Ketchup: The Newest Modern Art

It is amazing to me how ketchup has become the unofficial modern art where I work. In the steaming kitchen, where ketchup should be neatly confined to its little red bottles, and where the mustard, fry sauce, and other condiments remain obediently inside their respective containers, the ketchup has a mind of its own.

Yes, the life of ketchup at The Ranch Drive-In is an exciting one. Beginning its existence in a jumbo metal can punched opened by a church key, the fresh scarlet sauce travels, with my assistance, to its own plastic squeezable bottle with matching lid. Theoretically it should stay there, placed on its blue tray alongside all the other ketchup containers, until a Baby Burger or Hungry Huey Combo summons its presence in the front area of the restaurant. However, unfortunately and mysteriously, theory doesn't always agree with reality.

Under certain circumstances, it is true, an abundance of ketchup-overflow onto a nearby soup bowl or jar of lemons happens in a manner beyond curiosity. Say, for instance, I bump one bottle and it bumps the one next to it, which in turn jostles the one beside it, and so on and so forth until a tidal wave of ketchup bottles falls in a domino effect. Upon the impact of landing unexpectedly on its side each bottle squirts forth a brilliant stream of lustrous liquid - the end effect achieving a display of crimson goo splattered in crevices and on food items I never intended ketchup to reside within or upon.

But the real puzzlement begins when ketchup designs appear in places, well, that ketchup just shouldn't be. How did a splatter of ketchup arrive on the lid of the ice machine? Or, how did a plaster of ruby hue harden on the wall beneath the sink? And how did that mischievous blob land itself among the clean dishes stored beneath the cupboard? Now tell me, please, how did that naughty glob wend its way to the drive-through window, the milk shake maker or the neatly stacked inventory of new pop cups?

Perhaps the puréed tomatoes have organized into a union and every night embark on a circumnavigation of the kitchen. Perhaps it is their utmost delight to wander at leisure to places no ketchup has ever been before. Perhaps they brag every morning of their escapades to the dutiful and complacent mustard, fry sauce, salad dressings, and tartar sauces. Or perhaps they are just expressing their creative juices in an art form I can't yet appreciate.

But whatever the cause, there is no denying the abundant presence of burgundy ornamentation throughout the kitchen. It is a presence to be noted, an attack on cleanliness not to be taken lightly. The war against ketchup's liberty is a full-fledged battle that must be waged. And though at times I may feel intimidated, my trusty wet rag can often save the day. Yet I still wonder - am I just a bit too narrow-minded about the spontaneous artistry of ketchup?