That Awkward Moment When…

Miscellaneous

So, I’m driving to work this morning, trying to beat my record-setting commute time I set yesterday morning (75 minutes…I live in Northern Virginia) when one of my “pet-peeves of driving” occur: as I’m exiting the interstate and merging onto a main road, this white truck in front of me decides to take the merge lane all the way down to the end and then merge over, which would essentially cut me off; considering I’ve already merged. Thoughts go racing through my head. Do I speed up and pass him, leaving him with the vibe that I don’t have time for his non-sense this early in the morning? No. Do I be polite and slow down, giving him plenty of space to safely merge over? HA…no. Or, do I be a complete dick and just idol right next to him, making him decide his own fate? Bingo. Well, my plan of being a complete dick backfired. Turns out traffic was backed up to the end of the merge lane, so I didn’t want to be a COMPLETE dick (yeah, there’s a difference between complete and COMPLETE) and leave him with no space whatsoever. Luckily I did, because that’s when I noticed it.

When both him and I came to a complete stop,  I thought to myself, “this guy better give me the fucking wave for letting him in…” with my head resting in my hand. Sure enough he did exactly that. “Yeah, that’s right. You don’t want me to get out of this car”, I said under my breath, but then I realized his wave was very emphatic, almost like he knew me. I inch closer to his car to get a good look into his review mirror, when I realize, “holy shit – that’s so and so from Accounting…” Instant awkwardness ensues.

(You remember that time you were in middle school and you saw your teacher out in public? You probably did what any middle school kid did and froze as if your deceased grandmother just walked in front of you and then fled the scene, because god forbid you risk your popular status and get caught talking to her/him outside of class. Well, that feeling still applies when you’re driving and the person in front/behind/to the side of you is someone you know. You don’t know if you should make eye contact and wave awkwardly or just flat out ignore them, because fuck interacting with people.)

When I finally rid myself of the awkwardness, I realized I would have to follow him for the next 2-3 miles into work and most likely have to ride the elevator with him (fuck! What did I do to deserve this?!). From that moment on, I kept my distance from him. I didn’t want him to see my aggressive driving tactics: I drove a lot slower than I normally do; I came to a complete stop at stop signs, looking left, right, and then left again; I even allowed people who obviously got to the 4-way intersection before me go first. I tried everything, yet he was only one car ahead of me. I was doomed.

As we’re two blocks away from our building, my heart begins to pound. “I’m going to have to ask him what he’s doing for the weekend…” I thought to myself. (That’s my go to whenever I’m stuck, alone with a coworker I don’t usually talk to. If it’s Monday or Tuesday, I ask what they did the previous weekend. If it’s Wednesday or later, I ask what they’re doing the upcoming weekend. Works like a charm.) Suddenly, the truck pulls off and parks in front of this building where construction is going on (phew – dodged a bullet there!). I drive past the truck, not even bothering to look into the truck to see if it is So-and-So, and continue on my merry way.

Turns out it was exactly who I thought it was. He came in, asking what kind of car I drove, and we both had a nice little chuckle about following each other into work. Little did he know, that was the most awkward car ride of my life.

Why is it so awkward seeing people you work with outside of work? Is it the fact we all think they just live at work? At least that’s what I think…

Advertisements

Ketchuphobia

Miscellaneous

Last Friday I wrote this extravagant post about ketchup, went to reread it for mistakes when I got home, and was shocked to find out that it didn’t save. It was complete bull shit. So, I will try my best to remember all that was said for your enjoyment.

For those of you who do not know me, I am completely terrified of ketchup: the sight, the taste, the smell, the feel, the sound (yeah – it definitely has a sound) EVERYTHING. I don’t know when or how this phobia even started, but ever since I can remember I’ve steered clear of said condiment. I can be around someone who is eating that grotesque thing people refer to as “the heavenly blanket that tucks their cheeseburgers in”, but if you offer it to me I will turn it down faster than Charlie Day turns down a free trip outside of Philadelphia. My hatred of that tomato paste is so intense that I’ve gone as far as drawing a sign that says “POISON” and has a skull and crossbones on it for 30-minutes one night, just to tape it to the bottle my roommates have in our fridge. Some of you may think that’s a little much, but I thought it was necessary.

