Sunday, July 10, 2011

The Passage

I recently went down to visit family for Independence Day, and we had some tasty food to eat on their boat as we watched the fireworks. The nature of a boat, though, is that there is little space to story anything, let alone the invariably copious leftovers that are there after any gathering. The other boaters could be no help, and it would seem a waste (and of questionable legality) to give it to the fish. So it was that I found myself escorting the cold cuts all the way back home.

The food left the fridge around 7 in the morning. From there it was a stopoff at my father's office before heading to the train station to make the next train home. Regrettably, the train was some forty minutes late. Finally it came, and it was around two hours back to downtown LA. I was concerned about getting that food in the refrigerator at my apartment before it spoiled, and circumstances were already conspiring against me.


I didn't help matters any. I had decided that I should try to go to my Toastmasters meeting before going home. I couldn't do it the other way, and my presence really couldn't be spared when I could do something about it. Had I skipped, that food could have been in the fridge shortly after noon, which I figure as an elapsed time of some five hours and change. That's probably pushing it as it is, but I had to go and push it some more. The meeting added three more hours, and you can imagine I was anxious.

At long last I reached my building. Like Quint (of the film Jaws) recounting his experience being rescued from a sunken Navy vessel in World War Two, I found that  this moment of being just a hair's breadth away from salvation was the most harrowing. I tossed the cold cuts and fruit into the fridge, and nervously waited until some time had passed. I smelled the food, found it seemed ok, and made a sandwich. The moment of truth was at hand. I took a bite and chewed. The food had not spoiled! It was a good day.

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