Dinner on July 23, 2010

I opened the freezer and examined the contents: French fries, pergoies, half a beer, yoghurt with chopsticks in it (my roommate likes yoghurtsicles), the frozen peas I use to ice soccer injuries, two nearly empty containers of strawberries left by a previous tenant, a box of chicken nuggets (seven in total), a sirloin steak with an expire date from last year, a chicken thigh wrapped in a Pharmasave bag, ice cubes, and a package of what appeared to be hamburger patties. None of these items were mine- though, I could make a case for the ice cubes.

I grabbed the package of what appeared to be hamburger patties. It was surrounded by ice. I opened the package and started chiseling away with a butter knife. I felt my schooling in Archaeology was being applied well. Turns out they were hamburger patties, three in total. I smashed up a few ice cubes to pack around the remaining two patties. This replaced the ice that melted during the process of exhuming protein for dinner.

I put some butter in a frying pan. The butter was mine. The frying pan was not. I defrosted the patty for ten minutes, nearly cooking it completely. I think it lost half its weight.

I pulled out two pieces of the rye bread my mother bought me the other day from Bond Bond’s. This is good bread and currently my most prized food possession. It’s actually my only food possession.

I put the bread in the toaster.

I started frying the patty on low heat.

I grabbed my roommate’s mozzarella cheese and hacked off two thin slices. I noticed when I opened the package he’d last used the cheese on a grater. My clean knife marks left evidence of unauthorized cheese borrowing. So, I got the grater and grated some cheese. Then I ate the grated cheese. When I removed the cheese from the fridge, I made a mental note on how the saran wrap had been folded and the position of the cheese on the shelf. This assured that when I put the cheese back in the fridge it appeared untouched.

I grabbed the jug of fruit punch from the fridge and poured about fifty milliliters into a glass. I added water to the glass. This created purple flavoured water. I added about fifty milliliters of water to the jug of fruit punch to cover my tracks in case my roommate had made an invisible “remaining juice indicator line.”

I spread Miracle Whip on the toast. The Miracle Whip was mine. I’ve been sold on this product every since those commercials during the hockey playoffs that insinuated the using of Miracle Whip would lead to eventful and raucous parties where beautiful people wear shorts and barbeque on the rooftops of old brick buildings.

I covered the toast in ketchup. Ketchup is one of those items that someone buys and it gets used. I don’t feel guilty for borrowing some. It’s kind of like toilet paper and dish soap that way.

I placed the patty on the toast, topping it with the slices of mozzarella cheese. The patty didn’t cover much of the toast.

I sat down and ate the toast around the edges of the patty. If I’m going to eat toast with Miracle Whip and ketchup on it, I’m going to eat it as an appetizer, not as the last bites of a mediocre meal. What was left was something that looked like an Oreo cookie that had gone all wrong.

The improvised sandwich actually wasn’t too bad.

I washed the cheese grater, juice glass, knife, and pan. I removed the stray bits of grated mozzarella cheese from the counter and washed them down the sink- putting them in the garbage might have raised suspicion later on.

On Monday, when I get paid, I’ll buy my roommate a six-pack of beer. He’ll think I did it for no reason, that I’m a really nice guy. And I am. But this is my way of paying him back for eating his food without asking and elaborately covering it up so he wouldn’t notice. I call this an act of Passive Aggressive Reciprocity.