Expired Ketchup By Any Other Name

"If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die? And if you wrong us, shall
we not revenge?"
W. Shakespeare, The Merchant of Venice

I am constantly amazed at those little things that, as humans, bond us. There are things we experience that, in many ways, speak volumes about what it means to be human. We share these experiences, and in turn, we are shared by them (or whatever). Shakespeare knew it, and thus turned out page after copious page of barely-understandable, if beautiful, prose, which has been studied, quoted, memorized, acted out on stage, screen and in the finest city parks, and which has been used as fodder for everything from key chains to t-shirts. In short, The Bard was The Man. He observed those things that bond us, and he masterfully, if somewhat obtusely, digested and recorded them, so that generations of high school students would groan at the prospect of reading and re-reading them. He felt deeply what it meant to be human, and in turn was felt by it (or whatever).

I am no Shakespeare (although I once had an idea for a play about a man who found a magical remote and could control time, but I may have missed my opportunity), and Shakespeare really has absolutely nothing to do with this post, but I love discovering and sharing those instances, those little glimpses into the heart of the human experience. What is the blog if not a palette on which we the paint our common experiences, but with words, and not, you know, paint?

When I was in grade school, I would occasionally go with my dad to his office. It was a beautiful old building downtown. He still practices there. I have a distinct memory of eating lunch in the kitchen on the second floor. As the building was once a house, it was a full-sized kitchen, and it was fairly modern. As a “robust” child, lunch was important, and thus so were the necessary condiments. As often is the case, the fast food place du jour would forget to add said condiments to the bag, and alas, no ketchup/catsup for me. However, and herein enters the common human experience touted at the outset, this kitchen had a very special drawer. For the sake of convenience and continuity, I'll call it the Drawer of Condiments Past (although, as we'll see, condiments were only part of what this drawer has to offer). As its name implies, this drawer contained ketchups and mustards from days gone by, some from long-defunct local eateries, some from national chains, but decorated in styles and logos not seen in years. There was also mayonnaise, soy sauce, hot sauce, tartar sauce, jellies, jams, and all flavors in between. As a child in need of ketchup for his fries, I partook without much notice of the odd aftertaste that should not have been present, but that drawer remained deep in my mind in the intervening years.

Flash forward 20+ years. Somewhere in the midst of my day, I find myself at the office coffee maker. The kitchen that houses it is not really a kitchen. per se, but really a shotgun room which has a sink, a microwave, said coffee-maker, a file cabinet that they couldn't find any other room for, a drawer and a cabinet. Each day at this time, I open the drawer to retrieve a coffee stirrer, and each day I am treated to the same scene my ketchup/catsup-seeking self beheld in that second story Old Louisville law office. In fact, it could have been the same drawer. Ketchup from McDonald's circa 1988 (you just can tell from the logo); a spicy mustard from a deli I'm pretty sure closed a couple years ago; a cup of mozzarella cheese from a pizza place up the street, which I'm pretty sure was supposed to be refrigerated (the cheese, not the pizza place); salt and pepper packets littered all throughout the bottom, at least one broken open; one of those mayonnaise packets that they gave us in grade school that just says "Mayonnaise" with no other wording or information whatsoever; a packet of coffee stamped with an expiration date of three years prior; & various packets of utensils/napkins. This kitchenette-ette actually takes the concept a step further, as the overhead cabinet contains other various expired and creepy sundries: a wrapped sausage from a Christmas basket received no later than 2005; a smoked cheese, probably from the same era if not from the same basket; more expired coffee; creamer packets clearly marked with an expiration date of 2006; a basket that inexplicably contains tiny bottles of Kahlua; etc; etc.

Now, I have to say that I might not have all of the EXACT combinations of items and expirations correct, but you get the idea, and I can assure you that the list above is close. And, I can guarantee, it's universal. Thinking back on all of the jobs I've had where people shared eating space, the Drawer of Condiments Past is one of those things that always was there, promising that if you brought your fried fish, but forgot your cocktail sauce, there's a great chance that someone went to Captain D's sometime in the past, got carried away at the condiment station, and decided that rather than throw away that one packet of fish sauce, they would leave it for the next person who stumbled upon it at some undetermined time in the future.

If you work in an office setting, and you share a kitchen space, check to see how many of the following items are present. I'd bet that well over half are accounted for:

(1) A ketchup packet from a fast food place which has a logo you know hasn't been used in a long time
(2) A packet containing a napkin and soup spoon from Wendy's
(3) Soy sauce packets
(4) A packet of something you suspect should have been refrigerated, but aren't sure (a la Miracle Whip)
(5) Salt Packets
(6) Pepper Packets
(7) One real fork
(8) Sporks
(9) A packet OR unsealed container of red pepper from a pizza place
(10) A Moist Towelette
(11) Various napkins
(12) Peppermints or the green ones that look like peppermints (but are green)\
(13) Saltine Crackers (the square ones)
(14) Oyster Crackers (the little ones shaped like Stop signs)
(15) A packet of honey that is sticky, even though you can’t find any evidence that it has been opened.

(This reminds me of a joke I once heard involving Julius Caesar and hot dogs. I can't remember the joke, but the punchline was "Et Two, Brute?")

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