Dictated But Not Read

There is a tray in the lobby of my apartment building that is sporadically stocked with complimentary fruit. It's usually something like oranges, or, more likely, apples. Upon noticing as I was heading out the other night that there were some apples on the tray, I paused. I wasn't exactly hungry, and to the extent that I was, apples were not what would sate me. I grabbed one apple and then considered that I was about to be with some four or some people, each of whom could theoretically want an apple.

I started to grab four apples, but stopped myself out of concern that I was abusing the privilege so kindly (if inconsistently) extended to us by the building management (who, incidentally, can well manage to absorb the loss on account of their ever increasing rent). I put back all of the apples but one, which I offered to the friend who was waiting outside to pick me up. She declined the offer, leaving me rather at a loss.

I didn't want the apple. What worth did the apple really have? If I don't want to eat it and cannot give it away, it really has no worth. I'll never want to eat it, either. It's a Granny Smith apple. I hate those. Why would I take an apple when I'll never eat it and I'll never be able to give it away? You might ask how I'm sure of that. Well, I've never been able to interest people in taking what I have. In several years of regularly trying to entice people with the Dodgers tickets I then had, there were seldom any takers even for two tickets without the need of enduring my company.

I don't know why I took the apple except that an apple has some worth and that I usually accept what is offered to me. It's a mindless animal instinct that I should be intelligent enough to override in the same way that I override whatever instinct could lead me to attack anyone weaker than me with things I want. Well, I guess I just can't rise above that particular impulse, and so here I am, stuck with an albatross of an apple.