How I (almost) Died of Scurvy , or why I don’t know how to behave like an adult

Yesterday, I’m pretty sure I got the SCRUVY. I know you may be thinking, “but you aren’t a pirate, nor have you been long out to sea.”

But that is ridiculous.  Scurvy isn’t just for pirates anymore. Let’s look at the evidence:

  1. Scurvy is a vitamin C deficiency.
  2. C is for Cat
  3. Pirates hate cats (prefer parrots, sometimes monkeys)
  4. I hate cats (prefer dogs, would probably take a monkey)

You get the idea.  This logic is irrefutable, which is why you should for no reason look at the actual signs of scurvy while reading the rest of this blog.

I submit as further evidence yesterday afternoon. Around 1:00 my throat closed up. This wasn’t just thirst. This wasn’t a sore throat. I knew what I needed. I needed juice. The craving was strong and clear. Rarely does my body so elegantly demand a need. Maybe when it needs chocolate, but that’s it.

The only reason I would need juice that badly is the Scurvy. Ask any pirate.

Flash forward to 2:00, when I am finally allowed to take my lunch. I NEED juice. I’ve only got a bit of time for lunch, and there is certainly no juice at my house. That’s how I got the scurvy, obviously.  I have two options. I can go to the store on my lunch, sacrificing vital comic book reading/sandwich eating time, or I can hope against hope that I can find juice on campus (I work at a school btw).

I decide the cafeteria is the way to go. It is on the way to my apartment, and probably won’t take up too much of my lunch hour. I realize my mistake as soon as I enter the café.  They are clearly closing up.  Wiping things down, closing the register.  One of them looks up at me, snidely confused.

“Juice?” I say, holding out a twenty hopefully.

“What.” He says. For some reason it isn’t a question. It is a judgment about my life.

At first I am angry with this cafeteria worker. Who is he to judge my simple request for juice? I can SEE the juice machine behind him. He has the technology.

Then I realize. He thinks I am a student. Sure I am wearing a blazer. Sure I have about 10 grey hairs. That’s not what he notices. He sees the coat that I have buttoned up the wrong way in my haste.  He sees the quiet desperation for vittles, a college student STAPLE. He has probably heard the “I’ma get juice” song that I was singing down the hall to the café. For all I know he saw me through the window as I climbed a wall, rather than walk around a building because I turned the wrong way.

Basically he sees through the (usually) careful façade I have created of a mature adult, someone who does her job well and takes care of herself. That’s not what I am. I am the girl who forgets to eat fruit for long enough that she gets SCURVY.

“Scurvy?” I say. Eloquently.

He takes a dollar and gives me a cup of juice. He has the expression of a schoolteacher taking extra time with the slow kid in class.

As I slurp down the minute maid, I should be annoyed with him, but, I’m pretty sure he just saved my life!

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About inkrose86

Look to your left. You see that girl there, the mildly attractive one that is doing something vaguely embarrassing like spilling coffee on herself or picking a pimple. Ya, that's me.
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