Kristina “Crunchy”
[groovy electric guitar intro, fading to a lower volume]
When I was 15, I ran over a moose.
[moose bellow]
It had already been hit by another car way up ahead of me, so it was just lying there on the ground across the entire lane. It had been nighttime in upstate New Hampshire. My parents and I had been coming home after visiting a college, and my mom and dad decided I should practice driving some more, because my 16th birthday was right around the corner. Little did we know that a moose was also right around the corner.
Everyone was fine! No one got hurt, and my dad’s pick-up somehow survived. But yeah I hit that moose going 70 miles per hour. And because we were higher off the ground than a sedan would’ve been—and because the animal was already lying dead on the ground—we hit that baby like a launch pad. It just hurled us up into the air like a massive speedbump, all 4 tires off the ground, and then we just came back down with one big jolt. Really no different than sitting in the back of a school bus and hitting a giant frost heave. Speaking of which, I saw a moose at the bus stop once. It just came out of the woods a couple houses down, crossed the street, and then disappeared into someone’s backyard. I’d like to point out that this happened before my traumatic moose hit-and-run, so when I saw it at the bus stop, I was actually blown away. I had never seen a moose before, and I didn’t realize how unnecessarily huge they were. They just don’t look natural.
[groovy electric guitar fades out, electric piano fades in and then fades to lower volume]
Hey everyone, my name’s Crunchy.
[crunching sound]
My friends call me that because of the one time I said I preferred real maple syrup over that fake Aunt Jemima bullshit. I just grew up on Grade A, glass bottled syrup, so that’s what I know and that’s what I’m used to. Urban dictionary defines “crunchy” in a variety of ways, but most of them boil down to a modern-day hippie who enjoys walking barefoot in the woods, the smell of patchouli, and shopping at Whole Foods. The only place I’m ever barefoot is my bed, and I don’t even know what patchouli smells like and I don’t want to find out, and what kind of broke ass college student can afford Whole Foods? Crunchy people may also be additionally, but not exclusively categorized as, vegetarians. I’m not a vegetarian. I’m a pescatarian. There’s a difference. But my friends don’t care. Suddenly you do one thing that’s different and pseudo-boujee and the next thing you know, your friends think you’re a vegan tree-hugger. It’s fine though, I’ve never had a nickname before, and it’s kinda funny so I’ll take it.
I asked my friend from back home why she thought I was crunchy. She texted back, “You don’t have a microwave.”
[microwave beep]
“Need I say more.”
[microwave door opening and closing]
She’s got me there. Whenever my parents and I have to heat up leftovers, it’s on the stove. But usually we don’t have leftovers because mama didn’t raise no weak ass bitch.
So call me hippie dippie crunchy granola if you want. But Crunchy is much faster.
[electric piano increases in volume and plays for a few seconds before fading out]