On returning home from the grocery store I noticed a very strange anomaly that exists in my kitchen. It made me wonder if this is just something unique to my kitchen or if it’s a common unexplainable phenomenon in yours as well. This gave way to several other peculiarities that came to mind as I prattled around the kitchen. Incidentally, I believe the kitchen and the garage are the only two rooms in the house that one prattles.
As I unloaded my bags…OK let’s stop right here for a sec. My first paying job was as a sacker in a grocery store. Food City, to be exact. It no longer exists but there remains an alumni of us around town that worked there long ago. That knowing look when seeing each other of, “Yes, you used to sneak booze out to us in the bottom of milk crates.” or “I remember you compressed an entire pallet of eggs in the the trash compactor just to see what would happen.” Not to mention the inner store trysts, hook ups and heartbreaks. I mention this because I am forever ruined and appalled at the way groceries are sacked these days. No care given to heavy items on the bottom, light smooshable items on top or cold items together etc. No they just throw your crap in these plastic Saran Wrap bags like a pillowcase on halloween. It’s maddening. I used to take such pride in my sacking ability. Remember the movie, “Cocktail?” Ya, I think you get it. Flair baby. I could toss a box of cereal and loaf of bread into the air and have 3 cans of green beans and a V8 in the the sack before they landed in place. Oh the good old days of paper sacks. No ocean polluting plastic option available. You know what else wasn’t an option? Carrying your own groceries out to your car. We were not to allow that period. No one carries their groceries out but us. We got to know our customers by name that way and they weren’t allowed to tip us either. Even though I did receive a hundred dollar bill from a great customer on Christmas Eve once. I tried to deny it but you don’t argue with Mr Correa. Of course I still remember his name.
But I digress! The original anomaly that I discovered is that of a “where things are supposed to go” nature. For some strange reason I put the peanut butter in the cupboard that holds all of the spices, cooking spray, salt and seasoning mixes etc. The obvious place would be the larger pantry on the other side of the kitchen with all the cereal, canned goods, and snacks. But nope. I don’t know why or how this got started but it just is. That peanut butter sits in there as aloof and isolated as an IT guy at a christmas party. Even now, as I’m fully aware of how weird this is, I still put it in there. It’s kind of irreversible. You can’t undo this sort of thing. No one would ever be able to find the damn peanut butter if such a move where made, I assure you. Not even me.
Other bizarre things in my kitchen were now revealing themselves to me. Have you ever successfully opened a box of anything that had a perforated easy opening thing on it? Come to think of it, is there a perforating machine that actually works anywhere? I have held contests with cash prizes to see if you can tear off a single paper towel cleanly from the roll. It’s physically impossible. I’ve tried it every way conceivable. Fast, slow, up, down, straight out. Forget it. I’m convinced the perforation is a mere suggestion of where you should try to rip it.
I could honestly go all day on my coffee maker. It’s a single cup maker. I jumped on that innovation pretty early but as a result my maker is now on it’s last leg I think. I think this because it’s either about to break or it’s possessed by the devil. I’m inclined to believe the former but I swear that thing waits for me to open it and then blasts me with steam. It can also start operating on it’s own at any given time. Other times it just keeps running and running while I’m grabbing cups or any container in arms length to put under it until the tank is dry. It’s like a Jerry Lewis bit. I could have called it quits and replaced it but it “usually” works just fine. But there is definitely a Russian Roulette nature to my mornings now.
The dishwasher thinks it’s a Lawrence Welk bubble machine and my freezer contains items I would be hard pressed to eat even if it were post apocalypse but I won’t go into all that. I chose to live like this. And allow it to continue. I hope I’m not totally alone on this but I admit that could be a possibility.
Suffice it to say my kitchen has become a circus and freak show that I hope does not soon come to a home near you.