Okay, this should make my mother smile — another food-related comment.
So, this morning, I stop in the cafeteria on the ground floor where I work, and I make a rare purchase of a morning omelet. I often buy bagels here, but rarely anything else — in terms of breakfast food.
The guy who’s working the grill is not the usual person, and when I say, “I’d like a Swiss cheese omelet,” he asks, “What was that?”
“A Swiss cheese omelet,” I repeat.
He sprays something like Pam on the grill. This is a first. The “usual” person has a little pan of oil with a little ladle in it that she uses to grease the grill.
He takes the (pre-measured 3-egg’s worth of) egg scoop and pours it on the grill, and then reaches underneath to grab the cheese.
“What kind of cheese did you want?” he asks.
“Swiss,” I said a little louder.
He made this face that, in our culture anyway, you make when you’re thinking, “Are you sure that’s what you mean?” Similar to this one, but not exactly:
Okay, so maybe more accurately, it’s the “that-seems-like-it-will-taste-like-shit” face.
I tried to keep an open mind though, and not misread his gesture, deluding myself into thinking that in his culture, that’s the “Oh-that-sounds-real-good-I-think-I’ll-try-my-own-omelet-that-way-tomorrow” face.
What I really wanted to say was, “Yes, Swiss. I’d have something more popular like a cheddar cheese omelet if that damn cheddar y’all have here wasn’t so bland. It must be mild. I like extra-sharp.
Before lunch today, I used the restroom, after which I banged out a generous amount of orange anti-bacterial liquid soap onto both hands.
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I waved them under the automatic faucet. Nothing.
I waved them again up and down in front of the sensor with exaggerated movement. Nothing.
I wiped the sensor and waved them again. Nothing.
I moved them forward and backward. Nothing.
I looked for a way to turn the faucet on manually. Nothing.
I looked for a Candid Camera. Nothing.
I took a wad of paper towels and wiped off the goo, but not before smearing it all over my hands in the attempt. What a mess.
Since this is an IBM “visitor’s” bathroom, back in the reception area, I told the receptionist about the problem. Nothing.
I said, “You might want to put in some kind of call about it.” What I wanted to do was take her in my hands and shake her. But alas, my hands were too sticky. Clean. But sticky.
Janet and I were the only two at book club lunch today, and we had an hour of great conversation.
She talked almost non-stop, and I noted that it must have been because all of the other extroverts weren’t there.
She retorted, “No, I forgot to take my A-D-D medication this morning.”
This evening, I met Joe for coffee at Caribou on Maynard in Cary at 8PM.
He had several agenda items to cover, which included:
- Our trip to Roanoke this weekend to visit his sister, Pat, her husband John, and their two kids, Phil and Nolan. It’s Phil’s birthday on Friday. He’ll be 17. Nolan turned 18 on St. Patrick’s Day.
- His blood donation experience — yet another customer service fiasco.
- To make sure I wasn’t mad at him for anything on Sunday night.
Item three got funny, because he told me that he had read my blog on Monday to see if he had done anything bad Sunday night.
There might just be a problem if… you have to read my blog to find out what you did the night before.