How to Demand Reparations from the Girl Who Threw the Jungle Juice Spoon on the Ground

The moment won’t stop replaying. Your cheerful passing of the soup ladle to the party-goer next to you seemed like a perfectly charitable move, right? But just as “Wicked” taught us, no good deed goes unpunished. The neighboring rave queen took your dripping baton for a single breath before locking eyes with you in a glance that you foolishly read as “thank you” for just as long as it took for the jungle juice spoon to bounce onto the already wet floor.

Before you could cry out in terror, your co-partyer had departed, becoming a party-conner, trapping you into the lowest caste of Those That Pick Up the Jungle Juice Spoon. Suddenly, the weight of the party’s sacred poison was on your shoulders as you grip the tainted tool. The scuffed plastic of the spoon vibrated against the scornful beating of your heart; whispering through its pulses, “The juice I scoop will never be as sweet as the revenge you seek. She who cast me out shall pay!”

Vibe check. Does the spoon hate women or was XXXTentacion playing? Regardless, the friend who came in earlier with a metal straw caught your attention with the silver light bouncing off her party-sized turtle-saver. She called you over as she asked you to hold her sippy cup, which previously held a metal straw. As she rinsed sink water throughout her sustainable sippy sippy, the splashing of the drain echoed back a gurgling voice, “Wash the spoon and cleanse your soul of spite. Fail to scrub and the juice shall rot your mind.” Whose team was the sink on? A quick rinse won’t hurt though, your hands were already sticky from the floor. 

You mustered every spirit of betrayal as you forcefully demanded an explanation from the infamous Spoon Thrower. In her momentary pause, she pressed her fingers to her lips, as if to ponder the perfect words when outing herself as an enemy to jungle juice, and, by proxy, an enemy to all jungles and all juices everywhere. Before you were forced to physically pull words from her entitled maw, you’re met by not an apology spraying out of her mouth, oh no. Instead, you’re greeted with a sunshine-toned shower of pine-appley everclear-y bile.