How to Serve Pomegranates to a Parrot
Dismembering pomegranates is an art. A Jackson Pollack type of art using only one color. Blood red. Not the red you'd find leaving the lungs toward the heart full of oxygen, but rather, that thin pinkish red blood you get from a paper cut, or a bread knife. I suspect. From the look of the delivery guy's face, somebody's dying by a thousand cuts.
I was 45 minutes into dismembering a batch of pomegranates, not thinking on how I looked or how well I was not doing this cleanly. My shirt was covered in splatters a crime scene investigator would appreciate. It told the tale of many dead pomegranate today. My hands were stained, my shirt complimentary to them. I guess I had some in my hair, that's a guess. The look on the delivery guy's face was familiar to me. It's that look you give someone when you don't want to offend or invite a problem from them. But yet, you can't look away from whatever it is you can't explain quite yet.
I suppose the knife in my hand wasn't helping him think through things.
And none of this is my fault anyway. Normally Amazon delivery folk just knock and run. Happy to leave my box near the door, behind a big lump of monkey grass. But it's raining, and this guy is thoughtful and knocks and waits to hand it to me.
So, we're standing there, and I realize the knife isn't helping. And I quick run over to my desk to set it down, and then back to the door, with a smile on my face. I doubt I looked crazed at all.
I could have explained all this to the guy. "Oh, I'm cutting up pomegranate for my kids. It's so healthy!"
He'd calm a little and reply, "OH! Sure!"
But when you start talking about parrots, and healthy foods, wearing crime scene evidence it just gets weird. And you know the delivery guy just realized he doesn't want to know about any of it. He saw nothing and he'll say so to the cops. If they show up. Are they showing up?
The birds aren't helping my case. They are all in their cages sleeping off pomegranate and cantaloupe and hard-boiled eggs. They do not care about anything outside of their current digesting. I have no audio evidence that I have parrots who eat pomegranate.
So, there we are. The Amazon delivery guy, and me. I smile. He smiles. It could have been a grimace. He hands me the box hesitantly, but kindly. He's so shaky.
I thank him for the extra effort and wish him a good and dryer day. I turn around, slowly closing the door and yell over my shoulder, "NO! Leave the tarp there! I want to roll him up in it!"