Not everyone can have his or her dream job. I have tried many jobs in my life, and after much soul-searching I came to believe that my ideal job would be this: causing potatoes to be able to think. Sound silly? I am not so sure anymore. Maybe I have been a success, but there are unseen results to every action. Let me explain and you can be the judge.
My first encounter was years ago with a single, ordinary potato bought at a local market. I brought it home and kind of forgot about it. Later, I noticed it had developed eyes, so I plucked some out until it appeared to be looking at me. Fascinated, I stared at it for hours. I talked to it, I ‘thought’ to it. I told the unemployment office I was looking for work but I was busy with my potato. After several weeks something amazing happened. It developed the capacity to think on its own. I swear this is true. The little potato was thinking! (I named him Spud) While it could not communicate its thoughts directly to me, it nevertheless was thinking on its own. I was amazed.
I realized that one was not enough; I had to have more potatoes, so I bought a dozen. Two weeks later they were all thinking as well, and I knew that I was destined for greatness. However, I needed to refine my process so I could activate them more quickly and at greater distances from myself. I was inspired to make a hat of aluminum foil, put it on and sat in a dark closet. For then next half hour I hummed like a bee. I came out feeling like I could conquer the world!
Now I could liberate potatoes by the hundreds simply by driving by grocery stores. I considered traveling out of state to get even more. I would have a potato army, and how grateful they would be. I felt like royalty.
Then it struck me!
I considered the fate of the average potato, and realized with shock that they were being prepared and consumed, consciousness intact, in all sorts of horrible ways. Instead of being a liberator, I had become a monster. I had condemned thousands of innocent potatoes to a conscious awareness of their death, all except my first potato, Spud, which I carry in a pouch from my belt.
But now Spud has become my tormentor, and a daily reminder of what I have done. I imagine that Spud is talking to me, and I fill in the words I know he is saying.
Each morning Spud says, “Good morning, I hate you!”
What’s worse, I think the mushrooms have been watching me.
I am hoping that one day this nightmare will be over.
