When I was in high school, I would go to Tomatina, thinking that it was high quality food. Beyond the food though, there was a printed sign on the restaurant wall describing an annual event—a fight in Italy with tomatoes. Like the Spanish bull fight, I would remember with each visit—intrigue was captivating. Why would I want to eat pasta when I could be pelted with tomatoes?

Exactly.

So the idea of a tomato battle was intriguing. It was an hourlong fight with tomatoes that were going to be thrown away from the Food Bank. An event that was preceded by lots…and lots of beer. And for me… Standing in the middle somewhere being hit by tomatoes…a safe way to feel like how it would be in battle. Like blood, tomato juice would spill everywhere but I would be fine and whole. Just leaking with smashed tomatoes. Surely, what could be better?

Like many things that seemed good in concept, in reality, it was…more painful. Nobody ever told me that I would be hit in the face with hard tomatoes…multiple times. And that I kept finding bits of tomato in my right ear even 3 hours after the event. As I rode the BART from Pleasanton to San Francisco, I repeatedly shed bits of tomato all over the seat. Disgusting, yes. But I think it was probably good for my hair and skin.

Nonetheless, I believe that it was good use of my HP white long-sleeved shirt.