dig those crazy clementines

I think there is a conspiracy to take over the world, in the manner of Pinky and the Brain or any James Bond villain, and it involves clementines.
That’s right, clementines. The seemingly harmless tiny oranges that are suddenly taking over all the grocery stores, at least in my neighborhood.
They look so tempting. Cute little oranges that are so easy to peel! Who could resist? But you can’t buy them individually, you have to buy a ton of them in a miniature five-pound crate or box that costs from $5 to $7.

I suppose if you are buying groceries for a large family, the box of clementines is a good deal and you can use them up in no time. However, most of the people I know who have been suckered into buying the Box O’Orange are single people or couples.
My boyfriend generally doesn’t eat clementines, because he doesn’t like fruit that you have to make an effort to peel. I know I can’t eat my way through the whole box before they go bad, even though the little oranges are quite tasty. (We will not discuss whether I could go through a like amount of dark chocolate, because chocolate doesn’t go bad nearly as quickly as oranges do and anyway, it’s chocolate.)
I end up bringing tons of clementines to work, hoping that I can give them to various unsuspecting coworkers. The guys in my office will eat almost anything, although they favor donut-shaped snacks.
Yesterday at lunch, I pulled out a couple of clementines, with the idea that I would bring one over to another writer in the area. However, before I could get out of my chair, there she was, that same writer, hovering over my chair with her hands full of clementines.
“Look what I brought for you!” she exclaimed. Then she saw the clementines on the desk.
“And I’ve got more in my desk drawer,” I told her. “We have to get organized about this and start chipping in and sharing.”
She nodded and we looked around for someone else on whom we could pawn off our extra clementines. The guy who sits next to me was persuaded to take one, but everyone else turned away and looked at something else, like the floor.
The other writer eventually went back to her desk to enjoy a lunch of clementines and lesser foods. Not two minutes later, one of my bosses, who sits across from me, came back to his desk and opened his lunch bag. He turned to me with an eager look and opened his hands to display … four clementines.
“Want one?” he asked hopefully.
I showed him the clementine I was already peeling and eating. “And there are more where that came from.”
He told me that his wife has been getting their clementines from Central Market, where you can buy them individually and not in the little boxes. I haven’t been to Central Market to verify that personally. But I wonder if that’s true, because if it is, why would he keep trying to push clementines on me and the guys who sit near us? I wonder.
This office is turning into a nest of clementine pushers. Today, it’s one high-tech office. But tomorrow? Who knows? And why is this happening just before a major holiday? Sure, it used to be traditional to put oranges in children’s stockings, but not a five-pound bag of them. How many children do the grocery store suppliers think I have?
I don’t think it’s just Austin, either. When we were visiting my boyfriend’s family in Massachusetts at Thanksgiving, we were sitting around the table talking one night and his sister brought out … yep, a handful of clementines. You can’t escape them.
There’s something fishy here, in a very orange sense. Is someone plotting to ultimately plant a clementine on every desk and counter? Or more likely four clementines, since everyone seems to carry them in bunches. What’s going to happen when we all have clementines—do they contain some sort of organic bugging, tracking, or mind-control devices? Those seeds are awfully hard.
I suspect some sort of covert conspiracy involving the major grocery chains, Sunkist, Oliver Stone (funny how the clementine excess coincides with the release of that lemon Alexander), Linus Torvald (you can’t trust those open-source people, they’re so anti-Apple), and Charlie Kaufman (what’s the name of the lead female character in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind? I rest my case). And is it merely a coincidence that Gwyneth Paltrow’s baby daughter’s name is Apple?
Grab that ol’ Jim Garrison. And buy some pears instead.
With apologies to Tom Lehrer and the Asylum Street Spankers, none of whom I suspect in this scheme, for paraphrasing their lyrics.