Yogurt Left in Fridge Over Break Now More Cultured Than Exchange Student Who Left It

It was a rainy, romantic Sunday morning. The exchange student François thought he was hungry, so he went to grab some yogurt at the most cultured supermarket his high-class mind could conjure: Di Bruno Bros. (Yeah, I bet you’ve never heard of it. Look it up, peasant). 

After biking to Di Bruno Bros on a fancy bike, François, whose superiority over American bikes you cannot even begin to comprehend, walked in and began the selection process for the most cultured yogurts money could buy. François carefully weighed each Chobani and Siggi’s in his hands, knocking to check for ripeness and smelling to test for… aroma. You wouldn’t understand. François finally decided on a brand so obscure that you wouldn’t recognize it if I told you. He wrapped the petite (roughly translates as small) yogurt container in a paper bag and rode home. François ate half of the yogurt and placed the rest in our suite’s fridge.

You see, François was everything an exchange student should be. He wore beautiful clothes, he drank exotic drinks, he was a chain smoker. He was filthy fucking rich. His accent was fake, but none of us could tell. He bought a fancy yogurt. He stayed for one semester. But then, like a puff of cigar smoke in the high-rise wind, he was gone. The yogurt is not like François, however. The yogurt remains. 

Certainly, the yogurt was cultured to begin with. But now, it has… matured. The yogurt has seen many a meal pass through its refrigerator. It has grown more and more cultured with each passing day. Just as François’s once did, the Yogurt’s long, messy hair blows ever so slightly with each opening of the refrigerator door. Every once in a while, as an homage, my suitemates and I place a Marlboro in the yogurt.

The yogurt would surely have a fake accent if it would ever stoop to the level of speaking as we uncultured swine do. Will the yogurt ever gain sentience? Has it already? Is this how exchange students are created? Only time will tell. And God knows my roommates and I are not cleaning the fridge.