On Friday, I bumped into the fruit guy. And not so much "bumped into" as "deliberately went to buy stuff" on my way to improv practice. Now, you're wondering what a fruit guy is. This is the guy who used to sell me fruit every other day when I lived in Manhattan. He's still there, but I've moved to the crawl space of terrible building in Bedford-Stuyvesant, Brooklyn. And you're probably saying "Charlie, you hang out at theaters. Aren't all of the guys 'fruit guys?'" Haha, that's very funny but also bigoted and uncalled for. Shame on you. Topple the Fruitriarchy.
Anyway, I don't know his name and he doesn't know mine. We just conduct business under the code names "Fruit Guy" and "Boss or Brother or Big Man." He hugged me, he chatted with me, and he shoveled over 5 pounds of grapes and 2 peaches into a plastic bag for $5. Record scratch!!!! Wait, what? Yup! I had more grapes than a Napa Valley winery, all for $5 dollars. Now, I didn't want this many grapes, but I guess he had to go or something, and so he pawned them off on any sucker with a wallet and sweet tooth, or in other words, me.
Now I've got a bag full of grapes, which incidentally is the name of my Smashing Pumpkins cover band. So I'm asking everybody that I see "Hey! Do you like grapes? Cause I have a couple." Really burying the lead, you know, because you show up with a bag of grapes and people get ansy, like "What else does this guy have in a bag? Bodies?" Nope, just 2 peaches and a ton of grapes.
Cut to me eating a few. They're good, I think to myself, not even making a dent in the bag. You may have guessed this, but no one wants these f@&$king grapes. So, they come with me, and I carry them the whole night,until finally putting them into the refridgerator, where most of them meet their untimely demise.
But one lucky ziploc bag full of grapes (trademark pending) made it with me over the weekend. Upon opening it, I smelled a smell that kind of told me that these particular grapes were like a husband and wife that just let the babysitter in: on their way out. I didn't eat them. I screamed "I'm privileged!" and threw them away in a NYC trash can. Naturally, they exploded.
Seriously, though, I watched something beautiful happen. A homeless man (that's not the beautiful part) walked up to the trash can and started to rummage through it. He found the grapes, as they were not concealed well, and began tearing into them with the ferocity of someone who enjoyed edible trash (still not the beautiful part). I was a little annoyed at how messy he was being with my trash, but I guess it's that old saying of how beggars can't be choosers of how messy beggars who can't be choosers are with their food. But he was enjoying the food (that's the beautiful part) and for that I was glad.
Grapes were everywhere. It really did look like the trash can exploded. Only the ziploc bag remained, full of grape juice and regret. Regrape juice. But it made someone's day. So, all in all, I couldn't really be sad. I could only be happy that I fed a homeless man for $3, $5 minus the $1 each for the two peaches. Why am I explaining this to you? I don't know either. All I want to say is everybody loves grapes and they are underrated. Eat more grapes. And when they get too big from the popularity of this viral post, that's right when we can Topple the Graptriarchy!