I left a Sharpie on the counter last night, only to find I'd forgot to replace the cap this morning.
This is a lesson and a warning to cooks everywhere -
The innocent death of this Sharpie was caused by my lack of attention to detail. I am utterly ashamed.
The Sharpie has few natural enemies. They are hunted and captured with impunity by other cooks, but even they would not harm their prey. No, alas, the great Sharpie heard has one less member in its ranks. This is a sad day for all of us.
As I hear the wailing of his bretheren from someone else's station, feel the sense of loss shared by the two rolls of tape in the walk-in -- and embrace the void left in my side pocket -- I am ashamed, horrified and do not know what my future holds.
I have killed my friend and companion - The three days we spent side-by-side were filled with trying to remember what year this is, and what day of the month. But our friendship was timeless.
As his little fat body lays to rest among egg shells, broken deli cups and potato peels, may he rest in peace.
I shall fill his tomb, which is the bin next to the counter, with memories of this mornings waste and of my own regret.
And when the vessel has been prepaired, I shall carry it to the sacred crypt of the front-loading dumspter, next to the hallowed grease trap.
Today will be filled with loss, and sorrow. But I shall keep the spirit of the Sharpie alive.
It may be five minutes, or it may be an hour - But as I'm getting aquainted with My Sharpie's brother, another cook will ask . . .
. . . "Hey, who took my sharpie?!"