Puppy Talk

Few things in this world that can make two complete strangers instantly speak to one another. Under the perfect circumstances, the barriers of regular social norms can be broken, and connect people in surprising ways. I have found from personal experience, that one of these things is a brand new puppy. My boss just bought a seven-week-old fur ball, and ever since, I have been dubbed the official caretaker. This means that every three hours I take it out to the grass and I let it sleep on my lap while I type and answer phones. Since the arrival of the new pup, I have noticed phenomenal things. While walking through campus, I have witnessed strangers stop their daily jog to squat down and speak to the dog in whiney baby voices. I wind up spending 45 minutes on a routine potty break because I have to appease three middle-aged women who must tell me about their own dogs when they were puppies. Then they move on to their children, and husbands, their book club and various brands of dog food. I catch men trying to surpress smiles as they catch sight of the little fluff poking out between my fingers. One woman never actually spoke to me, she directed all of her questions to the dog in a high-pitched voice. I’d never found myself in this situation before, I panicked and decided to take on my own dog-persona, quickly answering all of her questions in my own baby voice, as if I was the dog. This went on for at least five minutes. At least I tried to answer the questions honestly. I don’t know what came over me, and I regret it. But what would you have done?

Blind

Today I saw a blind girl counting change.

She had lined all of the coins up neatly on the table, and picked them up one by one, turning them over carefully in her hand. I stood there for a few moments and silently observed. She sat alone, but she seemed content- slowly, blindly, counting change. It is moments like these when I realize that I take life for granted. I walked away humbled and grateful for her, and the perspective she gave me. I realized that I was the blind one.

Moldy Cheese

Since I have been in college, I have noticed a drastic change in my eating habits. Suddenly, my rules about fresh vs. expired, and moldy vs. edible have changed.
It is mid-July, last week I left a turkey and cheese sandwich in a black bag in my car by accident. I am making an educated guess by saying that the temperature in my Toyota reached over 110 degrees that day. On my way home I discovered the sandwich. As I juggled it in my hands like a hot potato, I noticed the cheese had melted and oozed through the bread. “What a waste,” I thought as I looked sadly at the sandwich and salad my Mom had prepared me that morning. Upon my arrival at my apartment, my stomach growled and I thought longingly of the sandwich. I pulled it out again, ready to toss it in the trash, when I stopped. “Maybe I could still salvage this, I am pretty hungry.” I thought about the appropriate hot and cold temperatures for food, I rationalized that surely my sandwich had been kept above the appropriate hot temperature all day. I peeled back the flimsy plastic baggie, squeezed my eyes shut, and took a small, quick and precise bite. I carefully chewed, realizing that it wasn’t half bad. I turned on the toaster oven, threw in the previously chewed sandwich and waited two minutes. Shortly after I enjoyed a delicious toasted melt. The rest of the evening I waited to be sick, but the urge never came. Positive reinforcement. Occasionally I drop food on the floor, stringent rules would say “Throw that away!” Me? Eat it! The only exception in carpet, I’ve had bad experiences with lint and hair, no-go on carpet. Moldy cheese? Cheese is mold! Expired milk is a little tricky, but I am stubborn enough that I won’t see a whole bowl of cereal go to waste even if it is chunky. I think I save more money by eating bad food than fresh food. You never know until you try, but I attribute my incredible health to my bad eating habits.