Other Stuff

An old potato masher who doesn't want to get replaced It had been two months since Frank and Laura’s wedding. They had received lots of lovely gifts from their friends and family, but not everything on the registry had been purchased. They received a new set of plates and bowls, some printed hand towels, a nice punch bowl, and many other kitchen accessories. One thing they did not receive was a new set of utensils, which meant that Frank and Laura had been gradually replacing them as they found new items on sale. Today, Laura had spotted a beautiful potato masher. It was made of durable, hard black plastic, it had an ergonomic rubber handle, and an overall modern look. It was exactly what she had been looking for and matched her other new utensils perfectly. “I am so excited about my new potato masher,” Laura said, placing her grocery bin on the kitchen table, “we can finally get rid of that old rusty one you’ve had since college.” “Great!” Frank said. He didn’t see the reason to spend 20 dollars on a new potato masher when his old one worked just fine, but he was told that marriage was about compromise. A few feet away, hidden away in a drawer, the rusty old potato masher opened its eyes. “Did you guys hear that?” Masher asked, looking over at the other utensils laying still in the dark drawer. “Guys!” Masher said loudly, feeling a pit in his stomach, “I think I’m next.” “Oh give it a rest, Masher,” said the Slotted Spoon. “No I’m serious,” Masher said, “they’re talking about a new masher. I told you that’s what they’re doing! They’re replacing all of us! Last week it was Peeler, and the week before that it was Can Opener!” “That’s what happens when the humans get married,” said the Wooden Spoon, “we all knew this was coming. You knew from the start you wouldn’t be Frank’s forever.” “Yeah come on Masher,” said Ladle, “I’ve been Frank’s the longest and even I know my time has come. It won’t be long now.” “So what,” Masher said indignantly, “we’re supposed to just give up! And let Laura get …. get rid of us?! I’m not going to let her take me! I’m not going to the junk drawer!” The other utensils laughed. “You think you’re going to the junk drawer?!” Wooden Spoon said, a smirk on his oval face. “That’s adorable,” said Ladle, “Masher it’s been a good run, and I feel like I’d be doing you a disservice by lying to you. You’re not going to the junk drawer. I mean, look at you. You’re rusted beyond repair.” Masher felt his heart sink. “You don’t mean … not … Goodwill? No no no, I can’t go to Goodwill! That’s utensil purgatory! I don’t belong in a box of abandoned utensils, only to be given hope every few days by being picked up by a curious toddler or an economic grandmother! I am NOT going to Goodwill!” “It’s best you just accept it,” Ladle said, “I have. It’s probably gonna be me next. Just let Frank go.” Masher didn’t know what to do. He was not going to Goodwill. He couldn’t … he wouldn’t. Outside the drawer, he could hear Frank and Laura. “Frank sweetie can you grab the old one out of the drawer? The box for Goodwill is in the closet.” Yep,” Frank replied, and he crossed the kitchen to the drawer. This is it, Masher thought. In two seconds that drawer was going to open and Frank, the one that Masher had served for so long, was going to take him out and throw him into a dark box in the closet. He had to do something… A sliver of light streamed into the drawer from the kitchen outside, illuminating the tray of cutlery, who were all snuggled in tightly to one another, fast asleep. When the light entered, some of the younglings; the pie forks and teaspoons, began to wake. The whisk began to stir… “NO!” Masher yelled, jumping up from his spot behind the cutlery tray, and flinging himself on top of it. The cutlery jingled around in their slots as Masher jammed his head up into the inside of the drawer, and wedged the bottom of his handle into the base of the tray. “I AM NOT LEAVING THIS DRAWER!” he yelled, “THIS IS MY HOME! I AM NOT GOING TO GOODWILL!” Outside the drawer, Frank pulled harder, but was having no luck. Something was stuck. “Hmm,” he said, bending down slightly to peer into the opening, “something’s wedged in there.” He jiggled the handle, but it didn’t budge. “I hate when that happens,” Laura replied, “can you see what it is?” Frank squinted his eyes and put them at the exact right angle to see as far as he could into the dark drawer. He could see some twisted, rusted metal. “I think it’s the masher,” he said, “it’s like it knows…” Laura laughed. “You might need to get something to wedge it outta there. I usually use a screwdriver. Here,” she said, taking a screwdriver out of the junk drawer and handing it to Frank. “Perfect,” he said, inserting the screwdriver and beginning to poke away, jiggling the drawer as he did so. “NOOOO!” Masher screamed, “STOP! I LOVED YOU FRANK! WE WERE ROOMIES! DID THAT MEAN NOTHING TO YOU?!” All of the utensils and cutlery were watching now. The tablespoons were cradling the teaspoons closely, and the forks were turning their children away, covering their little pointed faces. “Don’t look baby,” one was saying to its little pie fork, “it’ll all be over soon.” “Masher just let go!” Ladle said, “It’s over! Peeler and Can Opener went peacefully, so why can’t you?! You’re scaring the little ones!” “I WILL