ode to a grape

      Until just a few days ago I stayed for a month in a hotel in a fairly small town in Germany. The best part about this hotel was the freshly made breakfast and such incredibly kind service. The waiter who served us every morning knew the succession of drinks we all liked in the morning and gave us huge hugs as we left. Staying there for a month meant 30 breakfasts. Though I switched off between a variety of morning treats, I ordered muesli with fruit every single morning. The muesli was topped with a delicious plump orange gooseberry which a few minutes of research informed me most likely came all the way from Mexico to adorn my fruit salad served by an Italian in Germany. Each of those 30 bowls of muesli was also adored with an average of 6 purple concord grapes sliced in half. These repulsive little fruits tasted of nothing and were stocked full of small bitter seeds that once chewed were impossible to eradicate from ones mouth.
      I could not get over the ridiculousness of the fact that these grapes were picked by hand by an undervalued laborer, shipped across the planet, sliced, and finally arranged on top of my muesli. After this voyage that once upon a time was the adventure or even merely the dream of a lifetime for any human, let alone a grape, I have the audacity to daintily pick them off and leave them on the side of my breakfast. That means that those grapes travelled all the way around the globe just to end up rotting in a european landfill. I’m sorry little grapes. But really, you did not taste good at all...so its not completely my fault. Maybe we're both guilty in this mayhem. If you tasted just a bit better I would have gobbled you up and likely never even pondered the ludicrosity of your trajectory, just like all the rest of the food I eat.