The Poisoning Of Snow White OR . . . Gabe O'Sullivan

20 December 2014

Story #760

R. Linda:

At my office, we had our Christmas Party on Thursday last, we did. But before the party, we had the Secret Santa fiasco, where weeks ahead we all pulled names out of a hat and had to buy a gift costing no more than $5.00, wrap it, put the name of our person on a tag, and leave it under the small Charlie Brown office Christmas tree.

It is very hard to find anything for $5.00, but if one goes to the Dollar Store, the problem is solved. Otherwise, one would be tempted to buy over the amount, and it is stipulated in no uncertain terms NOT TO DO THAT. However, it also makes re-gifting difficult if one wants to take that route, as one doesn't truly know the price of the unwanted gift.

As I say, the Dollar Store was me only choice. Oh, for sure, there will be Staples, and most stores have aisles where one can buy sundry items at a minimal cost. I did try Staples, thinking that's just what someone would want - more office supplies - when they can go to our supply closet and get whatever they need for free! I must say to the person who recommended Staples to me that I did find a pen for $5.00, but little else unless one wants to buy the next cheapest item, a Bankers Storage Box for $12.00. Something one might wish to have that isn't found easily in the office supply closet would be ink. Forget the price of an ink cartridge, way too much! So Dollar Store was me destination.

I found a variety of cake mixes for $4.50, and I could buy one of those with a small can of frosting attached. For $1.50 more, I could also add paper plates. Yes, genius, I thought, once the cake is baked, the lucky recipient will have paper plates to serve it on! There ya go, done! I know I exceeded me limit, but not by much.

Me only big problem was wrapping the round canister of cake mix with the paper plates. When I finally finished, it looked like what it was: a platter, at least on the bottom, with a canister of cake mix probably on top. Oi! Well, beggars can't be choosers, and that's how me Secret Santa gift looked. Well, I put it covertly under the office tree with the rest of the gifts so that it wasn't too hard to figure out what they were by the odd wrappings.

I am not a wrapper, and well, the wife is busy, and the mother has arthritis, so it was all up to me. I made a right mess of it, but it was wrapped! Sort of.

The person's name I got was Mary McGee, and I do not know her or even what she looks like. I was hoping she liked to bake and then eat what she baked. In me masculine mind, baking and paper plates were the ideal.

Thursday, before the office Christmas Party, we all gathered around the pathetic tree to open our Secret Santa gifts. Before I proceed, may I say that the tree is fake? It has been around since I've been working at the office, and it was there long before I was born. It is gnarly, and most of the toilet brush fibres that make up the tree are missing (thus, the reference to Charlie Brown), and almost all the arms are missing, except maybe five. It is over-decorated to make up for its deficiencies.

So there we were, standing around this thing, when one of the bubbly mail persons (dressed like an elf) came down the aisle, shaking sleigh bells to get everyone who wasn't already at the tree out of their cubicles so we could start the gift exchange.

Once all of us were out, and I must remark that it looked like none of us had left our cubicles much, or maybe it was the fluorescent lighting; we all looked pale and greenish, almost like a group of Grinches ready to go grinch upon the world. Our elf looked around and shushed us, as we could hear more jingle bells and someone shouting, "HO, HO, HO!" and sure enough, Santa was coming up the aisle with another two elves (also from the mailroom). I counted meself lucky that I wasn't selected to "play the role" of Santa since (as you well know), I am the go-to guy to "play the role" of the Easter Bunny. One fantastical creature is enough.

To get on with this painful episode, Santa began calling out the names on the gift tags, and the person would go up, receive their prize, and open it in front of everyone. I will say the gifts were tame and tedious.

The name Mary McGee was called out, and I literally cringed because I felt that what I bought was cheap, and it was. Before I even saw her, I overheard two women behind me and one said, "Oh Mary McGee, isn't she the one that lost 250 lbs.?" and the other said, "Yes, and have you seen how good she looks! Must be a size 0 now."

Uh oh, I thought to meself but too late! There she was, this wee whisp of a person, red-faced in embarrassment for her turn at being the centre of attention, looking very svelte in her ugly Christmas sweater, her shoulders hunched up around her ears in the delight of receiving a present.

"Oh, oh," the woman behind me said, "Deb, is that what I think it is? Looks like plates and something on top, I hope it isn't fattening food, she'll just plotz." OH YEAH, IT IS! I wanted to turn and shout it at them, but I found I was trying to shrink me tall self so I wouldn't be towering above the crowd, me red face giving the gift giver away. Oh, you don't know the angst and agony. I was thinking of grabbing the present and running or shouting out, "Wrong, Mary McGee! Take that present over there, THAT'S hers!" I did not do any of those things; it was too late, she had the suspicious-looking gift in her hand. She was totally clueless, unlike most of us, and with a rip of the paper, it was pulled back to expose the fattening cake mix with canned icing on top and a barrage of cheap paper plates to eat it off.

