Salsa
This afternoon, I helped myself to a small lunch of a microwave quesadilla and some tortilla chips with some salsa. I got everything out and ready and then I discovered that my little jar of Tostitos salsa that should've been on the fridge door was missing. It simply wasn't there. There was a gap in the shelf where it should have been, next to another small jar of salsa. Everyone was out at Parade Day, the area's early St. Patrick's Day celebration, so I couldn't ask where it had walked off to.
When Adam and Todd returned, along with a few other mutual friends, I inquired. They didn't know and suggested I ask Sean when he returned. A short while later, after I had finished up lunch, Sean returned. I asked if he knew where my salsa had gone off to. I explained that it was on the door the other day and now it wasn't there. He went into his room and, lo and behold, there was the jar of salsa I had been searching for. However, it had been mostly devoured. But there was still a little left in the bottom of the jar.
I was initially disheartened because it was, well, my salsa. I had bought and paid for it and there was Sean, who had eaten most of what was left in the jar, which was most of the jar. There was also the fact that one of the recently instated apartment rules is that we ask permission of one another before having some of someone else's food, like for snacks and such. Communal stuff (i.e., milk, juice, eggs) are excluded.
But my heart skipped a beat when Sean extended an offer of the other jar of salsa in the fridge that was deemed his. He had had it with chips and salsa, having used the salsa to finish off his chips. The other jar in the fridge, which Sean must've mistakenly overlooked, grabbing mine and thinking it was his, was about as full as mine was before it was nearly sucked dry. So what did I get out of all this? Roughly a jar of salsa ... and the knowledge that small mistakes, like mistakenly grabbing and devouring most of the wrong jar of salsa, can be fixed easily.
When Adam and Todd returned, along with a few other mutual friends, I inquired. They didn't know and suggested I ask Sean when he returned. A short while later, after I had finished up lunch, Sean returned. I asked if he knew where my salsa had gone off to. I explained that it was on the door the other day and now it wasn't there. He went into his room and, lo and behold, there was the jar of salsa I had been searching for. However, it had been mostly devoured. But there was still a little left in the bottom of the jar.
I was initially disheartened because it was, well, my salsa. I had bought and paid for it and there was Sean, who had eaten most of what was left in the jar, which was most of the jar. There was also the fact that one of the recently instated apartment rules is that we ask permission of one another before having some of someone else's food, like for snacks and such. Communal stuff (i.e., milk, juice, eggs) are excluded.
But my heart skipped a beat when Sean extended an offer of the other jar of salsa in the fridge that was deemed his. He had had it with chips and salsa, having used the salsa to finish off his chips. The other jar in the fridge, which Sean must've mistakenly overlooked, grabbing mine and thinking it was his, was about as full as mine was before it was nearly sucked dry. So what did I get out of all this? Roughly a jar of salsa ... and the knowledge that small mistakes, like mistakenly grabbing and devouring most of the wrong jar of salsa, can be fixed easily.
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