And if my online dating analogy for flatmate hunting wasn’t apt enough, the online dating algorithm just matched me up with the girl I first offered the room to. Say it with me again guys, I LIVE IN A SITCOM.
If I do live in a sitcom though, one of my traits would be my love of tinned fish. It’s a stupid quirk to have as a defining part of your identity, but I can’t argue with the writing staff here. For years I’ve been eating the stuff for the high protein content and decent fats. At some stage I got wary of potential mercury poisoning and tightened up my act a little. I was eating 5-6 of the Sealord 185g tins per week for about 3 or years. It’s a wonder I’m not already on death’s door. I wisened up and cut down my intake to about 5 70g tins. Then I read a bit more on the subject and cut down to 2 tins per week. I supplemented the missing tins for tins of sardines. I don’t enjoy them, but I know they’re healthy. Wow, this is riveting writing. It’s a pity tuna is primarily found in warm seas, otherwise it would’ve been river-ting.
Anyway. I eat the olive oil flavour on the reg and I’m always scouting about for good deals. Usually 4 for $5 will be a bargain, but every now and then it’s cheaper than that. On Monday I walked into my local 24 hour supermarket (typically expensive) and found olive oil tins for $1 each. So I bought some. I cleaned out the shelf, but there were only 10 there. Chuffed with my purchase, I brought them home and stacked the little blighters on my shelf. I gazed lovingly at them, but something was missing. They looked lonely. Having that much fish was cool, but not as cool as a school of fish. With resolve in my heart, I returned to the supermarket the next day to find some company for my fishy food friends. Once again, I cleaned out the shelf. Another 10 cans of olive oil tuna, all mine. Mwahaha. I chuckled. It sounded kind of like the onomatopoeic laugh I typed right there. I felt devious, dastardly and downright duplicitous.
Wednesday struck and I happened to be on my way back from the gym. While walking past the supermarket, a mischievous air gripped me. I diverted from my path home and wandered into the store. Stalking the aisles with an aura that was half predatory, half impish, I made my way to the tinned fish section. The olive oil was gone. Cleaned out. Kaput. Only the olive oil. Everything else was fully stocked. Mildly irked, I found a restocker to see if it was possible to just grab a box from out back. I assured her I’d likely buy the whole box. She told me that some man had come in that morning and purchased about 20 tins. “You could always come back tomorrow, they might be restocked before then. The sale ends after Friday.” Taken aback, I let the sharp sting of disappointment take root. Then realisation hit me and a warmth radiated from my core.
I had a rival.
Ever since those days of Pokémon, I’d always wanted a rival. Someone to stack my achievements against to spur healthy competition. It was on. It was on like congee.
Then I forgot. But on the way back from the gym today, synapses fired and memories sparked. I had this. Provided he hadn’t come in that morning, I may’ve been in the clear. I made my way to the aisle and looked. There seemed to be no gaps. I looked for the olive oil cans. CONNECTION! I grabbed my basket and started stacking into piles of 4. 22 cans was all they had, but with a mere capitalistic transaction, I now had them all.
I’m sure you’re asking, do I feel petty? Well no. I feel secure in the knowledge that I’ll be stocked for maybe half a year. You may wonder if I feel guilty for getting greedy, taking a resource that should be available for everyone? Admittedly, kind of. Though I’m sure they wouldn’t enjoy it nearly as much as I will. As for my rival, what do I think of him? Well it feels like in another world, we could be friends. We both obviously have the same taste in tinned fish, I’m sure we’d have other tastes in common too. Maybe we could hang out, watching You’re the Worst and slowly dying of mercury poisoning together.
Then again, my life is a sitcom. Inevitability means I’m probably already friends with the dude.