Attack of the Orange Chicken (or Lasagna, We're Still Not Sure)

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

"Oh sweet zombie Jesus!"

"What did you fi-Oh my God! Quick put it away!" Julie shouted turning her face away from the open Tupperware box I was holding.

It was my week at work to clean out the fridge and my friend Julie had offered to help as a valid excuse to leave her desk. I began my sweep after making the last call to my co-workers to come and claim any leftover food before I purged every unnamed box and bag without a date on it. Anything funky or expired along with its container went into the trash can. If you lost your container then sucks to be you.

Now every so often something dodges the weekly cleanout, or even many of them. It's bound to happen and has happened. I had seen food go plenty bad in this kitchen. Moldy cheese, fuzzy bread, chunky milk, salads so wilted and brown it looked like samples of swamp water than a well constructed Cobb.

This however was some new freakish organism.

Popping the top of the Tupperware the stench that escaped was epic. Evil saturated the air causing plants to wither, paint to peel, and children to writhe.

That was how old this Chinese food was. Or, I think it was Chinese food. Maybe is was lasagna? Who knows? At this point I wasn't sure if it someone's leftovers or a forgotten biological weapon from the Cold War.

Regardless, it was just vile. Black chunks streaked with a grotesque rainbow of growths. A spectrum of dingy colored molds spotted the sides. Actual tendrils threaded the lid like some Lovecraftian horror in an attempt to escape its orange chicken prison and wreck havoc upon the world.

Indiana Jones, the Rocketeer and the goddamn Batman all rolled into one couldn't have been prepared for this thing. What chance did we have? I slammed the lid back on, but the smell... the smell remained and made our eyes water.

"I need an old priest and a young priest," Julie quipped.

"No, we need a flamethrower. I'm afraid this will be like a scene out of Alien. In ten minutes this thing will be wrapped on my face laying eggs in me."

"Where do you think Starbucks employees come from?" said Julie.

"I thought the congealed out of the creek behind the gas station on Howe Blvd."

"Just here, toss it in the bag! Quick!" she said with disgust. I did so shoving it into the trash as deep as it would go.

We immediately wrapped it up and then took it out of the building. Though the lid was secured we had apparently broken some enchanted vacuum seal placed upon it by some ancient and holy order because the odor prevailed. The lid could no longer contain it. Needless to say the entire office smelled like King Kong's fetid butt crack on a humid day at Monster Island (assuming Monster Island is actually a giant landfill baking in the sun).

When I got home I took a shower and cleaned out my fridge. Only constant vigilance will ensure one of these don't spawn in my own home.

6 comments:

  1. Been there, done that. And, gotten some really nice containers from unclaimed-not-yet-moldy ones I put out on the kitchen table.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Garrett - I can totally vouch for this one. I keep a constant vigil of the fridge at work, but the one at home I reserve for the inevitable science experiments. You would be surprised at the wonders one can find in your own back yard!

    My other favorite is the cryo zones in most freezers. Sometimes stuff there ends up like Hans Solo!

    ReplyDelete
  3. I relate all too well to this terrifying tale. Our fridge at work is neglected enough to smell the rank odors even while the door is sealed shut. [Insert chills...]

    ReplyDelete
  4. May sides ache from laughing. Thanks!

    ReplyDelete
  5. finally_a_librarianAugust 19, 2009 at 9:53 AM

    Love your description!

    ReplyDelete

Hey, you're leaving a comment! That's pretty darn cool, so thanks. If you have any questions or have found an error on the site or with a recipe, please e-mail me and I will reply as soon as possible.
~Garrett

Vanilla Garlic All rights reserved © Blog Milk Powered by Blogger