Spock from Star Trek
My son had embarked on a journey where plenty of men have traveled before and probably will travel again. This morning was a big day at his wife’s church, a.k.a., the Temple. There were all types of sales, baked and otherwise, being held to help support the Sunday school, grade school, and other activities that needed funding. It was his job to pick up the six-year-old from class and drop off the brownies that his wife had made for the event.
In order to get the full impact of the potential visualization of this event, we have to turn the clock back a few hours to his martial arts class where his teacher accidentally wacked him hard and produced what could only be described as a fat lip. Almost immediately after that he popped him in the nose, and it too looked disruptively swollen, a.k.a. potentially broken.
Are you getting the picture?
So, as my boy dropped off the brownies looking like he had been on the losing end of a bad bar brawl, he couldn’t help but notice some looks of concern from the moms and dads manning the tables. He could almost hear their thoughts, “Wow, I didn’t know he had a drinking problem” and “His wife must be tougher than she seems at services.” But because the three-year-old and her sister were chirping endlessly about getting to eat one of the mouth-watering brownies, he broke down and bought each of them a chocolate icing-covered, double chocolate mocha-brownie in order to prepare them for a four-plus-hour drive to their grandparents house in Maryland. Nothing like two little hopped-up, chocolate-gorged kids strapped in car seats for a marathon drive.
They sat in their personalized protection pods and chewed those scrumptious brownies into near oblivion while smearing icing on their faces, hands and coats. Because he is an experienced dad, he had thought to grab several napkins beforehand and set upon the task of cleaning 'em up before moving 'em out! As he was lifting up little legs to capture brownie crumbs he had, without realizing it, dropped his car key fob into the pile of napkins that was becoming what could only be described as a paper-and-food landfill deposit. He walked over to the Temple dumpster and dropped the entire load into this industrial-sized green container.
He returned to the car, dug into his fancy jacket and, with zero luck, emerged from his seat and began rifling through the pockets of his corduroys. He looked under his seat, under the girls' seats, and even dug his hand into the opening between the back and bottom seats only to find, not keys, but a prehistoric banana peel, two grapes that had evolved into raisins, a hair clip, a gum wrapper, a kid’s DVD, some chapstick and a tiny dog bone for their aunt’s puppy. He did not, however, find the only set of keys for the car.
It was at that very moment that it hit him. He had tossed them into the bottom of the half full dumpster. So, like a scene from Law and Order or Criminal Intent, he simply opened the lid and dove in. As he told me this story he was laughing uncontrollably. He said that the church members who were driving in and out of the parking lot could see this swollen-lipped, crooked-nosed, fancy jacket-wearing yuppie periodically emerging from the church dumpster.
After a few minutes, he appeared with the keys, jumped out and returned to his new station wagon where he rubbed the garbage remnants from his hands onto his cords and drove away.
This dumpster-diving moment bought to you in memory of Hostess Twinkies.