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Digital Slob Curt Brandao |
Our open-air policy
extends to the fridgeThis week, we continue with Part Nine of "10 Stupid Things Respectable People Do to Mess Up the World."
No. 2) Hygiene hyping: Just like the ER doctors who pump our stomachs and our ex-landlords who can now only be reached through their lawyers, we Digital Slobs know life can get messy. Plans get snags. Ends get frayed. Hairs get in the spaghetti sauce.
But while none of us live in a perfect world, many Respectable People secretly believe they came from one. Perhaps, as babies on a planet light years away, they were kidnapped by a slovenly race of Earthlings who needed to avoid extinction by breeding with a more advanced race, one that knew how to make hospital corners and keep salmonella off the kitchen sink.
If so, many have yet to assimilate.
Some Slobs have seen this firsthand, because occasionally our Respectable associates let us stay in their homes while our lives are "in transition," unaware that our last fixed address was a booth at Denny's where the waitress said, "Sit as long as you'd like," after we paid the bill.
Still, it's their home, their rules. So, if you want a midnight snack while mooching, get started around 10:45, because after opening their fridge you'll still be three or four steps away from the food. Carrot sticks will be sheathed in Saran Wrap, secured in a Ziploc bag, encased in a Tupperware bowl, and enclosed in the vegetable crisper. Respectable People seal up food the way the CDC seals up vials of smallpox.
Slobs, by contrast, have an open-air fridge policy, even if it means our leftover chocolate cake develops a slight garlicky flavor. Being heavy sleepers, we often wake up with both arms still "asleep," rendering them useless. But with fridges filled with uncovered food, we can just nose open the door and free-range graze until blood returns to our extremities.
True, a few rotten apples can spoil a whole barrel. But for Slobs, it's a judgment call.
Once as a teen, traveling with my starving family, I found an airport's only no-frills cafeteria. We filled our trays with various laminated entrees and took our positions at a table. I unsealed my turkey sub and while adding mustard my eyes glimpsed a small piece of onion -- moving.
It was a bug larvae.
Now, if I was a Respectable Person, and it was 2004, my instantaneous shriek would have required Homeland Security to shut down air travel throughout the Western Hemisphere. But I was a Slob, and it was 1984, so I kept the situation to myself for about 20 seconds.
Yes, eating the sub was out of the question. But everything else looked OK.
Maybe I should stay quiet. Why ruin everyone's meal? Brandaos get moody when we travel -- this wouldn't help. If they knew what I knew, we'd all stay hungry for two more hours.
However, not eating the sub would also draw attention -- actually, for me, it would have no precedent whatsoever. So I spoke up, the table emptied and our unscripted fast continued. I protested a bit. After all, why toss out the hermetically sealed doughnuts with the bathwater?
Throwing away an arguably edible dessert was probably the right thing to do, though there may always be an empty spot in my soul where those empty calories should be.
Regardless, Respectable People, stop cringing in disgust whenever the world isn't pressed and tucked exactly the way you like it. Your among Earthlings, now -- our planet, our rules.
Curt Brandao is the Star-Bulletin's production editor. Reach him at: cbrandao@starbulletin.com