Zucchini Story

by Alex Scott

Seconds, like giant oaks grew old and died all about me. The space between one moment and the next, between action and response became the maw of some large sea creature, inhaling me, drawing me into the darkness. Could it be that this was to be my end? Suspended excruciatingly between moments? Only one man could decide, and that man was currently looking at an object I had placed on the checkout counter mere moments ago.

A playfully sardonic smile worked its way across his lower face as he formulated his remark and looking me squarely in the eye said: ‘Well, that’s a lovely zucchini you have there.’ My next move could shape my social development for the next few years of my life. I considered therefore, that it would not be at all be self indulgent to pause for a moment and consider how this situation had come to pass.

(Please read this line while allowing your eyes to drift out of focus in preparation for a flashback sequence…)

Yes, how had this all come to pass? Well it all began on a culinary excursion to the land of loaf, zucchini loaf to be exact. Earlier that morning, in a fit of cock-eyed optimism I had procured for myself a baking tin, and was now faced with a choice. Admit defeat, marking it up to your list of youthful follies of this morning past, or make loaf. I chose loaf.

I bought the ingredients required by the recipe and generally made ready for the coming of the loaf, but when I paid a visit to my zucchini-in-residence I was disappointed to find him limp, flaccid and generally uninspiring. A replacement was needed, and considering that I had already sunk a significant amount of time and energy into this venture I thought it quite appropriate to nip out and pick myself up a quick courgette at the local supermarket.

All went well at first, and I was quickly able to locate a range of healthy, young-looking zucchini congregating in a dimly lit vegetable section. There was a greater range of zucchini available than I had expected and at first I was at a loss to discern which was the right one for me, but the words of the recipe did specify ‘medium-sized’, and so allowed this latitude I chose to base my decision on proportion rather than scale.

It was not until I had actually entered the queue that it began to dawn on me what an odd thing it could appear to the passer-by to be standing in line holding a single, albeit well proportioned zucchini. I knew that I lived practically next door, that it was quite feasible for me to stop in and buy a single vegetable, freed as I am from the economy of scale that traditionally dictates the size of grocery orders. But they didn’t know that. I knew that I needed this specific vegetable for inclusion into a project that had already begun and that God himself would be hard-pressed to derail now. But my fellow shoppers didn’t know that. How could they? To them I was a guy who may very well be the type of guy who would be so motivated as to rise, dress, endure an indefinite period of transportation and then a queue, all to secure a well proportioned zucchini. I was not this person! I was suddenly consumed with the desire to tell everyone, make them aware of my normalcy. But how could I without behaving abnormally and so confirming whatever it was they were possibly already thinking about me, nurturing whatever was germinating in their minds?

‘Perhaps I should buy some other vegetables to smuggle my zucchini out with. Perhaps a magazine, a zucchini and a magazine. Does that work? You know what,’ I find myself thinking, ‘even if I did come across town for this particular zucchini, that would not make me a bad person. Even if my tastes and needs were such that a decent zucchini was what I really needed to find happiness, is that wrong? For Christ’s sake people! Open your minds! Stop being so prudish and live a little!’

On the other hand I had to consider the possibility that this was all going on in my head. That no-one was thinking these things about me and that perhaps a political stance was therefore a little redundant. Still, once one is aware of these things, how does one casually hold a zucchini? I had to clear my mind, had to go back to square one. I had to be the type of person that can enjoy the humour of the situation once it has been pointed out to them, but is in no way introspective enough to conceive of it themselves. So there I was, gradually advancing in the queue, trying vainly to recapture my innocence. Perhaps if I held it less like a truncheon?

Then I got my first glimpse of the checkout attendant, and I knew it was all over. In my hyper-aware state I could read him like a book. There was no way I was getting out of this unscathed.

‘Well, that’s a lovely zucchini you have there.’

What do I do? I realise instantly that if I try to match his humour, to try and pretend that I am somehow ‘hip’ with this situation, then he is going to spot my bluff and I’ll end up freaking us both out. Do I run? No! I’ve come too far for that now, I have to be that guy who came down to the store for a single zucchini. That’s who I am to him anyway, I can’t fight it. I have to hold my head high and take this zucchini on the chin, as it were. Somehow I find new reserves of strength within myself, I look him in the eye and say:

‘Why, thank you.’

‘Would you like a bag for that?’

‘No thank you, that will be fine.’

Proudly, I pick up my zucchini and turn to go. As I begin to move away I hear his voice behind me: ‘You enjoy that zucchini!’ I pause, and for a moment feel like the angel from ‘Highway to Heaven’, and say in a tone loaded with pathos:

‘I will.’

 

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This story is taken from Total Cardboard issue 5; if you are interested in buying a copy to see more, check out the vendors listed at www.totalcardboard.com, or contact tc@totalcardboard.com