Caught Marinara Handed

I never really liked spaghetti, or meatballs for that matter. Spaghetti and meatballs, it’s just such a cliché combination. Then again, I am a cliché guy-I wear a suit to work and I come home to an empty apartment. The type of guy who can barely speak to women unless it’s Jill from Advertising because she reminds him of mom-but that's besides the point. The point is work had consumed me so much that I had yet again failed to take care of myself and so here I was facing all my least favorite clichés. 

How does one perfect the art of spaghetti and meatballs on a rainy Wednesday afternoon? As you probably would've guessed we're going to be starting with some onion and garlic. Mincing both can be quite the hassle. Especially when you’re technically keeping an eye on two meals at the same time. To prepare our meatballs, let’s go ahead and grab that minced garlic from earlier and combine that with salt, black pepper, a dash of parmesan, and of course-the MEAT. Unwrapping meats, particularly ground beef, disturbed me from the days I first saw my mother doing it. Encased in plastic skin, rows of anonymous flesh rot in the market awaiting for some head of household to approach it-dripping with his predatory sweat. This horrific image compels me to buy vegetarian and stray far away from the meat aisle, however, tonight I am making spaghetti and meatballs. After flouring the shapeless slumps of meat I toss them in the oven for about six minutes on each side, now I am going to throw this pre-filled pot of water onto the stove. Also! Be sure to wash your hands, especially after handling your meat. Be sure to throw a teaspoon or two of salt into the pot so the water can get to its boiling point faster. I like to remind myself that cooking is both an art and a science-two things I’ve never really been good at but perhaps this C plus can stand for ‘Custenance.’ 

Just then-in the midst of my imaginary laugh track I heard a real sound, a sort of scraping at the door. Tossing my kitchen rag onto the side table I stride towards the entrance and ponder at who it could be. Acting on impulse-or perhaps off the influence of my homemade remedies, I swing open the door. In comes racing one hairy abomination and with it comes splatter’s and spoonful's of mud. The mutt makes his way halfway down the hallway before I realize what’s taken place. 

“The meat.” 

At once I remembered if anything will get the attention of a dog-it's meat. I ran towards the kitchen meeting the dog at the opposite end. We face off towards the trash can, a marathon towards the meat stench. We both grab at the plastic as I quickly notice it stretching. Choosing the lesser of two evils I let go of the bag and off the dog runs with the remnants. I figure if I can trap it in the washroom I can minimize the trash damage to the apartment. Catching up to the pup, I watch miserably as it jiggles the bag from side to side leaking drops of junk juice onto the carpet. 

“How can I get you to stop?” I ask myself while rubbing my temples profusely and reconsidering the existence of God. 

“That’s it!”

I ran over to the stove, enough to grab the dog’s attention but not enough to trap it. Slipping my arm down the opening of the scorching hot oven, I grasped onto a ball and took it with me to what was my sanctuary. The dog followed as planned. It was as I chucked the meat into the bathroom to lure the dirty beast in did I remember the door can only lock from the inside. Quickly, while the dog was distracted, I managed to grab a chair and board up the bathroom door. After giving my hands a quick rinse I returned to my meatballs, flipping them over and placing them back in the oven. I continue to heat my canned marinara sauce in a small pot and proceed to add garlic freely. After adding in the pasta I turn down the heat and leave my lid at a small tilt. 

The thought of entering back into the chaos ridden living room was nightmarish alone. At this point I wasn't even sure if I was hungry anymore. But, with three towels to clean up, two tomatoes chopped and added to the saucepan, three dashes of basil, and a hint of lemon, dinner was served with the rest of whatever wine had been left in my apartment. 

Although the presentation was half decent, I could not get past the blandness of it all. I got about three forkfuls in before the doorbell interrupted my ‘not so bon-Appetit.’ This time I peered through the peephole to make sure no secondary dog was fooling me with its use of the doorbell. But to my surprise an angel stood before me, blessing every inch of my right eye with her unbelievable beauty. 

“Good evening!” I eagerly spoke to the magnificent woman.

