Getting your Trinity Audio player ready...

Every year, archaeologists around the world are dusting off the sands of time to discover how our civilization bumbled our way to this point.

While Indiana Jones whipped his way through a series of movies that gave us a glamorous view of the past, the real work is much more tedious as experts use trowels and paint brushes to sift through the ever stacking passage of time.

With each layer removed comes a better understanding of the civilizations that came before, stretching back millions of years to when hominins decided to make a break for it between trees, risking a mauling of the predators of the time.

This is significant work these people are doing, because learning about the past helps us to understand the future just a little bit better.

I feel uniquely qualified to give my opinion on this matter, not because of the history major I acquired for no notable reason, but rather because I too, am something of an archaeologist. A food archaeologist.

I say this because recently I have been probing into the history of our refrigerator and have come to realize the “rich” history of what lies inside. The excavating and digging to the back of our refrigerator tells me that the civilization that came before us, otherwise known as ourselves, aren’t particularly good at throwing things away.

The smell, the “rich” smell, has been just one good clue. Another is that I’m just terrible at throwing leftovers away.

I’m not a hoarder by any means, but I think I have to admit that my tendency is to hold on to things I feel I can make use of later. It’s not a particularly good way of thinking, but at the same time I hardly think I’m alone in this.

We’ve all lost track of items we’ve put in the fridge, perhaps with the idea of “this will make a great lunch for later in the week,” only for it to be swallowed by the Tupperware of time, a contemporary to the sands of time.

Part of the problem stems from the not so rare habit of people using anything but specific types of containers for leftovers. This can include, but certainly not limited to, whipped cream containers, cottage cheese containers or anything really that originally used for holding in something you already purchased but seals fairly decently.

I’ve got more than an assortment of these types of containers I fall back on, partially because those specific containers I talk about get lost in the shuffle of items added to the cooled storage level stuff.

Still with me?

This is how I have imagined this having gone over the years.

You make something particularly good, perhaps a family favorite, and knowing that you have a busy week ahead of you, you make more than is needed. You think about how nice it will be to come home and not make anything. You just need to  reach into the fridge and warm something up. For this exercise, let’s think — tater tot hotdish.

As time goes on, perhaps the remaining amount doesn’t warrant a casserole dish taking up so much space any longer so you move the remainder of what’s left to a generic whipped cream container from 2006, a leftover relic from the famed Thanksgiving meal of ‘06.

Well, I don’t know what it’s famed for. It’s your Thanksgiving.

But, even with the best of intentions, it gets shoved toward the back as you add more supplies, intentionally adding more layers to your investigative digs that will come later.

After weeks, or perhaps months, have passed you spy the container in the back and think, “boy this would be good on pie,” until you open it up and spy what’s inside. That’s of course assuming that the suspicious smell hasn’t tipped you off already that something is amiss and the container remains closed.

To investigate further, you hold the relic in your hands and wonder at what might be inside, delaying the idea that it’s probably nothing good if you can’t remember it.

If it was something that was good, you would remember it, right?

Inevitably, your mind turns to the idea of opening it and trusting that you haven’t unintentionally created a cure to some nefarious disease — or the disease itself. Not that you would know because what’s waiting for you by this point is probably a little closer to an eldritch horror at this point.

Now, if you’re anything like me, you don’t risk it and you simply pitch it in the hope that it doesn’t accidentally open in the process and crawl out. Out of sight out of mind. Just don’t pay too close attention to the look of disgust in your cat’s eyes, because they smell the truth.

It’s degrading to be judged by an animal.