Actual conversation with a co-worker yesterday:
HER: i go to the leesburg outlets to buy one thing.
ME: what’s that?
HER: artificial fruit. williams and sonoma sells them. it’s the only place i’ll buy it.
ME: artificial fruit?
HER: mmhmm, i give it to everyone i know for the holidays.
ME: every holiday?
HER: mmhmm. birthdays, you know. they get a different fruit each time. i’m looking for the green peppers. those are hard to find. already have the green and red apples.
ME: what about grapes?
HER: no, you don’t see grapes. only those rubber ones. i think it’s too much work to make grapes. and those rubber ones don’t look real. i have a big glass bowl of artificial fruit at home. no oranges though. they make em too big.
ME: you ever accidentally pick one up and lose a tooth biting into it?
HER: no, but they do look delicious!
ME: and you don’t have to water the artificial trees they grow on!
HER: funny.
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Let’s Quentin Tarantino-ize this convo:
HER: i got to go all the fuck way out of town to find this badass shit.
ME: what’s that?
HER: faux fruit. williams and motherfucking sonoma sells them. not like you’ll find this kind of high quality non-perishable at fucking target.
ME: artificial fruit? you mean like… “how bout dem fake apples”?
HER: *faux* fruit. that’s right, smartass. it takes a true aesthete to understand the appeal. i hook up everyone i know for the holidays, hoping to spread my artistic sensibilities to the unwashed masses like the lord spread his righteous word through his only begotten son.
ME: so jesus was artificial?
HER: now, normally, sacrilegious talk like that’d mean i’d split your motherfucking skull with the faux orange, which is way oversized so you know it would bring the hurt, but right now i’m in a transitional period, which means you get to live for today.
ME: you giving people artificial fruit for every fuckin holiday?
HER: fuck, yeah. you know how many varieties of faux fruit are made in this country? this ain’t the days of ward cleaver and one-income families when all you could afford was one fucking red apple and a green apple as your fucking centerpiece and hoping to god your uptight next door neighbor didn’t one-up you by being the first on the block with a fuckin fake pear. no, my friend, you got a world of choice now…. faux fuji apples, mcintosh apples, braeburn apples…
ME: red delicious.
HER: figures you’d mention that. fuckin plebe.
ME: never seen fake grapes except those rubber ones that look like purple gobstoppers.
HER: it’s too much work to make faux grapes. and it’s a safety hazard for dogs and kids. you perfect the art of faux fruitification so much you’ll have the fuckin kids chokin to death on grapes that look better than the real thing. that’s the problem with fine art, pretty soon you’re staring at the fruit like you’re staring at the sistine chapel, or the mona lisa, hoping you can jump into that world and take a big juicy bite or stick your tongue in mona’s ear.
ME: you ever accidentally pick one up and lose a tooth biting into it?
HER: at $6.99 a pop, ain’t nobody putting teeth marks on my faux fruit! i got that shit behind a glass case.
ME: and you don’t have to water the artificial trees they grow on!
HER: fuck you, it’s lost on you. pass me that faux banana.
ME: it’s a bunch. which one?
HER: the one that says Bad Motherfucker.
**
people would be so much more tolerable if small talk were like this.
