Have a Good One

She's been here since before the renovation. Before the new coffee station, before the salad bar pods replaced the sneeze-guard trays from the nineties, before whoever it was who first laminated the SEASONAL SPECIAL sign and never changed it. The cafeteria at 11:50 AM is a kind of parade, and she has a front-row seat that nobody notices her sitting in.

"Have a Good One" is a song sung in her voice — Donna, name tag above the left pocket, cafeteria lunch lady, nineteen years in the same building. The Rhodes comes in before she does, warm and a little blurry, like the light through the steam table. She describes the morning setup in the same flat register she uses for everything: the pasta bake is in, the soup needs a stir, Jeffrey always comes first and he always orders turkey with no bread, and she knows why, and she will never say. The chorus — "have a good one," said two hundred times a day in a tone that has been worn smooth — arrives not as a punchline but as something closer to a ritual. She says it like a blessing. She's not entirely sure she means it. By the final chorus, she might.

The song's emotional turn lives in the bridge: the cafeteria at two o'clock, after everyone's gone back upstairs. Rhodes plays alone. She says her own name the way she's said everyone else's — quietly, once, without fuss. Donna. It's been on the tag since 2005. The sneeze guard still needs wiping. She wipes it.

[Verse 1] It's quarter to ten and the pasta bake's in Steam table's hot, I've checked the pans twice The house salad's out, the soup needs a stir Nobody's here yet. I don't mind the quiet

Jeffrey comes first — turkey, no bread He's been doing that since his wife left him I don't say a word, I just slide him the tray "Have a good one, Jeffrey." He barely looks up

The seasonal special's been chicken marsala Since the sign got laminated in two-thousand-and-seventeen I keep my opinions where they live the best Which is somewhere between the ladle and me

[Chorus] Have a good one Have a good one Said to a hundred faces that won't remember mine Have a good one Have a good one I say it like a blessing I'm not sure I mean Have a good one

[Verse 2] The gluten-free tray has a green label on it I've explained this to Mariana three hundred times She nods like it's new, I smile like it's fine "Green label, right there — you're all set"

I saw the CFO cry into his soup last March The split-pea, which isn't our best He was sitting alone at the table by the window I looked at the counter. I counted the trays

The intern said "thank you" and meant it Stopped, looked up, said "this is really good" I said "have a good one" like I always do But that time I think I did

There's a sign by the register, black letters: THANK YOU FOR BUSSING YOUR OWN TRAY Nineteen years. I've read it nineteen years The VPs never do. I wipe the table anyway

[Chorus] Have a good one Have a good one Said to a hundred faces that won't remember mine Have a good one Have a good one I say it like a blessing I'm not sure I mean Have a good one

[Bridge] Two o'clock The cafeteria's empty My name is on a tag above my left pocket Donna It's been there since October, two-thousand-and-five Rhodes plays alone here Steam turns off Donna straightens the sneeze guard Have a good one, Donna Have a good one

[Final Chorus] Have a good one Have a good one Said it so long I think I might believe it now Have a good one Have a good one Said to everyone. Said to no one Have a good one

[Outro] (kitchen sounds come back — distant tray clatter, refrigerator hum, the squeak of sneakers on linoleum, Rhodes fading) Have a good one ...have a good one