Jack hands me a piece of toast with butter and Vegemite spread on it.
“Geez, it smells bad!” I say. My initial reaction. The toast looks like a normal piece of buttered toast that has been smeared with the goop that you find collected in the bottom of a shower drain. It smells GodFuckingAwful.
I take a tentative first bite. I don’t think this first taste even has any Vegemite on it, but the overwhelming gag-producing smell wafts off the toast and marches obnoxiously into my nose. I steel myself and take another bite. This bite definitely contains Vegemite.
“Dude. It’s bad!” That’s the only way I can express it.
“Just finish it!” says Jack, my boss. “It’s one piece of toast.”
The smell is really getting to me. But I am smarter than the Vege-Smited toast. An idea occurs to me. When faced with the toughest challenges, humans find a way to overcome the most insurmountable obstacles. I fold the piece of toast in half, forming a sort of toast sarcophagus to trap the smell inside itself.
The next few bites are easier. Success. The taste is very salty, very bitter, and I just know this is going to leave me with terrible breath. Strangely, after about five bites, the rest is easy going. I think my taste buds have given up. Resigned. Gone home for the day. Good luck tasting anything else today, Gabe. We’re on strike.
I am reminded of the first time I tasted red wine. I thought it was terrible and that it tasted like dirt. Now, my favorite wines are the ones that taste the most like dirt. Somehow I don’t think I will start craving spreads that smell like dead everything.
My breath still smells.