We were driving home after dinner at a new Italian place, very full and very happy. An aluminum pie plate sat at my feet. The leftover penne and meatballs contained within it made the car smell absolutely delicious. We passed some nondescript brown brick buildings, and Dave read one of the signs out front.
“Look,” he said, pointing to the buildings, “A food bank! If you want, we can drop off those leftovers so you can withdraw them later.”
“Um, I think food banks give your food to other people.”
He feigned shock. “Then that’s a horrible bank!”
“They take your deposited food and give it to others,” I explained to my husband. “Basically, it’s redistribution of food wealth. Fucking commies.”
“We should look for a food credit union. We could probably get a better food interest rate.”
“And lower fees?” I asked.
“I wonder if a food bank would have a foreign food transaction fee.”
Dave looked over at me. “Like, if you deposited Ramen noodles, they’d take a cut?”
“Oh, definitely.” He nodded vigorously. “That’s how they get you.”
I imagine about 30 Ramen noodle packets might get you a burger. Definitely not a steak.
You know that that’s how regular banks work too, right? I mean, they don’t actually store your cash on a reserved shelf in back.
Because if they did that, Scrooge McDuck couldn’t go swimming in it.
I love this! Very funny. Sometimes names just don’t make sense…
I’m still reading “penne and meatballs” over and over.
You have the silliest conversations. I love it!
Did your leftovers make it home? Or were the redistributed? I wish there was a place like that closer to where we live. There is a few counties over. I’ve daydreamed about started a food bank here but I’m such a scattered brain, I need to recruit some admin types to help me figure it out. Funny stuff.
Haha, I love reading conversations like this. So cute!
My husband and I have our fair share of silliness too.
I love how you called them commies!