Post 8: Butter Me Up (A Personal Narrative)

There were six of us sitting at a table in the mess hall, waiting for breakfast to be served. We were all hungry, but the only items on the table that were edible was a stick of butter and a container of maple syrup. One of my best friends, James, looked down the butter, thought for a little bit, and then stated:

            “I will give $10 to anyone who eats this stick of butter straight.”

            I thought for a moment. I then looked at the butter and then at James with his blue eyes and his black curly hair. I didn’t know if he was joking or not. Usually I could not take him seriously, but I had to make sure he was for real.

For my first Youth Conference my stake went to Palmyra for the weekend. We stayed at a camp where Girl’s Camp happened every year. This meant actual cabins, beds, and bathrooms. All of the boys rejoiced since we did not have that great of facilities as Scout Camp. The first day there we went to the Palmyra temple and did the tours. That day was fun. However, it was the second day in which the trip became interesting because of friendship and bad decisions.

            “Dude! $10 for eating butter?” I asked. I was only 14 at the time, and I thought $10 was a good price for a simple activity.

            “Yeah,” he stated “I have the money in my bag, and you will get it immediately after the challenge is done.”

            I thought for a moment. $10 did seem like a lot, and I was pretty bored and hungry already. I looked down at the butter. It didn’t seem as if it would be that hard.

            “All right. I’ll do it. You promise me you will pay?” I asked.

            “I promise,” said James.

            “This is going to be nasty,” said a boy that we were sitting with.

            I picked up the butter. It was soft, so I had to scoop it up in chunks. I thought to myself, maybe this wasn’t the best idea. However, a bet is a bet, and I would not back out. I put the first chunk in my mouth. It slid down my throat with ease. That feeling was one of the most disgusting things I have ever felt in my life. This was going to be harder than I thought.

            I picked up the second chunk. By this time several kids were cheering me on and a crowd started to assemble. I could see the disgusted look on a girl’s face while I was eating. It looked as if she wanted to throw-up. I thought to myself, no, I must go through with this. There’s a crowd. I can’t back down now. I have to do it for my peers.

            I was about one bite away from finishing the butter, and when a leader came over. Brother Smith (name has been changed to protect the innocent), the second counselor of the take Young Mens, came over looking half bewildered and half angry.

            “What the heck is going on here?” he asked.

I was eating the butter for about three minutes and Brother Smith didn’t come over until most of the kids made the crowd. Darn crowd. I could have gotten away with it if they didn’t show up. James and I began to explain quickly about the situation and the bet. Actually, James did most of the talking — I was feeling sick.

“James, you better pay Grant the money. If you don’t, the next time you come in for your teeth cleaning I will personally drill holes in all of your teeth,” stated Brother Smith. I had forgotten that Brother Smith was James’s dentist. “And Grant, at least you could have gone for $20.”

“I will definitely give him the money. I was going to anyway,” said James as he ran to get the money out of his bag.

The announcement was made shortly after that the butter on the tables was for eating with the pancakes and not by itself. I could see some people’s faces and it looked like they were asking themselves, who would do such a dumb thing? For the rest of the day I smelled like butter. Even my sweat was the consistency and smell of the I Can’t Believe it’s Not Real Butter spray. I was very happy to get home that day. When I got home my parents asked me how Youth Conference was. I didn’t think they needed to know.

The next day was a Sunday. The story of me and the butter spread like wild-fire because James was telling everyone about it. He even told the Bishop, who happened to be my Dad. I came out of the chapel after Sacrament Meeting just in time to hear the ending of the story James was telling my Dad.

“…and then I had to pay him the money,” concluded James.

“I have an idiot for a son!” my Dad declared.

“Wow. Thanks, Bishop. I’m really feeling the love right now,” I said. My Dad had not seen me come up behind him.

“Grant, you have to admit that that was one dumb move that you made,” said my Dad.

“I know, but at least I got the money,” I told him.

I did not eat butter for the next three months. Every time I saw butter, it made me relive that feeling of it slipping down my throat. Whenever I’m around my friends they always bring up the story. Even when James and I are in American Heritage he still brings up the bet.

“Hey. Theoretically, if I had a stick of butter would you eat it for ten dollars?” he asked me once.

“Heck no, man,” I replied.

“You’re done with taking ridiculous bets?”

“No, I just wouldn’t do it for ten bucks. It would have to be at least thirty before I even start considering.”

“It’s good to know that you don’t do it for so cheaply anymore,” he told me.

“Yeah, at least I learned something from that experience,” I said.