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Banbury Cross

a pillow for lost thoughts...

Post details: Not Crying over Spilt Milk

Not Crying over Spilt Milk

Every now and then my guardian angel gets a little bored, so - just for fun - it grabs me by the collar and pulls me through the looking glass to the other side. To the side where you find yourself lost in the middle of a strange town at 4am, standing ankles deep in a puddle of water while being ungraciously rained on. To the side, where you wake up on an Indiana farm with a dog sleeping underneath your blanket. To the side, where roads are flanked with hyperventilating trumpet blowers. You know, just to experience a little lapse of sanity.

Yesterday, when I came back from a grocery store, I parked my car in its usual spot and started unpacking my loot. I took a gallon of milk and set it on the trunk of my car, grossly underestimating the disaster making potential of its gentle slope. Indeed, while I was fishing inside the cabin for the other kitchenables, my milk got all fidgety and decided to go for a short slide. At the edge of the hood of the trunk, however, it must have realized that milk jars are ill-fitted for breaking and its frolicky and innocent slide took a sudden and painfully literal plunge. A second later I heard a dull thumping sound, as its plastic body cracked open and its white contents splashed all over the black asphalt.

When I looked at what happened, I saw an image that was surreal, daring, quaint, beautiful, and apocalyptic. A mangled container lying on the ground, a deep gashing wound tearing across its midriff and a blazing shape of white sea contrasted against the dark surface of the parking lot.

But, not to get too artsy-fartsy, the episode had a practical aspect, too. What do I do with the sprawling lagoon? It was unseasonably warm yesterday, no rain in the forecast, so I was well aware that if I just walked away, the decomposing milk would soon start smelling pretty badly. Being a good citizen, I went home, got a bucket of water, a mop and few paper towels and did whatever I could to minimize damage. I think I managed to soak up at least two thirds of the original spillage, but I have to tell you this: sponging an asphalt patch for milk is one of the most unusual experiences you can have on this planet. I hope someone was watching. Nothing they can ever show on Comedy Central would beat a hapless guy, fussing around the parking lot and mopping up spilt milk.



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