I was trying to be healthy...I was trying to be green. "Would you like that in a bag?", the clerk at the health food store asked. "Hmmmmm, let me think', I said....visions of plastic bag laden trash heaps dancing across my vision...'hmmm no, I don't need one...but thanks anyway'. Next time, if there is a next time, I'll ask for it in a jewel encrusted, plastic, lead lined, portable vault. Thus begins my violent, tumultuous relationship with a quart container of blistering hot, pureed, black bean soup.
It started simply enough. Do the math...cold, rainy, nasty day...long drive through the mountains after three days of sales meetings and restaurant food, and I was desperate for comfort food. But, not wanting to shop and cook, I decided to get a quart of black bean soup at my favorite health food grocery and take it home to lap up while watching "Big Bang Theory".
I planted the quart firmly on my console (after refusing the bag which would have saved all the agony) and backed out of the parking lot. At that point it was 4:55 pm and my only thought was to get home fast to beat rush hour traffic. With that in mind I hit the gas, swung a hard right out of the parking lot and was instantly spanked unmercifully by a blisteringly hot quart of black bean soup! The initial impact boiled onto my lap and I flailed desperately to rid myself of the volcanic ooze. I slung violently at the offending container and sloshed it everywhere...on my light blue cashmere sweater, both seats of my car, into the seatbelt holders, down the sides of my console, into my leather brief bag...and all over the handouts and notes I had collected over the past three days.
I never even made it off the street. Instead, I slammed on the brakes, threw my vehicle in park and leapt out...pulling and tearing at my pants, trying desperately to separate myself from the molten fabric of my dress pants without stripping stark naked in the middle of the road.
If you've ever seen pureed black bean soup then you know it looks identical to vomit. Jumping out of the car in such haste, in the middle of the road, drew it's fair share of attention. Not to mention I was frantically searching for napkins or a towel for damage control. It was useless. I was covered from chest to knees with dripping, steaming soup.
Rage kept me moving during the initial shock and cleanup...all in the middle of the road. There aren't words to describe how angry I was...not even sure who I was angry at. Words leapt to my mind that I won't share with you here...suffice it to say that I was glad I was in the great outdoors and not within hearing distance of others.
A man from a nearby business, observing the chaos, came over and offered the number of a mobile car detailer....yes, it was that bad...which I gratefully accepted. After that initial act of kindness, I felt the first tear and knew I had to leave. Knowing I had to talk to someone....I called my husband. The second I heard his voice I started to bawl. Not just a simpering little teary eyed cry, but a full bodied, hysterical, hiccuping, release that can only be repeated when one thinks of the beloved pet of their youth being struck down by a wayward Chevrolet on their birthday...right before their eyes!
I could sense him on the other end of the line. First the silence of him listening as he decided when it was safe to respond, then the desperation in his voice as he tried to "understand", and then the full release of the laughter he couldn't hold back one more second. When I heard that I started laughing between sobs, thinking how ridiculous I looked and how it was just the cherry on the sundae of my week.
When I got home, covered with the gorilla glue mass of gritty, dried black beans, I started the tedious task of clean up...scrubbing the seats, seatbelts, console, dashboard, door handle. When that was done I turned to de-gunking my work bag, then peeled my grotesque clothes off and threw them in the wash. It wasn't pleasant, but the funny thing is, while I was still in the thick of the mess, it didn't seem so bad anymore. Not sure if it was because it had dried some, that I had time to sit in the mess for the half hour drive cooling my rage, or because I wasn't in the middle of a public square anymore wearing my humiliation like a flag. Whatever it was, I'm reminded that nothing seems quite as bad if we can just change the view for a few minutes.
0 comments:
Post a Comment