Wednesday, February 4, 2009

Emergencies never tasted so sweet

My apartment is one of continual inhabitance. Meaning, people come, people go, but it hasn't seen a full turnover in a long time. Which is why we have a random 50lb bag of oatmeal in our storage closet, why we have games whose owner is unknown, and why our dishes consist of selections from the 10 worst and most impractical styles (the This-Dish-Gets-Hotter-Than-Your-Food-When-You-Microwave-It set, the We-Don't-Trust-You-To-Separate-Your-Own-Food-From-Mixing-Together-So-We-Come-With-Obnoxious-Food-Levies set, and the Nothing-But-Tiny-Worthless-Plates-That-Won't-Hold-Anything-But-You'll-Still-Have-Them-In-Your-Cupboard-For-Years-And-Even-Use-Them-When-Everyone-Else-Uses-The-Practical-Plates collection). So, there are items around the place that I just assume belong to my roommates, without realizing that they assume the items belong to me.

At the beginning of this school year we did a bit of purging. After everyone but Josh and I moved out, we realized the apartment was still full of things. I started to get suspicious that everything I assumed belonged to the other guys couldn't possibly all belong to Josh. So we cleaned.

And despite a few costly mistakes such as throwing away any pots that hold practical amounts of liquids and only keeping those suitable for cooking for a half a person or 20 people, we did score some wins. One of which was the mystery emergency kit!

In the storage room we found a box of food, good food. Well... maybe "edible" would be a more suitable adjective. But anyway, there were snicker bars, granola bars, ramen, fruit snacks, and more. Josh wasn't sure who it belonged to, so we partook as a newly formed apartment. You know how they say that going through an emergency together can be a real bonding experience? Well, apparently so is going through an emergency kit.

I'm sure I wasn't the only one that thought that rotating our food storage minus the replenishing part wasn't necessarily logical, but I was able to suppress that thought, and we ate on. I don't think it even lasted 72 hours, talk about false advertising. Perhaps our logic was based on the fact that we didn't know how much longer this kit would last, or the fact that its existence represented the hard work of none of us and the benefit of us all, or the fact that BYU already has 72 hours of supplies for us and that eating well now seemed more pleasant than 72 more miserable hours in a post-nuclear apocalypse. I'm not quite sure.

But just as the sweet memories of ill-treated and deformed snickers bars were fading from my memory, the Pheonix 72-hour kit rises from the ashes to rear its sweetness once again. The other day there were 3 multi-packs of 100% juice boxes that randomly appeared under our elevated couch (may I point out that this miraculous event alone is reason enough for our couch to be on cement blocks for all of you that ask. Can you imagine juice boxes appearing under a normally-elevated couch? What a mess!). They marinated there for a few days until I finally asked Josh, "What is the meaning of this?" All he had to say was "Emergency Kit" and I could already taste the fruits of disaster running down my throat.

So. If you want some juice boxes of Grape, Apple, or Fruit Punch, come join the festivities. But hurry! I think there are only a few of the 72 hours left.

1 comment:

Maria said...

This is most intriguing. What you may not be aware of is that in the summer of 2007, that apartment was completely empty for renovation (they claimed they were fixing the roof- I'm not sure what they were doing all summer since the roof clearly was not fixed). But according to the ward directory, some of the local wildlife moved in while the apartment was empty that summer. You can ask Josh about it. I wonder if any of those small mammals had anything to do with the 50 pound bag of oatmeal or the exceptionally small plates or the emergency kit? Especially if they were living in a damaged apartment? Hmmm.