Befriending Fruits and Vegetables

I spent the past four days in Las Vegas. RJ was in Sin City on conference, so a bunch of us Los Angelinos went to visit. Jessica was kind enough to cash in on some of her timeshare perks to get us a swanky suite. Since our pad included a fully equipped kitchen, Jessica suggested that we cook to save money, so the two of us went to the grocery store. I was hesitant to buy too much, anticipating us still wanting to hit the buffets, but Jessica pointed out that we could just bring the leftovers home. We racked up a $100 grocery bill, most of it produce.

By the last night, we had only actually cooked one meal, and our fridge was still stocked with fruits and veggies. When I said we'd have to bring them home, Melinda pointed out why this plan was flawed.

Those outside of California might not be familiar with our securest border. I don't mean our southern border, but our eastern one.* California has an agricultural checkpoint designed to stop people from bringing produce into our state. I think it's feasibly easier for an illegal alien to sneak across the border than an illegal apple. Go back to where you came from, wetbacksnanas!

So yeah, we weren't going to be allowed to bring back all of this produce. While it might have been a rare opportunity to discover how many grapes we could smuggle in our anal cavities, we did our last minute best to wash down what we could with our rum and cokes; most memorably, Allison devoured a large, raw broccoli as if it were a churro. And though Vegas is a crazy enough place that it's safe to assume in some hotel room that people are doing unimaginable things, I bet I was the only person cooking up edamame at 4 in the morning.

It's a good thing we didn't try to sneak back any of the extra lettuce and onions because we were briefly stopped and asked about carrying any contraband produce. When they ask whether we have any fruit, Melinda likes to point at whoever is riding next to her and say, "Just this guy!" I find this hilarious, and suggest that the only way to up the joke quotient in this scenario is to have an incapacitated human vegetable in our car. This would require befriending a comatose person, but Melinda argues that this might be a good thing, as it would make our social circle seem more diverse and compassionate. We wouldn't need to tell him we were using him for the occasional agricultural joke. Hell, we probably wouldn't need to tell him much of anything.

* For the record, the checkpoint is probably 100 miles inward from the border. That first awful portion is an unpopulated, barren desert, so if you want to bring your crop-harming parasites to that section, good luck finding anything to kill.