Tuesday, August 31, 2010

The hummus incident

The patient is unwell. The patient, limp but not prostrate on the examination table, complains of anxiety and depression. This, despite having witnessed an actual rainbow, not a virtual one, earlier that same day. Patient resists further verbal probing and demands treatment. Unfortunately, the doctor is out, although the patient is not aware. The doctor is, in fact, a "doctor," an orderly from another hospital on another planet who, bored, teleported to this location late that morning. The "doctor" is unsure how things operate here, so, grabbing at the few visual artifacts with which it is familiar regarding this civilization, it announces the patient must go to the supermarket. The patient sighs, thinking this stupid, removes the paper gown handed her with a single deft move, and drives to the nearest location. The patient finds herself drawn to the area where the vegetables and fruits are located. There, she presses overpriced and oddly perfumed mushrooms that resemble clusters of dog ears to her nose, and then replaces them. She picks up a prickled fruit, fondles an unwaxed, locally grown cucumber, plucks the green stem hat from every tomato she finds and inhales the tangy scent. She wanders into the bread area, closes her eyes, and is transported by the dank reek of yeast clouding her head. At the sauce bar, she is overcome and climbs aboard the counter, tumbling into once neatly arranged dishes, and rolls nude in the pesto, eating hummus by the fistful, her face a mess of mild guacamole and artichoke dip.