A Tale of Two Yogurts

I've been suffering a bit of blogger's block recently or hadn't you noticed.  There have been times when I stare at this blank screen and can think of nothing to write.  Nothing that goes beyond the obvious, universal truths know to all, such as "I really love peanut butter."  As much as I could wax poetic about peanut butter for 200 words (I'm averaging a jar per 1.5 weeks), I hardly think anyone cares to read it.  If I stoop that low, I might as well start tweeting my daily breakast.  KRN-flakes, yall!  SO Taste-y!

Rather, I'd like to tell you a tale about yogurt.  Trader Joe's Peach Soy yogurt.  The small plastic foil-covered basin first appeared to me in the company fridge, seen fraternizing with my peanut butter.  This was about a month ago, but you would have thought it was the day after Thanksgiving given all the leftovers in the fridge that day.  It was this same image of dozens of plastic containers crammed in against each other that first inspired my idea for the reality show "Tupperware Wars."  But I digress.  After making a routine piece of peanut butter toast, I went to return my PB jar to its rightful throne on the second shelf.  I had something (I'll never say what) in my other hand so when I found there not to be enough room for the jar, I had to use a little measured force to squeeze it in.  What I didn't know was that there was a Trader Joe's Peach Soy yogurt perched precariously on the edge of this same shelf a couple of containers over, hidden from my view.  We'll never know for sure whether this soy yogurt was pushed off that ledge or whether he made a well-timed choice to jump.  Either way, with witnesses behind me, I was clearly responsible.

At first, I thought he might be okay.  I picked up the yogurt thinking we might all get out of this thing on the cheap, no worse for the wear and a vital lesson learned.  When I lifted the little guy from the floor, however, and saw his yogurt guts dripping, I knew there would be no neat resolution.  I tossed him into the trash can, wiped up the remains, and left the following note on a post-it note inside the fridge where the yogurt had been.

SORRY, BROKE SOY YOGURT BY ACCIDENT.  WILL REPLACE. HELP SELF TO PEANUT BUTTER IN MEANTIME.

--JOHN K x4691

And that's exactly what I did, I replaced the yogurt with an exact duplicate approximately one and one half weeks later.  My original note, while lasting for several days, had by then been removed.  I placed the replacement yogurt in a spot similar to where its fallen bretheren had come from and stuck another post-it to it that read simply, "Replaced!"  I had heard nothing from the yogurt's owner after having broke the first one and I heard nothing more when I replaced it.  For a week, that new yogurt sat there, note and all, and not a peep was heard, nor the yogurt consumed.

Then it happened again.  You would hope that I would have learned from my mistakes, but you would be wrong to assume I would learn so quickly.  I found myself in the same situation, my hands full, innocently trying to put my peanut butter back, and lo and behold, I knocked the soy yogurt off again.  Once more, its feeble container was cracked, its sad, milk-less, orange hued insides spewed out on the concrete floor.  Oddly enough, I found myself joined by one of the very same witnesses as the first time, a coworker we shall call Meghan.  Only this time, Meghan was not a witness to my humility and embarassment.  No, this time, while flummoxed that this could happen twice, I held not the least bit of shame.  I tossed the fallen yogurt into the trashcan** and went on my merry way.  If no tears were shed for the first yogurt, and no appetite apparent for the second, the joke would surely be on me were I to bring a third yogurt into this fridge.  Clearly, the Trader Joe's Soy Peach yogurt was not meant to be.

**The real tragedy of this story is that my company does not recycle anything but cans and I suspect even those bins are for only for effect.

Editor's Note: This post is dedicate to Bill Brasky.

Calgon Take Me Away

I just friggin' love this photo.  I was gonna wax on and on about it, but it really speaks for itself.  To give credit where due, the photographer's name is William Eggleston.  Apparently he's quite good.