Last night I opened the horizontally-sliding wooden container that holds our family’s cutlery and a spoon stood up. It kinda popped forward, rising above the others at a ninety-degree angle and quite literally tried to jump into my hand. Now, this could have been the result of spoon overcrowding or the physics involved when a tilted metal utensil meets the pulling force of a hungry person, but I rather think that this little spoon volunteered. I opened the silverware drawer and one enthusiastic inhabitant essentially said, Pick me, pick me! I certainly appreciated the extra effort, the pride this individual spoon took in his job and it made me think – the place where the knives, forks and spoons live is a parallel universe worth exploring.

I heard that Malibu, California has banned plastic straws. They’re polluting beach shores and causing global warming and generally creating a public nuisance we can no longer tolerate. In the story about these offensive straws, it said that the next thing to be banned will surely be plastic knives and forks. So if you order take-out food they won’t be able to provide you with the tools required to consume it. Or, if they do, they’ll give you cardboard ones or something biodegradable or maybe an edible fork, ya, with each bite you crunch off a bit of the fork too until all you’re left with is a nubby stick. A stick made out of food that you can stab your other food with. Of course, they’ll charge you extra for that environmentally-neutral fork, but making the earth safe from straws and other hidden forces of evil is worth it right? Maybe people will just start carrying eating utensils on their person. Hey dude, is that a wooden spoon in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?

At my house, the wooden spoons can’t be with the other spoons. No, they live in a jar near the toaster with spatulas and other kitchen tools I don’t know the names of (I think they have something to do with baking). At first glance, it would seem like the wooden spoons are being isolated simply because there’s not enough room in the main silverware drawer but I believe it goes deeper than that. I think there was originally some bad blood between the various spoons, some name calling, maybe some pushing and shoving when the drawer was closed. To the average spoon, the wooden spoon acted conceded and haughty because of his height, whereas the wooden spoon believed the chrome spoons treated him like a hick because he was carved from knotty pine. Well, whatever the backstory, now they can never be together. We just can’t risk it.

Every drawer in the American household is a junk drawer. The silverware drawer is no exception. Like the others, it begins with the best intentions … organized, symmetrical, everything in its place. It might contain little dividers intended to create neat rows, as we always start out trying to encourage exclusive “neighborhoods” where only one kind of utensil lives. But after the first meal, all hell breaks loose and it becomes a junk drawer like all the rest. How did that SuperBall get in there? How come we still have two-inch spoons with Ariel and Sebastian on them? Are the forks supposed to face forwards or backward? There’s a nutcracker in there and SillyStraws, a meat thermometer, grocery store coupons, some of those sharp holders you stick on the end of a corn cob.

Sometimes the drawer won’t close so you just need to slam it harder. When you close the silverware drawer, it’s just like Toy Story, that is, all the items get up and move around. “Hey, Pat, how come you can never put the butter knives in the right spot?” … “Ah go to hell, I did put them in the right spot!” The fuckin’ things move. How else would you explain how that really long spoon with the tiny spoon part, ya the stirring spoon, is always on the top when you haven’t stirred anything since you were fourteen?

People think that the spoons and forks are just lying there. That’s not true. Well, it’s kind of true for knives, especially butter knives who tend to resent being moved from their specific spot. Forks and spoons conversely want to be used. They want to get out of the drawer, to rest on a paper napkin while people say grace. They like wallowing in the bottom of the sink and being covered in crusted-on food. They dig the rush that comes with getting shoved into things that are either really hot or really cold. Accordingly, when the silverware drawer gets shut they jockey for position and when you reach in blindly trying to grab a utensil, they slide over and contort their silvery bodies to be the one that gets selected.

It’s sad because at my house we have ninety-seven spoons. The ones at the bottom of the pile never get picked, rather the same twenty spoons get used and cleaned and put back and are in heavy rotation seemingly until the end of time. So there’s constant angst in the silverware drawer. It’s like life in general, unfair.

Maybe tonight you’ll reach for a fork or a spoon or a lazy butter knife and you’ll dig down deep. Maybe you’ll pick the lonely spoon who, like the fat kid on the playground who never gets picked for dodgeball, had given up all hope. That would be nice of you. Maybe tonight the utensil drawer will get stuck, frozen in place by too many steak knives or maybe a rogue, wedged-in set of chopsticks. And when you pull with all your might the drawer jolts open and all the silverware clanks around and a lone, lonely spoon somehow gets airborne … and well, if that happens, maybe you’ll praise the old knicked-up spoon for his initiative and his eagerness to serve. I think a kind word to a loyal utensil is wise, some of this silverware has been living under your roof for your entire adult life.

Perhaps you’ll feel silly talking to a spoon, but I say if you’re looking for intelligent conversation, why not a spoon?