Pot Luck

Pot luck. Odd name for a chancy crap shoot of a feast. I don’t see ‘luck’ being the outcome. I have experienced far too many unidentified smells in this office to trust what a fellow employee made for these gatherings. And since I trust some more than others, I withdraw myself from said gatherings altogether to avoid being rude. “No thanks, I couldn’t possibly eat another bite, otherwise I’d sample your ambrosia that you’re handing to me with that hand of yours riddled with some identified dark substance underneath your nails. However, I have plenty of room for super clean Eileen’s double fudge brownies.”

Now I think my bitterness towards these office parties is no secret. Call me a bitch, that’s fine. I'm sorry that I have work to do and don’t want to pretend that I give a shit about you, nor do I think that it’s an example of caring to stand by you, sing along and have a piece of cake. To be perfectly honest with you, if I had a cake for my birthday/engagement/promotion/wedding/resurrection, etc., I wouldn’t want you pretending to be happy for me whilst you drool over my mom’s angel food cake with chocolate frosting. Odds are I don’t even know your name and you’re probably singing out of key. So when these sort of gatherings are expanded for the more important people, or even for some random displays of appreciation for ourselves, it should be a huge red flag to you that I would rather do work.  “Oh, I’d love to come wish Paula well as she leaves for a week for a minor outpatient procedure, but I’d rather monotonously enter data into a spreadsheet for several hours.”

Now, I'm not sure how people cook in the privacy of their homes. I know when you're cooking for yourself you may not take as many precautions as you would if you were cooking for other people. Or is that just me? You know, testing the marinara by licking the spoon and putting it back in. Or worse, your finger! *dry heave* Perhaps you like to smoke when you cook. How do I know that at one point when you were worried about getting cream of mushroom soup on your Kool you let the ash grow to donkey dick proportions and then ‘oops, in the soups’?

“No one will notice.” You thought to yourself. If you even noticed that the ash mysteriously disappeared.

Is everyone familiar with the five second rule? I know I am. I also know I don’t abide by it one bit. I am a bit OCD. I don’t even eat food if it’s fallen off my plate onto the table, much less on the floor, nor do I expect anyone else to. I also keep my kitchen pretty immaculate, which I'm sure you believe you do as well, but your cats have a different idea. Little Fluffy’s back was itching him something fierce and earlier this afternoon he tried to ease his pain by rolling and writhing about on the linoleum in hopes that one tile may be warped enough to peel and scratch that nasty itch. Even if it is clean in your kitchen, Murphy’s Oil Soap residue is not my choice of marinade.

Maybe it’s me--I have been getting more and more germaphobic in the past few years. And I don’t wish to be inundated with whatever food grossness I may have left out. I'm aware that if I had enough time to type them all out, I'm sure you would’ve have enough time to read it. I love it when I share some debilitating hang up with someone only to have them make it worse. “You know, I have to thoroughly wash the vegetables in the supermarket if they aren’t already packaged.” I'll say.

“You know it’s not much better if they’re packaged! You know some filthy immigrant could’ve……(you fill in the blank),” says some asshole who used to be my friend.

I know nothing is perfect. I know nothing is clean, but I have selective neuroses, and I'm messed up enough as it is without you getting a kick out of making me worse. So I preemptively ruin everyone else’s day. I turned my friend off of canned beer and soda by telling him that some guy at the bodega was resting his bare foot on the top of a 12 pack of cans one day. Right where you put your mouth. I got another friend to stop putting lemon in her water by telling her how the bartenders where I worked used to play catch with the fruit, very poorly. It’s no longer a garnish when you’ve squeezed and dropped it into your drink. Now it’s a floating bacterium. Enjoy! And I’ve worked in enough restaurants to ruining your special occasions for the rest of your lives. Chef’s surprise anyone?

So, I'll leave it at that, no response necessary or encouraged. And you can take your pot luck and shove it up your ass, if you haven’t already.

Homemade? Not till I’ve been in your home.