You like-a the juice? The juice is good, ah?
In honour of my brain-damaged housemate Toula’s birthday, which I think of as the Greek Orthodox April Fools’ Day, I present an incident took place around this time several years ago. (As I recall, this happened a day before she left the house after turning one of the stove burners on to “glowing red-hot”, despite her assertions that this sort of thing has never happened.)
Toula [pouring]: Ugh! There’s something in this juice!
Me: Like what?
Toula: I don’t know. Something lumpy.
Me [looking over to see cranberry juice being poured out in clumps of fermented matter]: Ugh! Throw it out!
Toula: Do you think it’s gone bad?
Me: Yes! By god, yes! It’s fermenting!
Toula: But I haven’t had it that long.
Me: How long?
Toula: Only since Christmas.
Me: Since Christmas?!
Me: Toula, it’s April!
Me: So Christmas was three and a half months ago!
Me: More than a full season!
Me: More than a quarter of a year!
Me: That’s a long time!
Toula: But it shouldn’t be bad, right?
Me: Yes! It should! Or it should be wine by now!
Toula: But I always keep juice this long and nothing’s happened. This must not have any preservatives. [checking label] “Contains preservatives.”
Me: You can’t keep juice that long! You can’t keep any food that long!
Toula: But it was in the fridge!
Me: Doesn’t matter! It needs to be frozen to keep that long. I wouldn’t trust even refrigerated juice more than a week or so.
Toula: But I’ve kept this can of orange juice open in the fridge for three weeks and it’s okay. [Sips from can of thawed orange juice concentrate]
Me: Why would you open a can of orange juice and use only part of it? You’re going to get food poisoning! I don’t know why you’re not dead already!
Toula: Hmm … good genes, I guess.
Me: No, I would guess the exact opposite!
Postscript: Months later, I remember seeing a big five-litre container of juice that she’d left sitting on the floor beside the fridge (it being too big to fit inside) that had a film of green-blue mold floating on top. I just shrugged and walked away. And just earlier today, I noticed that someone (I wonder who) had left a package of roast pork loin deli meat on the kitchen table, and it was starting to turn ripe. Again, instead of tossing it, I just shrugged and decided to wait to see how long it would take the owner to either throw it out or eat it — you know, in the name of science. Whatever happened, it’s gone now, though the rotten meat smell lingers.
Filed under: Brain-Damaged Toula | 5 Comments