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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
The daily life of a spoon.

Submitted: October 28, 2011

A A A | A A A

Submitted: October 28, 2011




It was about time!  I was covered in spaghetti sauce, little kid spit, and worst of all, other scraps of food… none of them mine!  At least not this time, anyway.  They had put me in the kitchen sink and left me there for 3 days, 3 days!  It was unbearable.  Let me delineate it for you:  The master washer was just about full, so you could only get in if you’re lucky. As they began loading the master washer with dishes from the meal they just had, (dinner, I suppose), I began to realize that I wasn’t.  The others were going to get in first, leaving me and a heap of plates, a couple forks, a knife, and three cups in the waiting room. 

But then, I saw a chance.

A small chance, I suppose, but it was something.  There was one space left in the silverware holder, and there was only me and the knife left.  Somehow the forks had managed to get in without me noticing, or else I would have made an impression to be more supplicate myself, which usually works, but not always.  But what can I say?  I am just a shaped piece of metal, so I am not the best at making impressions on people.  But anyway, this chance, this ever so small chance, was still there.  I had a chance to get into the master washer, and not have to wait until the next load.  Unfortunately, that did not happen.  No.  Instead, I was the last in line, which meant two things:  You don’t get into the master washer, and you are put in the bottom of the waiting room.  It was poignant to me.  As they began to pile the other dishes on top of me, their food scraps began to fall. 

Everything that falls goes to the bottom.

I was at the bottom.  So this extra food, the leftovers, began to douse me.  It was, and there is no better way to explain this, disgusting.  I could not wait until the master washer was done and I could go in, to get rid of this filth that was somehow bestowed upon me.  But I had to wait.  I could not demystify when it would be done, but I knew that it would be a long while. 

As I sat there waiting, bored to death, I began to think.  Think about how sorry I was for myself, that I had to stay here in the waiting room for however long it was, being covered in even more filth as they rinsed the dishes with the magic water dripper into the waiting room.  Some of it managed to rinse off from the extra water sitting at the bottom of the waiting room, but most of it didn’t.  So as I was in a state of contrition for myself, I began to wonder if this situation would ever rectify itself.  I didn’t see how it could get any worse.  Now I am no philosopher, but my Stoic attitude seemed to be making me feel a little better.  At least I knew I knew how to think… and deeply, too!

The days passed in the same sort of manner:  They would pile yet more dishes into the waiting room, even though the master washer had long been done, I would get covered in even more food drippings, and long to be released from this cruel captivity I had been unwillingly put in. 

But then, a glimmer of hope arouse.

I could hear them talking, the mother and the child, and it seemed as if the mother was trying to get the child to empty the master washer.

“How many times have I told you to empty the dishwasher!?” The mother asked the child.  The child responded: 

“But Mooommm…” She seemed to be searching his brain for a reasonable excuse.  In my opinion, no excuse would cut it.  I could only hope the mother thought the same.
“I... uh… have homework to do!”  I was right.  The mother would not accept this.

“Go. Unload. The. Dishwasher.” She said, making sure to enunciate each word.  “Now.”

I made sure I heard the week “Yes, Mom.” From the child before I began to get excited.  Hurray!  I thought to myself.  I can finally get into the master washer!

The child’s work was slow, but finally, I heard the master washer shut.  The child was done.

“Very good, you can go do your homework now.”  The mother said as she re-opened the master washer to begin loading it.  She was much faster than the child, working with persistence and speed.  I could feel the weight of the other dishes being lifted, and finally, she was down to me.

“Eww!”  She wailed.  “This is why we need to clean the dishes more often!”  I was covered, as I have stated, spaghetti sauce, little kid spit, other food drippings, and I was also beginning to mold.

“Should I just throw this one away?”  I heard her ask to her spouse.  A state of panic began to arise in me.  No! I tried to tell her.  I have been sitting here for 3 days waiting for this and this is what I get?! In the bad-food bin, nothing ever got clean.  Nothing ever came out. 

I was scared.

And then, mercy was found.

“No, just put it in.  It will come out clean.”  I heard the spouse say.  I heaved a sigh of relief as she not-so-gently shoved me in with the rest of the silverware in the master washer.

And as everything got dark when she closed the door, I closed my eyes and relaxed. 

The swoosh swoosh of the water around me was placid as can be, the soap bubbles scrubbing me clean was glorifying.  And once again, I found myself thinking.  This time I thought happier thoughts, about how I would soon be in the house of silverware, cozy with the rest of them.  I thought about how good it felt to be clean again, and how I would soon after serve the family once again at the dinner table.  I must have been thinking for a long while, because before I knew it, the swoosh swoosh of the water stopped and the dark became light and the mother pulled me out and inspected my appearance, the final denouement of the master washer.  I was, apparently, in her words, “good as new.”

It felt good to be myself again.

It feels good to be a spoon.

© Copyright 2018 Kelsie . All rights reserved.

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