Why, you may ask, do I get the dulcet tones of Aerosmith's Steven Tyler/Sesame Street's Oscar the Grouch stuck in my head every Thursday night? It's because of this.
You see, there's a little deli stand in the courtyard right outside of my place of employment. In the summers, this stand closes for the week on Thursday night. All the leftover food, whether it's still good or not, is thrown into the nearest trash can. The food is all saran wrapped and individually packaged. As one co-worker says, it's a shame such perfectly good food is thrown away when it could be given to a shelter or to people in need. It's perfectly safe, yet unwanted by anyone . . . except us! (Ahem. If there's nothing else in the trash can.)
When the discarded food was first brought into our break room, I was skeptical. The idea of eating something from the trash was unsettling. But then I got looking at it. As I said before, it was all individually saran wrapped. And most of the stuff could be microwaved to remove unwanted germs. . . . I gave in and ate it. I brought it home for my roommates to eat. We enjoyed it, and I haven't died yet. I have come to call Thursday nights Trash Day.
Now some of you who are reading this blog might be thinking of these lines from Alexander Pope’s An Essay on Man:
Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face,
We first endure, then pity, then embrace.
All I can say in response is that you have a great point. I should use this example in a church lesson. Except, this is not a vice, it is perfectly good food. And it is yummy. Would you like me to bring you some?
Oh I. Love. Traaaaaaasssssssshhhhhhh!
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