The look on her face was one of shock, and I was waiting for her to burst out in tears. Me having to give it up that it was ME who gave her such an awful gift and me going forward taking the wee thing in me arms to comfort the great sobs, and me saying I had no idea, and how wonderful she looked, and maybe she could bake that cake, ice it and have a piece because she deserved it. Nah, that wouldn't fly, and I knew it. But it was a miracle, all me thoughts disappeared as her look of shock turned into a look of pleasure.

"This is wonderful, I have been wanting to treat myself to a taste of something sweet," she looked around, embarrassed, "just a little something sweet, and this is just perfect. I can bake the cake and frost it, and serve it to my department, and the best is I get a little taste." And that was it.

"Lucky for you, she took that well." A voice said behind me.

I turned to see Cruella looking at me with amusement.

"How did you know it was me?" I whispered.

"You always try to shrink yourself when you feel you are in trouble. I recognised the shrink."

I rolled me eyes, and she promised she'd never tell, "it will be our little secret," she said. Which I know it will be until she wants something like taking me on another sea-sick whale watch, or for a ride in that shark monster boat at the seaport. Yeah, I know how she works.

I know you are wondering what I got. Well, I got a luscious caramel apple. It was a coreless apple with a thick layer of caramel on it, rolled in wee white and dark chocolate bits, and sprinkled with more chocolate bits. It was in a lovely holiday box and wrapped in cellophane. I was pleased with that as you know, food be a hobby, especially sweets and anything that has to do with chocolate.

Almost too pretty to eat, I tell ya!

So, last night I was home alone. The wife and me mam took the wee ones to see Santa. Because I was coming home at the hour when the line for Santa would be long, they decided to go earlier without me. This is fine because there is nothing I like less than driving an hour in heavy traffic, going dinner-less to stand in a line with screaming, howling kiddos for a two-minute photo session. Yee-ah.

I got home, fed the animals, because if I didn't attend to them first, I wouldn't get any peace at the dinner table. Usually, when I am cooking by meself, I have the telly on for company, and this was no exception. I ate me dinner, had a glass of white wine, and realised I had no dessert. But then it dawned on me —I had dessert, after all, me caramel holiday apple!

I poured more wine, got a sharp knife and opened that sucker up. Yup, it was a thing of beauty, it was, and I couldn't wait. I cut one huge side off and sat, munching and savouring it, R. Linda! The juicy apple combined with the sticky sweet caramel, the chocie bits crunching along with the green, white and red sprinkles. I was in hog heaven, piece after heavenly piece I was UNTIL . . . this came on the evening news:

"The Centres for Disease Control and Prevention is warning Americans not to eat packaged caramel-coated apples, the suspected source of a multi-state Listeria outbreak that's killed at least four people.

"Of 26 people hospitalised with Listeria food poisoning, five have died, and the bacteria were a definite factor in four of the deaths, the CDC reported. Fifteen of the 18 Listeria patients who were interviewed reported eating commercially produced, packaged caramel apples before they became ill.

"The CED is urging consumers to avoid all packaged caramel apples -- including those with nuts, candy sprinkles, chocolate, or other toppings."

Me chewing had gone from total enjoyment to slow chews, as I listened and then looked at the empty cellophane wrapper and the stick completely devoid of apple. UH OH! There was no mention of what brands, so I didn't know if I had a tainted apple or not!

I was pacing, wondering when the sickness would come upon me, when the family came home all cheery to see me with a worried and pale face. When asked what was the matter, I told them, the kiddos brushed it off with a shrug and ran to play. Me own grey-haired, apple-cheeked Mam shrugged and said, "Well, be glad yer not an American." And me wife informed me sorry arse that it took 3 days for Listeria to raise its ugly head. So until then, enjoy life, and off she went to wrap presents.

That's what I call sympathetic . . . NOT!

Well, we be on day number 2 and notta twinge, I am still alive and standing. I know that will get one of me followers upset that I be not in hospital, grovelling in pain on a gurney (and you know who you are), and the rest need not be sympathetic, it seems to be going so far so good, I may be around to write a few more stories. However, when I told the Captain, who I happened to email, the sorry tale, he said it was karma getting me back for giving Ms. McGee a fattening present. Well, Cappy, not yet, mate, not yet.

Gabe
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