The short answer:

A little more than I should.

The long answer:

Once in college, I drank an entire bowl of sour milk. I was eating a bowl of Frosted Mini-Wheats, and while I noticed the first bite had a rather strong aftertaste, I still dutifully finished my meal. It was not until I checked afterwards that I learned that the milk was a week past its expiration date and my minifridge was not up to the challenge. Well, that explains it, I thought.

You would think that having learned about eating rancid food, such a thing would never happen again, but it has. Just last week, I made a sandwich using some turkey that had been in my refrigerator for over a week. I even gave it a sniff before hand, and it did smell sort of nasty. But even though I had fresher meat, I figured the old stuff was good enough and went ahead and ate a sandwich with it anyway. The lettuce covered up the taste mostly.

I realize that this is pretty irrational behavior. If something has gone bad, and it is possible for one to avoid it, surely any rational person would do so. But sometimes this is not the way that I think. Sometimes I think to myself, well, this sucks, but life sucks sometimes, so you may as well learn to grin and eat it. I just remind myself that I’m building character and that I should call my gastroenterologist later. But it occurs to me that this may not be the healthiest option.

Near the end of my freshman year of college, everyone was assigned to a dormitory at which we would live out the rest of our college days. You chose a blocking group of eight people with whom you wanted to live, but otherwise the assignment was random. Obviously, some dormitories held greater prestige than others. When our assignment was delivered in a sealed envelope one sunny morning, one member of my group began chanting, “Anywhere but X, anywhere but X” (here X is the name of a particularly unsavory dorm that shall respectfully remain nameless). Naturally, X marked the spot where we would spend our remaining years.

My bedroom was small, just barely big enough for a bed, desk, and milquetoasty minifridge, and the windows barely opened. This was unsurprising as the whole building was made of concrete and looked like a jail. But even though it was possible to transfer (with some effort), it was in my nature to suffer it out, and so I did.

Halfway through my sophomore year, a friend of ours who lived in a different dorm came by for dinner one evening. Afterwards, she revealed that she was unhappy with where she was living and asked what we thought about her transfering to our dorm. To be honest, I wouldn’t have minded seeing her around more often, and she’s one of a handful of people from my college days with whom I still talk. But I told her that I didn’t think she should, that maybe if she were just willing to suffer through it a little longer, she’d come out a better person. After all, in life we draw lots sometimes, and from them we learn lots sometimes.

Fast forwarding, the room lottery was kind to me for the next two years, and it wasn’t that bad. As for my friend, she did end up transfering to my dorm, and it wasn’t that bad for her either.

Even though I see the merit in suffering sometimes, I realize that it may not be the only or the best option. It may be too hopeful to think that we can always avoid bad situations, but it may also be too destructive to think that we shouldn’t try. As such, the next time I find myself in an unsavory situation, I’ll try to remember to consider whether the suffering is really worth it.

I’ll also be sure to check the expiration date.

Cheers,
-qm