The Sight: Have you ever taken the time to sit and examine ketchup? I mean, have a record-setting staring competition that not even a manikin could win? Well, I haven’t. BUT, from a close enough distance I have, and let me tell you this: it’s so fucking red that it almost looks fake. Seriously. It’s so grossly red that it’s like looking at a bad injury; you just can’t look away. I wouldn’t be surprised if Crayola has it’s own colored crayon named “Ketchup”, because there’s nothing in the class of red that compares. Oh, and remember those green and purple colored Ketchup’s they came out with in the 90’s? Talk about a nightmare come true.

The Taste: The following list represents the ingredients of Ketchup. I’ve only ever accidentally tasted this wretched poison, and I’m pretty sure I threw up, so my description of the taste wouldn’t paint you a good enough picture: TOMATO CONCENTRATE FROM RED RIPE TOMATOES (ew), DISTILLED VINEGAR (double ew), HIGH FRUCTOSE CORN SYRUP (isn’t this the stuff that makes you fat, more prone to cardiovascular disease, diabetes, and non-alcoholic fatty liver disease?), CORN SYRUP (sounds like a close relative to High Fructose Corn Syrup, so I’ll use my logic and say it’s practically the same thing), SALT (betcha it isn’t kosher), SPICE (pretty sure that’s a drug), ONION POWDER (this sounds like kitchen-talk for “cocaine”), NATURAL FLAVORING (semen’s natural and, from what I’ve heard, has a flavor).

The Smell: Yesterday I went to the Nats game with my girlfriend, my roommate, and my dad. Around the third or fourth inning, we all went to go get some food. I was determined to get a Five Guy’s burger, even though it was on the opposite side of the stadium. So, my girlfriend and roommate set out on the quest of getting one. We get to where the escalator is, and to our surprise it’s still running up. Filled with fury we were forced to take the walk way, which has an angle of decline of probably three-degrees. After walking what seemed like 10 miles (fucking walk way), we get to where Five Guy’s USED to be. Yeah, you read that correctly, it’s not there anymore. Turns out we wasted 15 minutes walking there, because there was a burger stand two sections down from our seats. What does this story have to do with ketchup? Well, we completed the circle around the stadium and went to the burger stand. I got my burger, go over to the condiment stand to get my napkins and a straw and set my burger basket down on some ketchup that some ASSHOLE leaked onto the counter. Not knowing what I just did, I pick up my basket and get ketchup all over my hand. My face turned white. My hand smelled like Ketchup all day. Seeing how there’s ketchup contains vinegar, and vinegar smells like shit, I leave you with this: If A=B and B=C, then A=C. Fuck you, Five Guy’s.

The Feel: Ever feel a dead persons cold, clammy hands? If you haven’t, don’t worry – just splatter some Ketchup on your hand and you’ll get the same feeling.

The Sound: Now, this is kind of far fetched, but I figured I’ve touched all the other senses, so I might as well bring’er on home with the fifth. If ketchup had a sound, it would be that of an 80-year old women who’s smoked since she was 12 asking where her martini is. The kind whose voice is as raspy as Macy Gray’s in her 99 hit-single, “I Try”. Yeah…pretty annoying.

Anyways, now you know one of the best ways to get me back if I ever did something mean to you. Luckily for me, I rarely do anything mean to anyone, so I’m safe. But, DON’T BE THAT ASSHOLE WHO USES KETCHUP ON ME JUST TO SEE A GROWN MAN CRY. I’LL FLICK YOU ON THE SHOULDER SO HARD, YOU’LL THINK YOU JUST GOT HIT BY A FUCKING TRAIN.