NEVER LET GO!” Masher yelled, trying his best to keep his hold while avoiding the poking and prodding screwdriver, “THIS IS MY HOME! I WILL NOT LEAVE IT SO EASILY!” He felt his handle begin to bend slightly as Frank pulled harder and harder. “Masher,” Butter Knife said, “look, this is a sign. When I was a little guy, I always wanted a nice home with a big tray … room for my entire family, but you soon realize that that’s never gonna happen. Like my great grandfather used to say -“ “WHAT’S YOUR POINT BUTTER KNIFE?!” Masher yelled, fed up with everyone. “Oh,” Butter Knife said solemnly, looking defeated, “I guess I don’t have a point.” Frank’s shakes of the drawer were starting to become more aggressive, and Masher could hear his owner’s frustration. “Oh my god!” Frank yelled, “Would you just open!” He continued to shimmy the screwdriver into the drawer, poking at the stubborn masher to no avail. He shook the drawer violently, flinging pieces of cutlery out of the tray and bouncing around the back. Finally, Frank flung the screwdriver onto the counter, grabbed the drawer on either side, and reefed on it with all his might. “AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Masher screamed in agony as his head jammed into the inside of the drawer. “THE ONLY WAY I’M LEAVING THIS DRAWER IS IN PIECES! I’D RATHER DIE THAN GO TO GOODWILL!” “Lord help us all…” Ladle said, watching as his former friend disintegrated into madness. “Laura!” Frank yelled, “Might wanna help me with this or I’m gonna lose my mind!” “Alright alright,” Laura said, “Jeepers Frank you’re going to break the drawer if you keep reefing on it like that! Is that really your solution?! Men, I tell ya. Here, I’ll use the screwdriver, and you pull when I say.” Masher felt the screwdriver prying at him once again. He had an idea. He backed away from the opening, and let the tip of the screwdriver flail around. “Ok I think it’s loose,” Laura said, “try again.” Frank began pulling the drawer, and Masher leapt to his previous position, once again preventing the drawer from opening. “AHA!” Masher yelled, “CAN’T GET ME THAT EASILY!” But then Frank erupted. Masher heard him scream some words that Masher had never heard before, before Frank began violently slamming the drawer shut. Not a second passed before Frank reefed on the drawer again, slamming Masher’s head into the wood. Frank repeated this motion, aggressively slamming and reefing on the door as obscenities filled the room. Frank was yelling them at the drawer, and Laura was yelling them at Frank. It was pandemonium inside the drawer. Cutlery was flying everywhere, Ladle and Wooden Spoon were bouncing around, trying to steady themselves however they could, and Masher could feel his handle bend more and more with every successive slam. Finally, on Frank’s third or fourth attempt, Masher felt his handle break right in two… “What was that?” Laura asked. “I think I got it,” Frank said, bending to look in the drawer, sweat on his brow. “Frank I swear to god what did you break?!” Laura said. “Like seriously!” “What?” Frank said defensively, “it worked didn’t it? Relax…” Masher laid in the drawer; his upper half laying across the spoon and fork slots, his bottom half on the other side of the tray. The drawer was a mess. The pie forks and teaspoons were strewn about, all crying and trying to find their parents. Butter Knife and his family were facing every which direction, while Slotted Spoon, Ladle, and Wooden Spoon were way in the back, looking grimly at Masher’s remains. Slowly, the drawer opened, and light flooded in on the horrific scene. “Oh perfect it was the old masher that broke,” Frank said, laughing. The words were like a dagger in Masher’s heart. “You’re lucky.” Laura said. “Might as well just toss it in the garbage then. Nobody wants a broken masher.” If sadness was a wave, Masher just got hit by a tsunami. “I WAS YOUR FRIEND!” Masher yelled with everything he had left, “WE WERE ROOMIES! AND THIS IS WHAT I GET!” Frank picked up Masher’s pieces and held them in his hand. Masher looked around the kitchen and could see the other appliances looking at him as he yelled and screamed at his owner, refusing to believe that this was the end. The salt and pepper looked pretty shaken up. “I REGRET NOTHING!” screamed Masher, “LET THIS BE A LESSON TO YOU ALL! YOU’RE NOTHING TO THEM! THEY’LL REPLACE YOU WITHOUT A SECOND THOUGHT! YOU’RE NEXT!” he yelled at the kettle, “THINK YOU’RE INVINCIBLE?!” he asked the fridge, “JUST YOU WAIT OHHHH JUST YOU WAIT! YOU’RE ALL JUST TOOLS TO THEM! THEY USE US UNTIL WE CRACK AND THEN THEY ABANDON US! WELL I’M HAPPY THIS IS THE END! I’M HAPPY I’M NOT GOING TO GOODWILL! Masher continued to yell, but his screams were drowned out as Frank opened the lid of the garbage down, tossed Masher in, and closed the lid. Masher laid there in the dark, the scent of half-bad chicken and rotten banana peel tormenting his non-existent nostrils. So this was it. He could have gone to Goodwill if he’d just surrendered. But was that better? Was a life devoid of meaning better than no life at all? As he drew in his last breaths, Masher contemplated it all. He had lived a good life; a purposeful life. He had served Frank well. Even at the end, Masher could hold his twisted head up high, and proclaim to himself; Mashion Accomplished. Darkness.