“Hello! I’m so sorry to interrupt-”

“Oh it’s no big deal I was just having dinner,” I say, trying to balance myself coolly. 

“You see-my dog ran away and she dropped her ball right at the end of your driveway, I was wondering if you happened to see a dog run by?” 

“Yeah I got that bitch in my tub!”

“What?”

“Oh! I mean she ran in! She tracked mud all over the carpet!

“Oh my god! I’m so sorry! Where is she?”

“I had to get her in the washroom at least until I finished making dinner, wouldn’t want her getting accidentally burnt or what not-”

“Awe that’s very sweet, do you mind if I come in and get her?”

“No I don’t mind at all, please come in! How impolite of me, I haven't even asked you your name,”

“It’s Evelyn!”

“That’s a beautiful name!”

“Thank you,”

“Beautiful name for a beautiful girl-ha,” 

“Oh-uh thank you…which way did you say she was?”

“Why don’t I actually go get her, wouldn’t want you dripping water all over the carpet,”

“Oh sure,”

“Unless you want to stay the night-or for dinner I mean,”

“Actually I-”

Absolute word vomit. I couldn’t believe the level of cliché embarrassment I submitted myself to. I always knew spaghetti and meatballs only meant bad news. With my door still wide open Evelyn's large and rightfully possessive partner emerges carrying a distasteful look on they're face.

“What the fuck did you just say to my girlfriend?”

“I had no idea she was with someone! I didn’t mean to-”

“Yeah? You didn't mean to harass my girl or what?”

Remembering the couple's dog barricaded on my behalf I feel a panic building from within my chest. My mind stumbles and the ability to watch my words malfunctions.

"Yeah! I did mean to and we both liked it!" I respond quickly, perhaps to get their attention off the dog.

Without warning I am knocked unconscious. My body lays still and my vision is blurry. The unnamed dog licks me across the forehead either in pity or as if to rub in the effortless defeat. On their way out the couple leaves the door wide open and it remained so until I could up. Near dawn I finally arose to leave behind that same cold wetness this unnamed dog tried so hard to escape. 

My suit speckled with mud is in no condition for work. Casual Friday came early I guess. I run a warm shower with hopes that my face swells down. Aiming for post-wisdom teeth removal I grab the little ice left from last night and rest it on my cheeks. Running slightly behind schedule I scoop yesterday's spaghetti and meatballs into a Tupperware container and head out the door. Absolutely starving I choose to have a bite of leftovers on the bus. With a single jolt the amount of spaghetti in my lap outweighs the amount in my mouth. Despite these minor set backs I arrive on time to the job I hate. And like magic, within a matter of fifteen minutes my boss approaches me for a private conversation. The "conversation" proceeds with a few self-esteem lowering sentences and a final paycheck which I look forward to spending a majority of at the bar. With no paperwork left to do and my office cleaned out, all was left was to do was go home and drink away the misery. All of the sudden, I decide to walk home instead. Yes! This decision might significantly increase time spent on travel thus reducing the hours I could be getting hammered. BUT. It is a decision that will set me free. Because I don't deserve to get knocked out after one hit or to get fired after one off day but what I especially don't deserve is spaghetti and meatball-like clichés. After twenty minutes of walking as confidently as I humanly could I arrived to a bridge. The busy traffic meant no one would be able to hear me. I placed my office supplies on the floor, opened my backpack, and climbed up comfortably onto the bridge. As I open the to-go container a foul smell hits my nostrils and I toss the haunting meal over the edge. I step down feeling like the king of the world or as if all my sins have been forgiven. This feeling stayed with me as I continued my walk home. It came to a halt as a nearing cop car pulled up right next to me. Upon exiting the vehicle the man approaches.

"Good afternoon sir, are you aware of a man matching your description throwing spaghetti over the overpass around East Young about twenty-maybe thirty minutes ago?"

"No."

"Are you sure? Because the incident left a few folks in critical condition and whoever did this is going to have to come with us and answer more than a few questions."