I am a fan of ketchup.
Prounced “KETCH-up” as in y’all better hurry and ketchup wit us, now.
I have no idea what catsup is. And I don’t want to know.
What I do know is that Google gives 4,670,000 hits for “ketchup” and a paltry 617,000 for “catsup.”
So, ketchup wins. Google says so.
Now that we got that settled I was wondering the other day what life would be like if ketchup was the main event instead of the condiment.
This all started when a friend of mine informed a caffeine-deprived group of workers one too bright morning that “they” were auctioning stuff from AstroWorld which closed down here in Houston a few months ago, and one of the items up for sale was a 40-gallon ketchup dispenser.
Whoa, said someone who was at least two cups of coffee behind the rest of us, how many packets would that be?
Being the math major of the group I quickly estimated that a packet ‘this’ long, ‘that’ wide and ‘yea’ thick would have such-and-such volume which when divided into 40 gallons, naught and naught is naught, carry the one, thirty days hath September yielded…
…about a zillion, give or take this many (and I flashed my fingers a few times for effect)
The coffee bar fell silent for a few minutes until Ten Cup Ed stuttered, y-y-y-ou k-k-k-k-k-know, I th-th-th-think he’s r-r-r-r-r-r-ight, and then Ed not so much walked, but jittered down the hall and banged into his cubicle.
The rest of us slowly filed out of the coffee bar as the words of Ed’s pronouncement sank in.
Wow, a zillion packets, someone let out a low whistle, that’s like all the ketchup you’d ever need. Ever!
Yeah, someone else said, you could like have ketchup all the time, like.
“Whoa, dude, 24-7 ketchup blows my mind,” he paused, “like.”
So, instead of working on my 2006 Goals and Objectives I devoted my day to a world in which ketchup was king. (I mean, really, Goals and Objectives? Give me a break! What’s the point? The year’s almost over. Sheesh.)
In the Ketchup World tomatoes would grow to the size of cows. The great tomato barons would have conquered the West with vast fields of tomatoes stretching from the banks of the Mississippi to the Pacific Ocean, or at least to Ogden, Utah.
As Gramps explained:
Yep, I remember as a kid the Ketchup Truck coming down the street. Big old honking red truck and the Ketchup Man was all decked out in his red coveralls, hauling the great red hose over his shoulder as he trudged across the lawn to the Ketchup Spigot. He’d screw that sucker in and start the pump that would fill the Ketchup Bin in the cellar plumb full. Then we’d all run up and stand around him as he released the spigot clamp and sure as shooting there would be a little back pressure and we’d all get squirted from head to foot with great gobs of ketchup.
Heh, heh, yeah, boy, those were the days.
Wow, Gramps, you had a Ketchup Bin in the cellar? Didn’t you have no Binford 3000 40-gallon Ketchup Dispenser in the kitchen?
“No, dummy,” some older kid would say, “they weren’t invented yet.”
Oh. The thought of hauling buckets of ketchup up the stairs was daunting.
Man, you had it tough Gramps. Poor Gramps.
Suddenly, the back door would fly open and Mom would yell “Dinner Time!” and we’d all zoom into the house.
“What’s for dinner, Ma?” we’d all shout!
“How about a great big bowl of ketchup with fried potato sprinkles?”
“Yea! Potato sprinkles!”
We’d all beam with pleasure, “Aw, Mom, you’re too good to us. We don’t deserve it!”
But, secretly we knew we did.