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My Refrig­er­a­tor — Before the Shop­ping Trip

Until very recently, I had been liv­ing some­thing of a cliche in my apart­ment. That is to say, the inte­rior of my my refrig­er­a­tor looked as if it had been tended to by a bach­e­lor who lives in a stu­dio apart­ment. It looked that way not just because that is exactly the case, but also because I’d got­ten quite lazy about gro­cery shop­ping. I ordered Chi­nese take-out, picked up sand­wiches from Never on Sun­day, or picked up pizza from Iggies for most meals. Break­fast would include a trip to Donna’s for cof­fee, and that’s mostly because some­thing was grow­ing in my cof­fee pot. The dishes sit­u­a­tion was a dis­as­ter wor­thy of its own post at a later date.

Hot off the heels of a pay­day, I made an exten­sive shop­ping list–for the first time I could remember–and headed off to the gro­cery store. I was proud of myself by the time I reached the check-out counter. My cart was stuffed to the brim with gro­ceries, and not just junk food. I had fruit, veg­eta­bles, meat, cheese, juice, milk, a few snacks, some frozen piz­zas, and var­i­ous other stuff for around the kitchen.

At the check-out counter, the cashier gave me a know­ing look. “Are you mov­ing into a new place?” she asked.

I was sud­denly and over­whelm­ingly embar­rassed. Before I real­ized I was speak­ing, a lie came out of my mouth. “I’ve been out of town for a while.” She nod­ded at me, not believ­ing, car­ing, or both. I was then even more embar­rassed that I had tried so fee­bly to lie about some exotic out-of-town adven­ture that caused me to sud­denly need every kind of food the store had to offer.

$150 later, I unloaded my bags in my refrig­er­a­tor. As you can see from the photo below, I now have the kind of refrig­er­a­tor you would expect a grown-up to have. I promised myself I won’t wait until I’m down to condi­ments before the next trip.

My Refrig­er­a­tor — After the Shop­ping Trip

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I work in a very old build­ing. So old, in fact, that when some­one oper­ates the microwave while the cof­fee pot is on, that entire sec­tion of the floor on which I work loses power. The power stays off until some­one from the main build­ing walks over here and qui­etly vis­its the secret loca­tion in the base­ment where the breaker has tripped. For some rea­son, none of us are allowed to do it our­selves. So, until then, nobody is able to make coffee.

Today, I woke up late-ish and had to rush in order to get to work on time-ish. I sat down at my desk and have been extremely busy. Too busy, in fact, to pre­pare a cup of cof­fee for myself. Of course, as soon as I arrived at a break in my work where I could go fetch myself my morn­ing dose of caf­feine, some­one popped into my office to let me know that power to the kitchen was out. That means no coffee.

I just felt my first twitch.

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