March 8th, 2006

Volvo

The 12:30 Massacre

Today: Grapefruit.

I don't have a dish, but to avoid eating directly off my desk I lay down three pieces of scrap paper and place the grapefruit on them. It looks like I am about to undertake a craft project; I almost wish I had one of my father's old work shirts that I could put on backwards as a smock, with the buttons up the back and the sleeves rolled up. But this is still an office and we want to keep a professional environment.

I pull out a steak knife. Doesn't everyone keep a steak knife in the left hand drawer of their desk? I do. I cut the grapefruit in half and pull out the spoon.
The grapefruit spoons, as I have mentioned before, are great for digging into the flesh of the grapefruit. I dig out a couple pieces before I get a stubborn one which, as I dig it, sprays juice all across my computer monitor, giving it that "rainbow dots" effect. I attempt to wipe it off but smear it until it smudges disappointingly.

Noticing a reasonable amount of juice in the grapefruit I tilt it toward my face, like drinking milk out of a cereal bowl. Except that a grapefruit is not a cereal bowl. If you tilt a grapefruit toward your face, juice comes out of both the top and the bottom and the juice coming out of the bottom is wonderful, but the juice coming out of the top goes almost directly into your eyes, which is not a place where you would like grapefruit juice to be. It runs in rivulets down my face and neck and into my bra. That is another place you do not want grapefruit juice to be. I take tissues and try to dry myself off with out anyone noticing. I leave them there, creating several awkward bulges in my sweater which I plan to remove later but will probably forget about.
I look back at the desk. At some point the papers on my desk have become littered with pulp carnage, with a mess similar to the ones created after trying to bathe a dog or butcher a deer. There are pieces of pink fruit everywhere, torn to ribbons.
I take out a small plastic cup and attempt to squeeze the grapefruit juice into it, forgetting (again) the "juice will come out of both the top and the bottom" rule. Some juice goes into the cup. The rest is sprayed across my cubicle, hitting my glasses, my monitor, and several of the papers on my bulletin board in a neat, wet line. I wipe my glasses and ignore everything else. I try squeezing again, this time holding my hand over the top part of the grapefruit to avoid the spray. The grapefruit juice hits my palm and flows down my arm, into the sleeve of my sweater. I feel disgusting, but I smell very nice.

I look at the 6 oz. plastic cup on my desk which is 1/3 of the way full of grapefruit juice.

I drink it. It is very, very good. Someday I would like an office that has a door on it.