It’s not apple season, but in the Dan’s Papers office last week and the subject of apples came up, as I heard a crunching behind me. Food is an important topic here, not to be taken lightly. “What kind of apple have you got there, Oliver?” I asked my fellow editor, seated at his desk.
“That’s a good one.” General approval was heard around the office. “The worst ones are the Red Delicious ones,” Oliver added.
And the game was afoot. I’d like an apple right now, I thought, already plotting out my route to Schmidt’s Market in my head when Eric, the Editorial Director, chimed in. “By far the best apple out there is the Honeycrisp apple. That’s what my daughter loves.”
And in that instant, Eric sold me. I imagined him in my head for a moment, sharing a Honeycrisp apple with his daughter at a family picnic and having a bonding experience, and then a pony running by and galloping off into a field.
I must have a Honeycrisp. Right now.
Saying nothing, I blasted out of the office at 1,000 miles an hour. I ran to my car, and raced down the street toward Schmidt’s. It was about 5:30 p.m., and I had one thing on my mind: ACQUIRE MANY APPLES.
When I got to Schmidt’s, I rushed over to the fruit area and marveled at the apple display. Every single apple you could possibly think of is in this place. I was salivating at the thought of eating all of them in a gluttonous pig-out. Maybe I’ll fill a tub with water when I get home, turn on some Reggae music, then put apples in the tub and dive in.
Like a lunatic, I started to fill up plastic bags with apples. I got the Gala, I got the Granny, I even got the Delicious one, and I went with Gold because I’m worth it. Then I grabbed the Honeycrisp. Oh God and glory and everything holy. It was in my hands! The HONEYCRISP WAS IN MY HANDS!
I figured that in exchange for my disappearing at an odd hour, I would come back with apples and give them to everyone in the office. I spent about $25 on them, primarily because the Honeycrisps are not cheap, about $2 each.
When I noted the price, the cashier, an exotic- looking Indian woman, looked directly at mee and said, with an alluring accent, “They are the Mercedes Benz of apples.” Wow.
I raced back to the office, feeling like some kind of Roman messenger bringing rare fruits back to his fellow warriors from far-off lands. “Did you leave just to buy apples?” Eric asked.
“Yeah, and I got you a Honeycrisp, it’s the Mercedes Benz of apples. Do you want one?”
“No, I’m good.”
“Hey, Oliver, want a Honeycrisp?”
“No, I’m good. Thanks, though.”
I looked around the room in horror. Nobody was noticing me and my bounty. Everyone had seemed interested in apples when I’d left. Am I now the weird apple guy, obsessing over something most people don’t care about until autumn rolls in? So be it.
I ripped into the plastic bag, and like an actor in some apple commercial, casually polished the Honeycrisp and took a bite. It was everything I thought it would be.
Then I had more.
Wonder what type of tomato everyone loves…