Oranges Poranges

The following is a true story. The office this took place in is a place of former employement where I worked with my wife. In no way could this happen where I am now for I would not have as much privacy to duplicate this without a pondering audience.

I bought an orange today. I rarely buy fruit, but in a moment of healthy thinking, I bought it with the intentions of eating it at work as a light snack. Upon my desired snack time, I retrieved my orange from the company refrigerator and became perplexed by a problem. How do I eat this orange without covering myself in orange juice? Eating the oranges in slices, with skin intact, would be the best bet. Fruit with wrappers want to help you. Looking for a knife in the office kitchen yielded no results and an orange peeler was out of the question. All I found was a plastic spoon. Innovation? Ready for a challenge to do something different, I marched back to my office with my orange and spoon-that-wants-to-be-a-knife.

Placing the orange on a half stack of Post-it® notes for easy cleanup, I began making an incision with the plastic spoon. My progress was very encouraging, although the spoon made more of a curved cut rather than the straight one that I required. To deal with this I just simply cut a circle about the size of a nickel and lifted up the skin.

Now I had an orange with a hole in it. No turning back now or I lose 68 cents and would have to explain to my wife where my orange went. Things like this she notices. My first circular cut turns out to be too narrow for my spoon so I elongate the cut into an oval, trying not to spill the juice that is squirting in abundance now. Wishing I had a grapefruit spoon, I remove the next portion with a little more effort but nothing to severe. Now my orange has a large oval hole. My Post-it® note base is stained but stable. I now have ample room for my spoon. But just what am I suppose to do now? I don't know. I once stuck a straw in an orange like they did in TV commercials (that doesn't work by the way) and had some success if I pre-mashed the inside of the orange. So, with this knowledge, I start to stab the innards of my orange repeatedly. Once enough pulp was loose, I fixed my mouth around it and tried to drink my orange. Knowing that my wife was away in her office and my boss was at the dentist, I figure I'm in the clear although this mash-slurp-repeat method is not very efficient.

Fearing that anyone will come by, I tear with my fingers at the orangy rind. I throw the spoon away, labeling it a traitor. As I make progress on one side, I decide to eat it like an apple. I'll be darned if there's one way to eat an orange! The juice starts coming in full force. Remembering my Tangerine staining incident from a month ago, I hunch over my trashcan frantically trying to eat my orange, deflect juice, and dislodge rind bits into the trashcan. I have become an animal.

Now that my hands were drenched in Vitamin C, it dawns on me that my phone could ring or that someone would come by. Could I answer my phone with my elbows? - were those footsteps? Without shame, I eat the last two slices as anyone else would in this world and walk to the restroom with hands outward, sticky sweet with orange pulp. I wash my hands with odd-fragranced berry hand soap and return berry soft to my orange aroma-ed office. Sitting at my desk I hear my wife come around and take some papers off the laser printer and then go back again. Safe. I look into my trashcan and see the mutilation that took place moments before. Unceremoniously, I cover the pieces with some discarded envelopes. I tear off the stained Post-it® note and begin my work anew.

I have snacked.

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