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Potato Chip Nonsense


λngelღмander

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This bag of chips, it sits across the path from me. Not a path, but the gap between one side of the counter and the fridge, which separates it from me by about four feet of air, and some counter. It is definitely out of reach, not that I'm interested in grabbing it, just staring at it. I opened it earlier, and when I pulled at the opposing sides in the center like is traditionally done, it opened and ripped down the side. Not all the way to the bottom, but to about an inch before the chips actually began in the bag. When I tried to wrap it up, it was difficult to make sure the rip wasn't gaping open, and at the same time I tried not to rip it further.

I felt a small feeling of betrayal, maybe disdain, when the bag ripped just this way, because I knew I would have to be careful from then on with that bag of chips. What a travesty. I see only the bottom of the bag from where I sit. I cannot see the label, only the crimped and heat sealed seam of the bag's bottom, and the colored dots that are lined up on the bottom of the bag, since it lays face down I can also see some of the bars of the serial code. I may not be able to see it's label, but I know them to be Cape Cod Kettle Cooked chips, from both the frequency at which they occupy that counter and the fact that the bag is white and I was in them earlier. If I had not seen it until just now, I would still have known them to be what they are.

When I set them back down on the counter after the incident with the rip on the side, I tried to set it against the breakfast bar's outcrop, standing on it's opening to prevent it from unfurling, but this did not work. It immediately fell over, and the bag opened somewhat. I suppose there was no keeping ants out, not even in the absence of the rip in the bag and a good wrap up. This is why I allowed it to sit that way, not fixing it. The chips that line and fill the bag are made from potatoes grown without fertilizer, and if you were to chew one, you would find it to be very very crunchy, to the point that your first time biting into one would bring you dissatisfaction. However, they are delicious chips.

 

 

 

 

This concludes a weird blog entry.

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I had a famous Palestinian-American author visit to my school 2 weeks ago to talk about literature. She once mentioned of how, once she was on an airplane, sitting next to a mother holding her baby. The mother asked her to hold the baby while she said that she needed to change her clothes.

 

While the author was holding her, she described things like how fragile the baby was, how trusting the mother was to let her hold it, and the little undeveloped features that are yet to grow on the baby. When the mother had come back, she was not recognized by her change of clothes.

 

She ended the story with something like "As I gave the little, fragile boy to her mother, I thought of how much I had connected to the him, his small blue eyes, his brown little hair. I would always remember that little baby, and that little baby will never remember me."

 

My point? The largest stories come from the most little things. 

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