Lunch is a weird word. We were all in the conference room, having the work lunch…
Oh, let me tell you about my lunch quick! I wanted fries, so I ordered the Molly Melt. It read, as follows, “caramelized onions, tomato, American cheese, mozzarella, with cilantro and chipotle sauce.”
Mentor said my boss needed to know what size I wanted my food.
I walked into my boss’s office and raised my eyebrows.
She asked, “Medium?”
I asked, “Is there a small?”
She laughed, “Not what size, what temperature!”
You guys, it was a burger. They put all the stuff on a burger. I woulda ate it without the burger. I thought it was a fancy grilled cheese.
It turned out to be a small, flat burger on white bread and I enjoyed it so much I almost finished it.
So I was sittin in the conference room, noshin my delicious foods with meat, when the topic turned to workplace shootings and I, feeling casually random and at-ease, chimed in about how I could not shoot up the place. Guns too bang. It’s just too violent. If I lost my mind, I’d probably poison everyone’s tea and dance around merrily.
I guess no one will ever ask me to make tea. Even if they’re sick and I offer, they’ll prolly be like, “Nah, I’m good.”
I thought about it a lil bit more, and in the same way that I wouldn’t trust myself with a firearm, BOOM! blew my foot off, Dang, I am so OCD and overthinkery and clumsy, I wouldn’t trust myself to accurately distribute poison.
My imagination took off with that.
I come to work in my spray painting mask and dishwashing gloves, not suspicious at all, I carefully adhere properly printed labels to everyone’s cuppa tea. I line up all the cups. I pull out my super secret eyedropper full of X POISON X (like I know the names of poisons, Pshaw!) I plop in a drop and then… I forget which cups I’ve plopped and I need to make a list and probably have a poison test available to double check, like some sorta thing you dip in to check that you really put the poison in it.
Wrong. I don’t get that far.
More Likely Imaginary Scenarios:
I can’t order the X POISON X on the interwebs because I had to reset my computer a few months back and I’ve forgotten my password to the site where I buy all my deadly dangerous chemicals, like Dr. Bronner’s lavender soap and Borax, right?
Or — I successfully order the X POISON X but I leave it on the desk in the living room because I’m distracted by the
Or — I put “Check if workplace makes me murderous: If so X POISON X” on my calendar.
Or — I drop the bottle of X POISON X on my terrible-beautiful kitchen floor, my dog licks it up before I can clean it and then I have to force my dog to drink syrup of whatever makes us puke, ipecac? Yeah, ipecac, and I end up late to work because I have to take my dog to the vet for detox.
Or — I accidentally put the X POISON X in Sassy’s bag and realize all I have is swim shampoo for blondes.
Or — I manage to get the X POISON X in my car, but can’t leave the driveway with it because I feel too guilty of transporting hazardous cargo when I am not legally authorized to do so.
Or — The bottle of X POISON X was poorly packaged and I die on my way to work, inhaling deeply as a I sing, no doubt causing a rear-end collision with a full school bus.
Or — I make it all the way to work with the X POISON X but I can’t open the fuckin bottle, so I gotta ask Mentor to help and she’s like, “Why are we opening poison?”
I’m like a cartoon, y’all.
Writer’s Brain is a serious condition that causes frequent laughter.
Happy Friday Everyone!