I just sat down at a table in one of Portland’s most hip and delicious bakeries, Crema. Before taking a seat I ordered a bowl of granola with soy milk. As I was waiting for my food I pondered the casual chichi-ness of this place, enjoying the breeze coming through the bakery’s open doors. My granola came and I gave the hipster behind the counter my money. I was about to leave with the Awesome Granola when I noticed something floating in my soy milk. It wasn’t cinnamon. It was something that had once been alive– an aphid that probably zoomed into the bakery just seconds ago through those open doors.
This was when I said, “Uhhh… there’s something floating in my milk.” The hipster staff whisked it away and replaced it with a fresh cup, apologizing profusely (as they should at a place as chichi as this).
I wasn’t really grossed out, though. I was just giggling and gleeful because I realized I’d been subconsciously waiting for an opportunity to say something like that since I was 5 years old. That was when I always watched that man-puppet on Sesame Street discover flies in his soup. And that sound byte– “Uhhh… waiter? There’s a FLY in my SOUP!”– is probably one of the favorite things in my subconscious.
Of course, I didn’t know I even remembered that puppet until there actually WAS a bug floating in my milk. Then came the glee of the memory. “Uhhh…waiter?” And then came the fresh cup of milk.
I’d like to thank the aphid who gave its life for the joy of this moment. And the puppet who endured so many flies in so many bowls of soup.