I greedily claimed WhatsApp free food but now I’m overwhelmed with the touch of cheese

Last week, in my neighborhood WhatsApp group, someone was giving away 90 slices of cheese: “Anyone want sliced ​​cheese? Or do you know someone I can donate it to? Leftovers from a school function?

Yes! Me! I want the leftover cheese! It was weird. I needed a lot of cheese for the weekend and on Friday morning, a neighbor had a gift.

That weekend I was throwing a party for about 50 people and making a hundred sandwiches. She had ordered grilled chicken, bread, and avocados but not the cheese.

All day I was telling people about this modern miracle.

“I need a lot of cheese, and suddenly it appeared on WhatsApp, as if there were manifested it’s!”

That afternoon I picked up the cheese and heard its origin story. It was leftover cheese from an elementary school camp, and because of some health and safety law, even though it was properly sealed, they couldn’t reuse it at school. A student’s dad rescued him from going to waste, but his family had a dairy intolerance. Then it was given away on WhatsApp.

I was excited about my good fortune and felt virtuous for rescuing the cheese from the container. Not only did he have free cheese, but he also fought against waste and participated in the circular economy. It was a glimpse into a more sustainable future… Marxist Cheese Future where each was according to his ability, each according to his need. (Or as the French utopian Étienne-Gabriel Morelly proposed in his 1755 Code of Nature: “Nothing in society shall belong to anyone, either as personal possession or as capital goods, except things for which the person has a immediate use, whether for your needs, your pleasures or your daily work”).

Some people were doubtful about the cheese, but its expiration date was December 2023!

Could free cheese end up causing illness and death among my immediate family and dozens of friends? Probably not, but he would soon find out.


I arrived at the place just before the party and my mother had already taken care of making the sandwiches. She had set up a production line with three others: buttering, pitting, seasoning, lettuce shredding, and assembly.

I was left at the end, with nothing to do. Then suddenly he hit me. noooooooooooo!!!!!!! She had left my cheese at home! The house was 25 minutes away. I had to go back for the cheese! The guests were about to arrive, they had to be fed. They had to have the rehoused cheese!

The assembly line was concentrated, they worked in silence, the sandwiches were piling up. My mother was in charge and spoke with authority. “Forget the cheese. We don’t have time to go back and get it.”

“But but …”


That night I came home from the party and opened the fridge. There was the huge cheese bar. It looked like a lightsaber made out of toilet paper. It was something long and heavy. I could use it to hit an invader over the head, I guessed.

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Far from seeming like an incredible stroke of luck, a reward, the cheese had now become a nuisance. What was she going to do with 90 pieces of cheese? It would stink up my fridge. It would occupy valuable real estate on the middle shelf. I didn’t even like that kind of cheese. Not bougie enough for a cheese plate, and no more delicious than halloumi. It was brood cheese.

I had to get rid of him somehow. A friend suggested that he try giving it away again in the original WhatsApp thread, where he had so greedily claimed it in the first place. Another suggested that he return it to the people who gave it to me, put it in their mailbox, and then run. But I couldn’t do that. Once you have the cheese, you need to pass it on to new people.

It was as if cheese was “it”: the horrible, tainted thing in children’s games of tag. nobody wants to be it’s. People run away screaming at you. You’re lonely (or more aptly according to the children’s lullaby “The cheese is lonely, the cheese is lonely, heigh-ho, the merry-o, the cheese is lonely”).

Unwanted cheese (cheese that Being alone) has dark overtones in the world of children.

In Diary of a Wimpy Kid there is a scene where there is a disgusting piece of cheese on the ground in the schoolyard. Nobody knew how he got there, he appeared “mysteriously”. Says a child: “No one knew who it belonged to, no one touched it. Nobody threw it. So there it was, every day more disgusting and powerful. I eat my cheese!

Then one day, a boy named Darren Walsh “made the biggest mistake of his life.” He touched the cheese. He now he had the “cheese touch”. The children ran from him screaming. He became an outcast. The only way to get rid of the touch of cheese was to pass it on to someone else.

Was I involved in an adult bulk purchase cheese touch situation?

I think.

But one day, when I go to a friend’s house and I’m distracted, I’ll take out the 90 slices of cheese that I have hidden in my backpack and put the cheese in their fridge. And they will have the touch of cheese.

You have been warned.

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