At the beginning of each bike ride, I attempt to bring along as little as possible. When going to classes, this is never easy. However, when going to work it’s pretty simple. I have a small across the chest bag (A Kavu which I love) and a lunch box/bag. I normally try to stuff the lunch box into my Kavu bag along with the book I am reading at the time, my work shirt so I don’t sweat it up on the ride in, my large wallet that needs to be replaced, and other miscellaneous items that are safe to say, probably unnecessary.
Two weeks ago, I had a great idea to bungee the lunchbox onto my bike rack in the back. It would be less weight carried on my back. Although the lunch is small, it can make a difference believe it or not. Plus, I have had a number of instances where Tupperware has leaked, been tossed around and mushed together, or my fruit was majorly bruised.( You’d think I was doing some type of extreme cyclocross!) On the rack, it would be stable, upright.
I prepared for the ride. I secured my lunch box with my final yellow bungee cord onto the rack. ( I have yet to purchase new ones.) I noted how cute it looked, wondered what you might call a trunk on a bicycle, and happily and satisfactorily mounted my ride.
I took the usual ride to work. Partway down Frankfort, someone honked. I thought to myself, you have plenty of room to pass, just pass. But other than that, I didn’t think much of it. On Story Avenue, (one of my least favorite streets to ride on) I received another horn honk. I wasn’t sure what was wrong. I don’t normally get this many complaints early in the morning. However on Story, people like to speed and there are only two lanes. I’m sure I was inconveniencing someone as usual, shmeh.
Anyways, I continued on to work. I pulled up to my bike rack at work with a smile on my face, full of endorphins, and the bass beating in my ears. I locked it up and proceeded to remove my lunch box.
But it was gone.
Only my single yellow bungee cord remained.
My delicious homemade spaghetti with sausage and crusty Italian bread, gone! Oooh nooo! Did I even have money for lunch???
I had half a mind to go search for it. My lunchbox. Filled with food. My Tupperware. Filled with food. My CRUSTY ITALIAN BREAD FROM THE BAKERY!
There was no way to return. There was no time to go back and search for it. I had to let it go. Let. It. Go.
I thought to myself, it’s just a lunchbox Katlyn, it’s not the end of the world. Maybe some homeless person is really enjoying your meal.
Well, recipient of my homemade lunch, I hope it was good. I hope you enjoyed the decadence of bakery made Italian bread, of homemade spaghetti sauce with lemon zest and sausage, of long, al dente spaghetti noodles. I hope it gave you the strength of the gods! I hope you were rejuvenated for days! That you didn’t feel hunger at least for twelve hours!
But I’ll still search for you, lunch box. Every day, on my way to work, I’ll look for your discarded self. I won’t care that you’re no longer filled with food or crusty Italian bread. I won’t care that you’re covered in dirt and filth.
I’ll welcome you back with open arms. And I will reuse you, again.