The Refrigerator

Posted: August 20, 2011 in Writing

The light suddenly came on and Heinz stood proud and tall hoping to be noticed, hoping to be the one chosen for this mission, whatever it was. A hand reached in and grabbed a soda, quickly retreating and turning the world once again dark as the door was shut. French’s smirked, “Why do you always think you will be the chosen one, you’re nothing but a Nazi catsup.” “CATSUP?” I’ll have you know…” Mr. Hunt interrupted, “Excuse me, but I spell my name with a K if you’d bother to read my label, it’s ketchup.” “I don’t care how you spell it,” piped in Lea, “can we return to the subject at hand? We need to ascertain our primary course of engagement in the pursuit of our communal objective.” “Yeah, and we need to figure out what do next, too,” added Perrins.

HP, also from England, and Heinz and the locals, rolled his eyes. If the normal bickering weren’t enough, the schizophrenic sauce from Worcestershire only added to the confusion. “That’s right, we have to figure out a way to achieve a more commanding presence. We are being ignored while colas get constant attention. The Hand That Reaches clearly has a Coke problem.”

“Well, it’s not that anything is wrong with me!” spoke up French’s. “Me either,” said Hellmann’s, “I’m real, and only contain the freshest premium ingredients and whole eggs, mixed to a creamy, rich texture, and…” “Yeah, yadah yadah yadah,” Tabasco said, his fiery temper showing again, “HP’s right. If we don’t do something about the problem, we’ll all end up in The Big Green Can. We stay in here until our lids are crusty and we get all separated. Then The Hand That Reaches comes and tosses us into The Big Green Can and we’re never heard from again. What does HP stand for anywho?”

“House of Parliament,” Lea and Perrins shouted together, “where are you from?” “Where am I from?” Tabasco asked, incredulous, “I’m from the great state of Loosyanna. Speaking of which, hey Frenchy, when’s your cousin Dijon coming back? She was hot! She comes and goes all the time and you just stay in here year after year.” “You’re one to talk,” said French’s, “you don’t even belong in here.”

Lea suggested, “Perhaps we could descend to the subsequent projection, then it may be possible to vault over to a more prominent location, eclipsing that effervescent swill.” “Wouldn’t it be easier just to climb down to the next shelf, then jump over in front of the colas?” asked Perrins. “I’m tall and thin and don’t intend to lower myself to the fat shelf with Mr. Vlasic,” cried Kikkoman. “Oy vay, we’re not fat, we’re just big boned,” said the kosher dills. “You don’t have bones, you’re a vegetable,” pointed out Olive, “maybe if you didn’t stay half pickled all the time, you could lose a little weight.” “Get stuffed,” rejoined Vlasic. “We’re already stuffed, you marinated gourd.”

Two of the salad dressings clamored together vying for attention in French and Italian. They pointedly ignored the third dressing who claimed to be from someplace called Thousand Island. “We don’t see what all the fuss is about. We like to feel needed as much as anyone, but we don’t want to be all used up. It’s degrading. First they stand you on your head for a couple of days, and then they bang on your bottom, and for what? Sooner or later we all end up in The Big Green Can, it’s inevitable.”

“Yes, my young friends, but you are forgetting Karma,” said Mr. Curry, “If we serve well in this life, we will return in a new life with a fresh start and an unbroken seal.” “I’ve been here for six months, and I’ve still got an unbroken seal,” cried the Christmas Chutney. “It’s easy for you to talk about Karma, Curry. You’re like Tabasco, you hardly ever get used, and you never go bad. I’m green with envy,” sniffed the cheese spread. “You’re green with mold,” barked Tabasco, “and leave me out of it.”

HP was trying to think of a way to bring order to this chaos and get the condiments to the main shelf where all the action was. His thoughts were disrupted once again by the loud clunking sound that came from the place next door every hour, followed by the sound of running water. Whoever that was over there, they must have some sort of intestinal disorder. Just then, the light came on and The Hand That Reaches came back and rattled around the shelves. It laid a hand on HP for a moment, filling him with hope and promise, then he was rudely shoved aside and The Hand grabbed up some applesauce. The Hand retreated and his world once again plummeted into darkness.


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