When I used to compile
the newsletter where I used to work, I would ask the rest of the staff to give
me input on what they would like in it. My fellow case manager would give me
her column (always well ahead of time…thank you!), Our Program Manager would
give me verbal ideas which we always forgot about in about five minutes or so,
and one month, Our maintenance man gave me a list of topics that I expanded
upon and put in Housekeeping, except one thing. His last item said, “NO
lunch report.” Of course, this was because I often asked what he had for
lunch. I couldn’t help it, it smelt pretty darn good sometimes!
I decided to dedicate this blog to our maintenance man’s lunch. For the sake of the story, we’ll just call him “Bob.” For those of you that look forward to my moral of the story part, don’t worry…there will be a moral.
Just to be accurate, I Googled, “Bob’s lunch,” and was very surprised to find a wealth of information about the subject. An entire history was portrayed for me that I will condense and offer to all of you. We’ll begin with Caveman Bob.
Caveman Bob was the first lunch hauler in Bob Lunch history. Before he would hop on his stone wheel and roll away to his maintenance job at the cave complex to fix fire pits and meat hangers, his cavewoman would fix him a lunch and put it in his blue-dyed dinosaur eggshell lunch bucket. Occasionally, he would lose control of his wheel and break his bucket, prompting him to perform the dangerous task of stealing a new dinosaur egg. Of course, this meant egg salad lunches for weeks!
Babylon Bob was a maintenance guy for King Nebuchadnezzar and maintained the hanging garden water system for the king. His lunch box was made of the blue-dyed stomach lining from a camel. One day, it became so hot, his unleavened bread melted around his fruit from the fig tree. Not wanting to waste the lunch his wife so lovingly made for him, he ate it and realized it was wonderful! He called it a Fig Bob, but it didn’t take. Centuries later, some guy named Newton rediscovered the tasty snack and became famous.
Barnacle Bob was a maintenance pirate aboard one of Blackbeard’s ships. He was the guy that kept the ship afloat and was also tasked with the job of turning pirated vessels so they could be reused after being blown to bits by cannonballs. He gained his nickname of Barnacle Bob because he was constantly scraping the barnacles off the bottoms of the captured ships to make them presentable. His lunch was always packed in a blue conch shell which he famously guarded because, seriously, how often can you find a blue conch shell? Well, one day, as Blackbeard’s pirates were battling to take an English frigate led by Captain James Cook, something serious happened. Barnacle Bob was kicking back watching the fight from the Crow’s Nest (as the maintenance pirate he wasn’t required to fight), Captain Cook made the mistake of bumping Barnacle Bob’s blue lunch conch. Without a thought, Barnacle Bob leaped down to the deck, took Captain Cook’s sword, and lopped off his hand. Barnacle Bob felt so bad afterward that he dug into his tool chest and found a hook for the poor man to wear in place of his hand. Captain Cook was so moved, as well as apologetic for bumping Barnacle Bob’s blue lunch conch, that he joined the pirates and became famous in his own right. Ever hear of Captain James Hook?
Bungalow Bob was a maintenance pioneer out west as the settler’s moved from the east. He maintained a series of bungalows along the way so they could rest before they moved over the mountains. He also maintained a giant cornfield so he could give them corn for their trip. Unfortunately, this also meant he ate a lot of corn on the cob when he would open his blue wooden lunch box every day. Oftentimes, he brought a bag of extra corn on the cob to give to the children from the wagon trains and all the children sang,
“Hey, Bungalow Bob!
Corn on the cob?
So, now it’s time for the moral of the story. Even though we have fun with Bob’s lunch, there is a long and cherished history behind the tradition. If you value your hand…don’t bump Bob’s lunch…no, that’s not it. Um, use care when packing your lunch in a dinosaur eggshell…no, that’s not it either. Well, I guess we’ll go with, don’t tell Dazeodrew, “NO lunch report.” That’s like a serving suggestion.