Grapes of Wrath

You know what's funny? When one post makes me think of another post, which makes me think of another post, but they really aren't related at all. Well, I guess they kind of are related, and really, it's not that funny at all... nevermind.

Anyway, my little grape anecdote put me in mind of another fine moment from my heady days of youth. Back in University, Jeff (the oft mentioned roommate with a sense of humour just a little too close to mine to be healthy) and I were trying to think of ways to procrastinate so we wouldn't have to study for exams. Procrastination methods were our specialty, and if there was a course on it at the university we would have gotten A+, if we ever got around to going.

On this particular day, I looked in our little bar fridge for inspiration, and saw some left overs from a "wine and cheese" function I had attended the day before. I turned to Jeff and said, "Want to play a game?" Inspired by the mischievous glint in my eye he said, "What have you got in mind?" I pulled out a bag of seedless grapes and replied, "Let's play the "Who can fit more grapes in his mouth" game."

We set things up and got ready for the big competition. It was decided that I would go first. Jeff said he wanted me to set the bar. (I'm telling you, we were serious about our procrastination.) Slowly and methodically, I started placing grapes in my mouth. Jeff waited anxiously for his turn, and a chance to show me up in the great grape off of 1999.

Unfortunately, Jeff's turn never came. And really we never found out just how many green, seedless grapes I could fit in my mouth, because we ran out of green, seedless grapes. By this point, Jeff had forgotten about his turn, and was urging me on in what appeared to be the greatest grape-related feat since Bacchus.

When we ran out of grapes, I had 62 crammed in my maw, juice was running down my chin, and I'm sure I was a sight to be seen. There exists somewhere, a photo of me with 61 grapes in my mouth and one falling from my lips, frozen in the air for posterity.

At that point, I was in trouble. Should I chew the grapes and try to get them down? Or should I spit them out? Through a series of rudimentary sign language we decided that to make it official I would have to swallow (like so many things in life). So I chomped down on those three score and two grapes. Suddenly my throat was flooded with grape juice and I started choking violently, turning red and grabbing at my throat.

But it was funny, cause I didn't die.