Man vs Mango: A Tense Battle Of Brains And Brawn

So I was sitting here, with me parents away to some part of Scandinavia for a weekend, and I felt rather peckish, thus I nipped downstairs for a snack. Browsing the cupboards revealed a range of small edible items, not least of which was a whole Yorkshire Tea Loaf. However, the item that caught my eye and captivated my stomach was a tin of sliced mango in syrup. Not knowing the drama awaiting me, I plucked the can from its resting place and examined its label. Finding it satisfactory, I proceeded to open the shiny metal cylinder to reveal the juicy delights contained within. Standard procedure, find electric tin opener, plug it in, hang tin on turning wheel, lower blade onto lid, press down handle. Instead of the top of the can being slowly and inexorably severed from the remainder, there was a metallic squeal of spinning wheels against tin. Removal of the container from the opener revealed that the blade could not pierce it, and that the turning wheels could not grip its sheer smooth surfaces. Bugger. Another three attempts resulted in a scratched yet victorious can, and a tin opener covered in metal shavings. My thoughts turned to the whereabouts and even the existence of a normal oldskool tin opener. I searched the drawers and cupboards until I found the giant box of miscellaneous implements that lurks under one bench. A brief rummage revealed no opener, but a particularly lethal corkscrew. One fit of battering later, and the tin had gained three ventilation holes on its bottom lid. As the red flush of rage cleared, it dawned upon me that now I was unable to attempt opening the top again as syrup would dribble out of the other end of the can, and that there was now no going back as the tin was punctured, but still holding its precious golden fruit. Resultant tests ended in a small dent from a breadknife whack, and a set of minor scratches from stabbing with various serrated objects. This was one tough motherfucker. One phone call to Copenhagen later, and that was three people who had no idea if we had a tin opener or not. For dramatic effect, I would like to say I despaired of the whole matter and fantasised about binning the mangoes and having some baked beans instead, but this would not be true. It was them or me, man against fruit, a battle to the death which could only be resolved with violence and bladed objects, just like ice hockey. I continued my painstaking hunt for a good old mechanical tin opener. Finally, after almost ten minutes, I chanced across a once-white item which on examination revealed itself to be exactly that! I took a deep breath and prepared to tackle the tin with my final weapon (before I resorted to hiring an electric saw that is). The first attempt failed, the flashing blade unable to take a grip, and the handle skidding against the metal. My second attack involved tilting the tin opener as far as I could with it still grabbing the edge of the tin. A heave, and a tight grasp on the tin opener forced the sharp edge down through the surface of the can. Success on the first task, now I had to slowly turn the handle and work my way around the edge until the can was totally decapitated. This went well, until alas, the lip of the tin bent under the applied force, its structural integrity severely compromised by the punctures, dents and other abuses. A brief wrestle with the opposite side revealed that it was too scratched to for the wheels to grip. A flash of inspiration hit me, and I grabbed a knife to prise the rest of the lid free. A bit of bending, and out slipped a slice of mango, resplendent in its golden fruityness. A tug more and the whole lot came tumbling out into my waiting bowl. I was victorious!


It wasn't even very nice.