Friday, January 19, 2007

The Life of Our Objects

(A series of pointless writings about our ignored Domestic items)

The Fridge

Living with three carnivore roommates is a problem when it is time to stock up The Fridge, it can also become a problem if you are a vegetarian, and it becomes a bigger conflict when there is not enough space in it. (Correction: Living with three roommates is a problem. Period.)

We all got paid this week, so, obviously, it was a Wal-Mart, or Food Lion-shopping spree day. Personally, I gave up on grocery shopping months ago and switched to eating at gourmet drive-thru diners such as Taco-Bell,which help me in my mission of becoming a healthy, responsible adult. All because trying to store my unfortunate bag of frozen broccoli in between my roommate’s seven pound chickens crammed together with her various dead cow parts, has become one hell of a challenge. When everybody decides to go grocery shopping at the same time, it's asking for trouble. I will find my poor soy burgers asphyxiating under a box of chicken wings, or my innocent cream cheese shoved into a far corner that is hard to reach because of the other obstacles placed in front of it, such as the bottles of tequila, or the strange packages of hot dogs labeled “Joe-Dog.”

Also, I am in the process of making a sign that says: “Be careful of what you put in the fridge: It might just fall on top of you when you open the door.” Last month I came back home at 3 AM, halfway drunk and sleepy after one of those exciting nights spent “ partying” in Charlotte ( please, note the cynism, specially placed on the word "exciting") and I went into the kitchen to get some soda: a heavy pitcher full of iced-tea spilled over my leg instead, and landed on my foot, it still hurts to think about it.

Last week was the turn of an open can of tuna that was balancing itself on the edges, and it fell to the floor. It missed me, but I still had to clean up after it.Tonight, I wanted to look for some left-over ice cream in the freezer, so I opened the door slowly, ready to deal with whatever piece of food might decide to attack me…Until a frozen fish fell, gracefully, in my arms.

Correction: I was not ready to deal with whatever piece of food attacked me. A heavy, dead fish, fresh out of the ocean was staring at me like if it were Poe’s Raven singing “nevermore,” a huge salmon saying
“nevermore” as it haunted me with its lifeless eyes still open and its metallic fins, trapped and frozen inside a zip loc bag: The poor soul. No more frozen animal bodies. I’m getting a mini fridge for my room next week, even if I only store my cream cheese inside it.

Such is the life that goes on, inside The Fridge.

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