Cheese (train writings)
by Matt Kang
Before you say anything else —sir, please—let me tell you something.
When I first moved to the commune, I loved it. I needed it. It was a nourishment of the soul; an escape from the hard streets and vacant stares of the city. But, after some uncountable number of months, I began to yearn for society: the noise, the anxiousness, the wider array of emotions well beyond strained contentment.
This one night was notable. John, a former advertising executive, now the food distributor of the commune, handed out wedges of a bleach-white cheese. Fingers light, wrist limp and his smile plastic, he handed me a chunk of it. Hungry from the morning-to-afternoon harvest, I took a bite right from hand to mouth.
"This tastes like goat cheese," I said.
"Actually, it is our finest human cheese," said John.
Way down the long oak table, Margerie, a larger woman about eight months pregnant, looked straight at me and gave me an assuring grin.
I spent the rest of my night gargling my mouth at the spigot.
And this is why, sir, I would like my job back at this company.
When I first moved to the commune, I loved it. I needed it. It was a nourishment of the soul; an escape from the hard streets and vacant stares of the city. But, after some uncountable number of months, I began to yearn for society: the noise, the anxiousness, the wider array of emotions well beyond strained contentment.
This one night was notable. John, a former advertising executive, now the food distributor of the commune, handed out wedges of a bleach-white cheese. Fingers light, wrist limp and his smile plastic, he handed me a chunk of it. Hungry from the morning-to-afternoon harvest, I took a bite right from hand to mouth.
"This tastes like goat cheese," I said.
"Actually, it is our finest human cheese," said John.
Way down the long oak table, Margerie, a larger woman about eight months pregnant, looked straight at me and gave me an assuring grin.
I spent the rest of my night gargling my mouth at the spigot.
And this is why, sir, I would like my job back at this company.
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Author's Note
I wrote this on a sheet of writing pad paper from my business folder. I was on the metro north back to the city from work, sitting next to an old investment banker reading the Post. I caught the headline, "Human Cheese is No Joke" or something similar, and I thought of something funny.
If only to me.
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this is so funny!
i would love this story to go on--
these commune folks you wrote are creepily interesting
This was grand! I'm with Susan...These commune folks could really withstand a series of these stories. Write another! Margerie as the main character. That's my suggestion. Go, go, go!
Hilarious! I agree with Susan and Sheldon; I wish there were a chap. 2 here (and 3,4, etc.).
Thanks for compliments, I never really had any continuity in mind for this, but now maybe I will.
It's funny how the stuff you spend the least amount of time on comes out the best.
This is funny--I love the placement of the "human cheese" line--it's just kind of mind-blowing--and then the "assuring grin"--it's like suddenly running up on a nest of cheerful cannibals.
This is very funny, and having had friends who were communards,for me has the ring of the awful truth.
Hey this is funny, as everyone says, but also very real. I have friends who took their La Leche League commitment to the next step and started making soap out of Mother's Milk. Just found this many months later, so of course I am wondering: did you write more?