If history would teach me anything, it's that you guys don't know what to make of my crazy family stories. But this morning I impishly posted a Facebook status about wanting some Toblerone and Perrier, just to rib my brother about something that happened 13 years ago. I was surprised about how many responses the status got, mostly from people who thought it sounded like a lovely Monday. I had a whole other post planned for today, but after that, I had,
had to ask my brother, ODP, to guest blog for me. So without further ado, I give you Toblerone and Perrier.
Gene's apartment was something between student housing, a commune, a speakeasy, and a rehab facility. In fact, it served all these functions during his 8-month stay there. He had a 50-gallon trashcan with "Pook Buket" written across the side. We once made a 4:00 AM trip to WalMart to buy a blender, at a moment that was identified as ideal for margaritas. Wrestling night was not to be missed. Sometimes there were naked people. Sometimes there were personality disordered stoners. Sometimes there was hard-core pornography and the Cranberries playing simultaneously. Sometimes there was an angry elderly neighbor demanding the return of his newspaper. We hadn't taken his newspaper, but we undoubtedly appeared suspect and I can't fault him for blaming us.
As a foolish youngster, I made a baseless and tragically responsible decision to remain sober during this time. As a result, I believe that I have the only cogent recollection of November, 1998 in Gene's apartment. Given my dysfunctional level of sobriety, I was often asked to make trips to the store. One afternoon Gene handed me some cash and asked that I go out for milk, Marlboro Lights, etc. On my way out of the apartment I casually asked if anything else was needed, to which Shawn responded, "I'll have a Toblerone!" Perhaps I was not functioning on the same level of consciousness as the rest of our company, all of whom recognized the joke. It seems that it's strange for 19 year old guys in West Virginia to eat Toblerone. Who knew.
A while later I returned to Gene's apartment. I unpacked the bag. Marlboro Lights. Etc. Toblerone.
"ODP, where's the milk?" asked Gene
"Oh, there wasn't enough money."
"How? There should have been."
"The Toblerone put us over budget. So, no milk."
Blank stares all around. I handed Shawn his Toblerone.
"Uh, thanks," he said.
"Sure."
"ODP," replied Shawn. "Who the fuck eats Toblerone?"
A better question was, "Who, in that apartment, was drinking milk?"
In fact, I ate Toblerone. Not frequently, but once in a while, it hit the spot. I still remember my first Toblerone. It was a rainy afternoon in rural Italy... I also had my first bottle of carbonated water on this high school Latin club trip. It seemed like a good combo at the time and I failed to notice that my new-found europhilic snacking preferences put me in a strange minority in our little rural town. Perhaps I had shown up that day with a bottle of Perrier. I did that sometimes. In combination with the Toblerone, an impression was struck. Ever since, I've been pegged as that guy who snacks on Toblerone and Perrier.
I can only express profound satisfaction that Jo's FB status regarding Toblerone and Perrier has attracted such attention. Perhaps I was just ahead of my time. Perhaps I was, and still am, kind of weird. Whatever the case, I am awesome, and so is Toblerone.
Cheers,
Daniel (ODP)
