Fear the Crab

I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned this, but I have been using a titanium spork at work to assist in the consumption of comestibles. I first heard about this thing via ThinkGeek and felt that it would serve me well in The Office environment. In a stroke of pure genius and total lack of work on my part, I managed to secure myself a titanium spork as a gift (along with a squishy bowl set, which I also use at The Office).

I use the spork practically every day. I pack a home lunch and drop that utility-ous utensil in the box, give it a quick spritz of dish soap to rinse off after lunch, and bring it home for a proper scrub at night. It’s very handy.

Sometimes I don’t bring lunch from home. I still bring my lunch box, because it has my squishy bowls and I use them for my breakfast of championship oatmeal. Those days that I don’t bring home lunch, I generally try to find something to eat from places around The Office, and in a passing fit of environmentalism, I opt out of the plastic forks in favor of my metallic culinary weapon.

Such was the case yesterday. Since I had to go to the bank, I stopped by a plate lunch place (located in the Biomedical Building… relevant?) and secured me some herb-roasted chicken. As mentioned, I took no utensils and resolved to use the spork. I’m doing my part to reduce my carbon footprint! Despite the fact that the lunch came in a styrofoam container and that my feet are kinda small.

Fast forward past a fantastic serving of fowl, and the rest of the day is frapturously dull. So dull that I can make up words like frapturous, because it rhymes with craptastic.

I go home, open up my lunch box so that I can wash my bits, and I realize that I FUCKING LEFT THE SPORK IN THE PLATE LUNCH CONTAINER. The container that I threw out in the large garbage cans outside The Office building, that I now distinctly remember having no other such garbage so as to land directly at the bottom. The bottom of which undoubtedly has filled up since I dumped my container after lunch and only realized the spork was missing after dinner.

I figure, well hey, it’s only nine (8.99) dollars, plus shipping and handling. Yeah, it was a gift, but shift happens sometimes. On the other hand, it was 9 freakin’ dollars (plus s&h) and it was a freakin’ gift! Shift!

As if I didn’t have anything better to do, I stayed up late fretting about it.

This early morning I arrive at work, and it’s raining. I have my raincoat and lunchbox (sans spork) and I’m splashing through puddles as I make my way from the parking structure to The Office. I arrive at the building and stop at the garbage can. The garbage can that I threw away my food in. The garbage can that has been filled with other food containers since I left yesterday.

It’s still dark, as it is not yet time for the sun to wake. And it’s raining. Hard. I peek into the can (it has no lid) and see that yes, it is now halfway full. As I suspected, yes, there are food containers, likely filled with leftovers that invariably attract my #1 nemesis (see tags for a clue). And yes, I can see the corner of the container that I threw out from where I stand, pale white styrofoam gleaming in the baleful orange glow of outdoor hallway lights.

Huh. You know, I could reach in there and get it. The can, can be considered halfway empty, right? And the spork was a gift, right? So what if there are dozens of other plates and containers in the way. So what if I have to navigate past all that rotten food and who-knows-what in open bags. So what if, assuming I do pull out the container I used, there is another “occupant” inside when I open it.

I stand there, over the garbage can, pondering my decision. I stand there in my black raincoat, large hood over my head, backpack on my shoulders, lunch box in my hand. I stand there in the dark, rain and wind falling around me, utterly alone since no one with any semblance of sensibility is up at this forsaken hour.

“Lo, how the mighty have fallen,” a witness might think. “Lo, how the dying throes of a weakened economy force State employees to forage for food.” Well, fuck it. I dropped my lunch box to the ground, and dove into that can with as much courage as I could muster.

Apparently it wasn’t much courage, because I ended up just sticking one sleeve-rolled-up arm in there and tugged at the barest piece of styrofoam real estate with my thumb and forefinger. My other fingers were trying as hard as possible to stay away from the germ-ridden filth. My chin was parked on my shoulder blade in an attempt to avoid possible backsplash from.. well, anything.

But it was okay! And my hand was already making the OK sign! I pulled out that lunch container, gave it a quick shake to dislodge any residue, and popped the lid open before my rational mind could interrupt.

Voila! Spork! Disregarding any previous attempts to remain sanitized, I snatched my precious out from the grasp of day-old rice and chicken fat, and dumped the container back into the can. I went inside The Office to the break room sink and gave it a quick rubbing down with dish soap and water, then I microwaved a mug of water and dropped the business end of the spork into it, where it has been soaking since I started this post.

I think maybe it’s okay now. It’s time for oatmeal, and I’m hungry.