Def Leopard’s “Pour Some Sugar on Me” was playing earlier, so I guess it was appropriate that Liz approached me with Kirtley in tow and put forward that we each eat a spoonful of sugar. “It’s a Greek tradition.” Liz said, “My family does it every year. The spoonful of sugar symbolizes sweetness to come in the approaching year.”
Heck, I’m down with sweet years, and I’m down with eating sugar. Off we went searching for sugar in the kitchen. The apartment we were partying in is occupied by Mr. Fong, who is a bit of a pack rat, and Sandy, who has fabricated an extraordinarily special diet for herself which includes all kinds of raw materials and super healthy organic specialty food. They don’t have a kitchen cupboard; they have a kitchen walk in closet. Sugar shouldn't have been too hard to find, though, right?
Wrong.
Look, look, lookity look. Where’s the goddamn sugar?
Well, we were all quite pleased when Liz discovered the sugar in a sizable and wide open tin, right on top of the stove.
After settling on three individual spoons instead of the somewhat more romantic, but much less hygienic share-a-spoon plan, we each scooped up our sugar. I think Liz said something in Greek and we popped sugar in our mouths. I was excited. Sugar is good.
“Hmmmm. This sugar isn't very good” I thought.
I mentally accused Sandy and her diet of good-for-you twigs. “Organic crap... Not very sweet.”
It was actually kind of bitter.
Uhhhh… Getting worse… kind of nasty, actually.
Uhhhh. What…?
I don’t…Um…
Oh, shit.
THIS IS SALT!
I had a really big fucking spoonful of salt in my mouth.
I could barely talk. I managed: “Uhhhh! Ith sthalt!... Ith sthalt!!!”
When I was a little kid I remember eating at Ray’s Pizza in Pacifica. A Pizza trip was a fantastically brilliant thing to me. I remember I had just taken a first sip from my brand new glass of Coke—except it wasn't Coke; it was root beer. I was so surprised that the soda shot right out of my nose, and soda shooting out of your nose hurts, man. Can you imagine what a mouthful of salt tastes like when you are expecting sugar?
No. Sorry, it’s much worse than whatever you just imagined.
So, here I am in the kitchen with a big ass mouthful of salt. This situation obviously called for immediate and determined action, so I stood there like an idiot.
It was actually kind of bitter.
Uhhhh… Getting worse… kind of nasty, actually.
Uhhhh. What…?
I don’t…Um…
Oh, shit.
THIS IS SALT!
I had a really big fucking spoonful of salt in my mouth.
I could barely talk. I managed: “Uhhhh! Ith sthalt!... Ith sthalt!!!”
When I was a little kid I remember eating at Ray’s Pizza in Pacifica. A Pizza trip was a fantastically brilliant thing to me. I remember I had just taken a first sip from my brand new glass of Coke—except it wasn't Coke; it was root beer. I was so surprised that the soda shot right out of my nose, and soda shooting out of your nose hurts, man. Can you imagine what a mouthful of salt tastes like when you are expecting sugar?
No. Sorry, it’s much worse than whatever you just imagined.
So, here I am in the kitchen with a big ass mouthful of salt. This situation obviously called for immediate and determined action, so I stood there like an idiot.
"Ugnha fa! Ugh! Uh, uh!"
Liz saved the day by grabbing onto the sink like it was the last chopper out of ‘Nam. “Spit it out! Spit it out!” she commanded.
Only children on fire could have blocked me from that sink, and I would have just spit salt all over their burning little asses.
Through it all, Kirtley kept his composure. He calmly walked to the sink after Liz and I finished and coolly disposed of his salt. The man has a boner for pain, or something. I’m surprised he didn’t just swallow it.
By a stroke of luck, we quickly found the actual sugar, spooned some into our mouths, and boy, was it ever sweet.
I think Liz said it best when she stepped back and pontificated:
Liz saved the day by grabbing onto the sink like it was the last chopper out of ‘Nam. “Spit it out! Spit it out!” she commanded.
Only children on fire could have blocked me from that sink, and I would have just spit salt all over their burning little asses.
Through it all, Kirtley kept his composure. He calmly walked to the sink after Liz and I finished and coolly disposed of his salt. The man has a boner for pain, or something. I’m surprised he didn’t just swallow it.
By a stroke of luck, we quickly found the actual sugar, spooned some into our mouths, and boy, was it ever sweet.
I think Liz said it best when she stepped back and pontificated:
“WHO THE FUCK keeps a five pound tin of SALT on top of the stove?!!”
Hellooooo, 2005.
Hellooooo, 2005.
