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!


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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