Foraging for the Future

On my way to Jewelry and Enameling today, I was preoccupied by an abstract hungry feeling. No pangs, no discomfort, just an acute awareness of how nice it would be to have a sandwich. It was mid-afternoon, and I hadn’t eaten since the morning. But I decided that I should wait until I got home, to avoid spending my meager funds on something I’d already purchased but waited in my kitchen cupboard.

When I reached the art studio, I went for a drink at the water fountain and spied an Entenmanns’s box in the garbage can. Quickly, I rolled over the possible benefits in my mind, reached into the can, and pulled out the box.

Let me point out, by way of excuse, that the trash cans in the art studio are mostly filled with paper or plastic, not the sticky wet garbage that you’d find elsewhere. Reaching into the can, the corner of the box gave way in my hand, and two fresh-looking doughnut holes fell out onto the dry piles of paper. Less mental debate necessary, I pulled out the pastries, listening for the rustling of human presence. The last thing I wanted was someone to see me in such a compromising position.

I ate the dry doughnut holes hovered around the drinking fountain, washed them down with sips of metallic water. Partially sated and very pleased with myself, I headed to the classroom. I dropped my brass piece in the cleansing acid, and exited to the gallery. My curiosity had been duly whetted. The gallery has a small kitchen attached, where the faculty prepares food for weekend shows and exhibit openings. I’d previously explored all the cabinets, as is my tendency when alone in a room filled with cabinets, and knew them to be empty of all but plates and serving trays.

The refrigerator had food in it, but my ethical sense got the better of me and I let it be. But there was a small bowl of peanuts on the counter, so I filled my cupped hand and munched on my way back to class. Turns out, the prof had brought in some leftover cookies from the weekend show, the kind that come in cupcake holders inside a tin. I had some of those too.

It’s not like I wouldn’t have eaten, or like I was “going hungry,” so don’t worry. I was just in a tight spot, and the universe opened up some opportunities that I wasn’t willing to pass up. But while I was foraging, I kept thinking of my resourcefulness and lack of shame, developed god knows where. When I got home, I told J my story, adding that I would be a very useful resource in the event of a depression or nuclear disaster. There’s a silver lining to every moral ambiguity. Combining this story with my supple defense mechanisms and ability to justify every action, and I think we have proof positive that I’ll make a great politician someday.