Friday, October 18, 2013

Applesauce Cup

I was finishing up at work the other day, when, as I stood up to leave my desk my eyes happened to hover over my waste basket. And I saw, to my utter horror, an empty applesauce cup.
How do I know it was a cup that once contained applesauce?
Well, firstly, I happened to notice a little neglected bit lining the bottom of the cup. Secondly, the moment I glanced down I was pummeled by this exchange:

Yes, not only did the applesauce cup talk, it was also fairly agitated. This agitation may or may not have been a direct reaction to the look I most certainly had on my face at that moment.
I've never before spoken to an applesauce cup, let alone an agitated one at that. I decided to take a firm stance on this unexpected conundrum and thus spoke firmly to the cup, "Who was eating applesauce at my desk?"
To which I immediately received this rather shirty reply:

Admittedly I felt off my trolley engaging in this cockamamie exchange. I'd been to several parties in my lifetime although truth be told I'd never been invited to an applesauce party. Nor was I even aware of the existence of such an event. This may be due to the fact that I'd never been invited to one.
Either there was some truth in the statement of this plucky little cup, or it was merely trying to blow hot air up my trousers. Its steely, soul-gazing eyes and triangle mouth were so difficult to discern it led me to think that if I were ever to be caught playing poker with an applesauce cup I'd be dreadfully sure to lose my estate and then some.
And so I, continuing to stare down into the rubbish, foolishly replied, "Look, I just want to know who was eating applesauce at my desk. I think that's kind of weird."
The conversation was thus volleyed back in a deserved fashion:

At this moment I'd been dumbfounded by the concrete logic of this applesauce cup. My only excuse for my apparent idiocy was that it'd been a rather long day and I was mentally taxed.
Nevertheless I knew this cup had a very strong point indeed, and I'd never in my life thought
there would come a day when I would be logically overturned by an empty applesauce cup.
My pride had been bruised. I decided to try to change the subject, hoping to regain whatever balance I'd started out with.
Glancing about the rubbish I noticed a lack of cutlery. My many travels abroad and much time spent needlessly dawdling in the utensil aisles in various shops had given me the educational advantage to understand that when most people consume edibles packed in plastic cups they generally are accustomed to utilizing plastic cutlery, as opposed to the stainless steel variety. As plastic is more commonly and frequently disposed of than stainless steel it seemed to make perfect sense to assume that a plastic spoon should be present with this highly ornery yet also very much plastic cup.
So, using this hypothesis I casually said, "Hey, I don't see a spoon. Where's the spoon they used to eat the applesauce?"
This was an unfortunate tactic on my behalf as it neither soothed nor alleviated the situation:

Oh I must admit this cup was a clever one indeed. Its eternal supply of abusive quips were ready like bullets in a revolver. A revolver that was aimed and firing at me with extreme apple-induced prejudice.

I must stop here and explain a few things before we continue. First I'd like to establish that I don't eat applesauce at my work desk. I don't eat anything there really. My desk is for working, not eating. There are better places to shove food
down my throat than the place I work. Such as... other places. Besides my desk.
Another thing I'd like to clear up is that I don't even like applesauce. I don't. It makes me think of all the times I've had teeth pulled.
And if there were ever to be a zombie apocalypse and all I had to eat was applesauce, I'd probably
be doing some fasting for a good long while.
So not only was I dealing with something that I associate with teeth-pulling and zombies, but this cheeky little object was now also verbally abusing the dickens out of me.

Yes, it was the end of the day and I'd spent the whole lot of it being verbally abused by the common folk, and now I'd begun receiving the same nonsensical rigmarole by something that, up until this dandy point in my life, had remained properly inanimate.
I wasn't going to spend much more time dilly-dallying with this insolent applesauce cup, as I was totally knackered and feeling rather peckish and not in the mood to go at it with such a silly little thing. So I decided to try a different angle. "What's your problem anyway?" I said, hoping to steer the unexpected conversation back on topic. "I just wanted to know what you're doing in my trashcan."

I realised at that moment that the applesauce cup was in a state of utter rejection and was merely venting its frustration on me. Which of course if the janitor had taken care of this fine mess the previous night I'd be safe as houses by now. But now I was stuck being verbally assailed by an empty plastic applesauce cup, and I wasn't sure in the slightest how I was to further approach the matter, if indeed that was the best route to take. One doesn't naturally come into this world
prepared to have a heated argument with an
applesauce cup.
So, trying to avoid looking anymore blinkered I decided to try some words of wisdom.
"Hey, cheer up. You've managed to successfully fulfill your one and only purpose on this earth.
You've done exactly what you were made to do. There are a lot of people out there who waste their whole lives seeking purpose without ever managing to find it. That should make you feel good."

At this point I'd really had enough of this frivolous backtalk. It was late. I wanted to go home and have my supper and allow my eyes to collapse into my skull.
I grabbed my things, looked back into the waste basket, and said quite frankly, "You know what I just realised? Applesauce is for chumps."

And with that said I went home, never to hear from this snarky little thing again.

1 comment:

  1. Ha! My trashcan is a chump-cup paradise. It's too centrally located.