(74) Dropping food on the floor—a case of self-jus

(74) Dropping food on the floor—a case of self-justice

I love my brothers a lot, and I’m glad to have an opportunity to relate what happened because it involves facts I got to find out after my second brother’s death.

What happened, clearly reconstructed so you’ll understand better, starts with my first brother arriving in the neighbourhood from I don’t know where, and he goes right away to his favourite snack bar for a quick burger.

I’ve eaten there before as a kid but never again after. It’s dirty, stinky, and unhygienic. The particularly bad reputation of the place goes for their dropping food on the floor, picking it up, and serving it

So my first brother loves it there, walks in, eats a quick burger, and goes home.I don’t know how long after, but he goes to bed and dies with a fever, shivers, agony, vomiting, and diarrhea—all that in bed, lying on his back. It’s a horrible death. The doctor concluded with symptoms of malignant food poisoning.

My second brother is especially heartbroken.One evening, towards closing time, he goes to the snack bar he also likes to go to, orders a burger, and watches it so it doesn’t fall on the floor. He feels bad for the cook, who’s like a friend to my brothers because they go there all the time.

They like to poke fun at each other and talk a bit here and there.By the time he’s finished his burger, he’s alone with him, and swallowing his last bite, he walks right around the counter and straight to the cook with a gun. Figuring he had killed my brother in this manner, he was to die the same way.

He forced him to cook a hamburger, put all that he liked in it, throw it on the floor, rub it well against the dirty tiles, and eat it.The cook did all this sweating and offered free burgers. When he swallowed his last bite of the damned hamburger, my second brother left quickly, gun in his pocket.

The cook was leaning against the stove, chewing his nails nervously as if he was still hungry. My second brother went home and began feeling ill. He fell to his side, paralyzed onto his back, and died the same way my first brother did.

Now this is the part I’m especially eager to tell, and you’ll understand why I regret my brothers died ignoring that the snack bar had not caused their food poisoning, despite the cook of the place being fine and never suffering a thing from his hamburger.On the other hand, the gunpoint experience had deeply frightened him.

He’s still nervous about it. Now what happened to my brothers is that the first one, on his way back from somewhere, took a city bus and ate an old leftover piece of hotdog found on his seat. No one knows how old that thing was.It was this very bad habit of his that killed him: eating trash where you find it.

My second brother was no better; on the way to the same snack bar, the evening he held the cook at gunpoint, he quickly ate a leftover morning breakfast of a few slices of bacon and two scrambled eggs he found lying half buried beneath other domestic trash in a garbage bin.It was this bad habit that also killed him, eating trash fresh from the garbage like that.

I’ve learned from this, and I’m more careful. I wipe or even wash any garbage food I find that looks good to eat. I don’t eat from the garbage all the time either, only when I’m hungry or for a snack or something.