought in lunch money tomorrow, he would surely get a nice hot lunch.
But no. He took a few steps away from my register, laid his forehead on a table, and began to sob. And there was NO talking to him. I tried, but I couldn't even get him to lift up his head. Teachers came over. No luck. This went on for a while. They did at least eventually steer him away from the register and out into the cafeteria area, and I don't know what happened from there. But wow.
But that was rare. For the most part, it was hard to feel too bad about it. Maybe my Grinch-y heart is hardening somewhat. It's amazing though, just how many of the chronic offenders - kids who claim they just really have trouble getting the money in, are always riding that negative limit and then bring in just enough to continue getting lunch - only needed to be given the alternate lunch once. Next day, there was a check from mom, with enough money to cover whatever was left on those final two weeks.
One kid got aggressive. Not physically...just aggressive in that boisterous, entitled, I-can-abuse-customer-service-people kinda way.
"What do you mean?" he ranted, "I can still charge! You always let me charge a couple lunches!"
Me: "No, I'm sorry. It's been the policy since May 15th. I can't allow any student to charge."
Him: "Well nobody told ME!" Right. You missed the letter home to every student in the school. And the notice read on the morning announcements not once but several times, both before and after the deadline. I don't think so.
He paced, searching his repertoire. "Well still, I didn't know I didn't have any money. You didn't tell me I had no money!"
Again, um, no. Keenly aware that it can be easy to lose track of such things, I've made a point since the 15th of telling children as they pass through my line: "You have two/one lunch(es) left on your account, you need to bring in some money soon." "That was your last lunch, sweetie, please bring lunch money with you tomorrow or I can't sell you a hot lunch." I have the information right there. On a big screen. Which the children invariably look at as they check out, largely because they like the fact that their picture is on it, but still.
I held out the bar. He practically batted it away, snarling, "If I can't have my lunch, I don't want that. I'm calling my Mom. I'm going to tell her about this." And off he skulked, leaving me to quiver in my apron over the tattling I was about to receive.
When he came through my line the next day, he slammed a fiver down on the counter in front of me. "I have money today. I'm taking my lunch. I won't have to call my Mom."
I treated him to my most witheringly unconcerned look. "That's so very nice for you."
Not the most mature response, I know. Hey. He started it!
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