Sometimes, during an ice storm, the only logical place for chicken nuggets is the roof

Posted Jan 19, 2012 By Sarah Crosbie

EMC Lifestyle - I'm pretty sure I know what a decomposing body looks like - or, at least decomposing breaded chicken fingers.

Our recent mini ice storm - reminiscent of Kingston's Ice Storm '98 that shut down the city, this province and Quebec - reminded me of the funny and ridiculous thing my housemates and I did in our second year of university at Queen's.

See, the thing is, when you're adult (like I am now at age 34), you see ice storms and freezing rain as a hassle, a bank-account sucker, and even a scary and life-threatening event.

When you're 21, living in a big house on campus with five friends, you see an ice storm as a chance to not have to write essays about Jean-Jacques Rousseau and his statement: "Man is born free, but everywhere he is in chains."

Basically, Ice Storm was a vacation.

The only thing was we'd gone on a massive grocery-shopping trip the night before the storm hit. Basically, students don't go grocery shopping until they're down to a bag of freezer-burned perogies and one microwaveable container of Mr. Noodles.

So we went shopping - big time.

We had so many groceries we cabbed it home from Food Basics on Barrack Street and filled the trunk and back seat.

Once the storm hit, and the power didn't immediately come back on, we realized we had a problem: We had two freezers full of chicken breasts, breaded chicken-fingers, chicken nuggets - and more perogies.

What were we going to do with all this food?

Let's blame brain freeze for this - and the fact we were living off bread for a few days - but we decided the best thing to do would be to fill my two suitcases with our food and put it on our roof. Because, obviously, it was cold outside and the food wouldn't spoil and then when the storm ended, we'd bring it back inside and pop it into the freezer.

Because, I mean, really, who wants to waste chicken nuggets?

But then, when the ghetto refused to thaw, and classes didn't resume, we did what any respectable, independent, grown-up university students would do: We called our mommies to come get us and take us home for a few days.

When we came back to Kingston, the trees were no longer wrapped in ice, most of the branches had been picked up, and campus came back to life.

We went dancing at Stages, went out for Sunday dinners at the Copper Penny and finished our essays on Jean-Jacques Rousseau. Life went on.

A few months later, the term ended and it was time to pack up and head home for the four-month long summer break.

When my parents and my younger brother arrived at my Earl Street house to get me (and, admittedly, help me pack up my disaster of a house) we couldn't find my luggage.

Oh. My. God.

How does one tell her parents that her luggage is outside her window, on a second-tier roof, full of chicken? And it's been there since January.

"Pardon me?!" my parents shrieked at the same time.

Somehow, it seems, we'd forgotten about saving those nuggets and never, ever thought of those suitcases (my suitcases) again.

Except, now it was the end of April. It was warm outside. And my suitcases had been out there in the freezing rain, cold weather and now, the lovely spring.

We had even tied them to the eavestrough to prevent them from being stolen. (By squirrels?!)

My brother cut the bags down and they fell to the ground with a squishy thud.

Someone suggested we should open them to see if they were ruined - maybe if we washed them they'd be OK to use again.

Ah, no. Bad idea.

Gagging. Lots and lots of gagging.

The suitcases were then quadrupled bagged and left at the curb for pickup.

Funny - guess what we had for dinner on Thursday after the mini Ice Storm?

Chicken.

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Sarah Crosbie can be found at sarahcrosbie.com and heard weekdays starting at 5:30 a.m. at K-Rock 105.7.