The
Incident
Posted June 24, 2003
Rubbing alcohol has many uses, not least of which is removing from grapefruit the marks left by a Sharpie laundry marker.
How did the marks get on the grapefruit? the incautious will ask me.
My friend Patrick was staying with us one difficult Spring. It was the season that gave rise to my dictum, never give advice on personal matters to someone you wouldn't want to stay with you for five months. It's a tribute to our friendship that this is the only story I tell of him from this period, and to the best of my knowledge he only tells one other of me.
Once every few years I get a craving for grapefruit. I had just bought half a dozen of them, and left them piled in a bowl on the dining room table. At six o'clock the next morning, before anyone else was awake, I came to the table envisioning their tart red flesh crowned with sugar dissapearing under the onslaught of my eager spoon. I picked one up, set it on my plate to slice it open, and stopped in horror.
It was grinning up at me.
Someone had drawn a smiley face on my breakfast.
Jim and Patrick both knew full well that I hate smiley faces.
I sat staring grimly at it for a moment. Even I had to admit it was clever. Even I couldn't do surgery on a smiley face. I set it aside and reached for the next one.
Once again, a smiley face was revealed. I tossed it onto the table and tore into my bowl of fruit. Every last one had been similarly defaced.
Once was a joke. Six times was an outrage. I stormed into the bedroom and woke Jim up screaming, finishing my tirade with "Get rid of these and get me some new ones!" I grabbed something for lunch and stormed off to work.
It was a quiet, cautious dinner that night. I was still fuming. The grapefruit were once again in the bowl. We all ignored them. Patrick was amazed I had taken the prank so much to heart, and hopeful that he could put off confessing that he'd been Jim's accomplice in the deed until I calmed down. He admitted later that he'd watched Jim look thoughtfully at the grapefruit, and pick one up and heft it. Patrick was still in the habit from the hardware store days he'd left behind him to come back to SIU, of carrying a Sharpie around in his shirt pocket. When Jim asked for the loan of it, Patrick knew just what he wanted it for. But he gave it to him anyway.
The next morning I approached the grapefruit more gingerly. Sure enough, the smiley faces were still there. I stared at them, fuming, then stuffed them into a sack and carried them to work with me. I envisioned spreading them out on the road in front of the parking lot, so I'd be greeted with their squashed pulp at the end of the day. But who wastes bread, will follow the crow for it. At the last minute I relented and took them into the building with me, where I dumped them onto the stout wooden desk that held the time clock with the loud announcement, "Anyone who wants one, take one. If they're here at quitting time, THEY DIE!"
A co-worker, more prone to fixing things than to fits of temper, took the rubbing alcohol to them and cleaned them up. Reluctantly, I took them back home with me. I ate one or two of them in stolid defiance, and pressed the others on bemused visitors.
Now that I've writen this, I can see the luscious red flesh of a grapefruit, practically taste the tart refreshing juice of one filling my mouth with flavor. I think I'll go have some.
Out of a jar.
By Ruby Jung, even the background! All rights reserved to the story. Jim says this background is a significant step forward in my journey to cope with the trauma, and if you like the wretched smiley face, you're welcome to copy it and use it.