Glutton

I am sitting in a meeting.  Actually, I am running the meeting.  One of the women there is talking about how stressful her project is and how much she has on her plate.  (I am not trying to be mean, but I have to inform you of this so the story makes sense.  This woman is pretty large).  I am looking at her as she is talking; feeling bad about how much responsibility she has taken on and say, “You are such a glutton” and continue on with my meeting.  While I am talking, I can’t shake the feeling that an awkward silence has fallen over the room.  I have become way too familiar with this feeling.  It hits me what I said.  I meant to say, “Glutton for punishment.” Oh dear!  I can’t go back and fix this one without calling attention to her weight.  I finish the meeting and thank her for her hard work.  Yet, another victim that will never be the same because of my impulsive mouth!

No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

My guy friend started dating a new girl, we shall name her Jewels (you’ll understand later).  I was excited for him, but had yet to meet her.  They went on a double date in Fort Worth.  Instead of driving back to Dallas, they decided to crash at her friends’ house. 

Are you wondering how I come into play here?  Well, it seems Jewels left her jewelry (hence, the nick name) at said friend’s house.  They had already driven back to Dallas when she realized this.  My guy friend calls, knowing I will be in Fort Worth and then driving to Dallas the next day, and asks if I could swing by and get Jewels’ jewelry out of the mailbox.  “Sure” I say, “no problem!”  I’m always up for doing something that makes me look nice.

So, I go to dinner with a friend and decide I can swing by this mailbox and grab the goods.  It’s about 9pm making it dark outside, which frightens me.  I drive over there using the address I was given, and the house sneaks up on me so I have to stop my car, somewhat abruptly, so I don’t pass the house.  This leaves me sort of awkwardly parked in the middle of the street, unusually far away from the street-side mailbox.  But oh well, I won’t be here for long.

I throw my car in park, hop out of the car, scurry (um, I’m not walking since I am afraid of nighttime) around the front of my car and then sprint 15 feet to the mailbox, open it, and grab the surprisingly big plastic baggie out of it, can’t remember closing the mailbox, sprint back the 15 feet, around the car, and hop back in.  Whew.  Made it without anything scary happening to me! 

Put the car in drive and I’m on my way and feeling great about myself for doing such a nice thing for a person I’ve never met.  Wait, are those lights in my review mirror?  Are they flashing red and blue and is someone asking me to pullover on a loud speaker?  Long story long, yes it is.  I quickly review the previous five minutes in my head and realize it may have looked slightly suspect to have run as fast as I can back and forth to a mail box and stolen whatever was in it.  This can’t be good.

Cop walks around to my drivers’ side window, as they do, I roll down the window and here is our conversation:

Cop: License and registration, please

Me: Yes sir!  (I’ve already pulled it out before he could even get to my car.  I like to prepared)

Cop: Ma’am, what were you doing in that mailbox?

Me: I was picking up something up for a friend.

Cop: What were you picking up?

Me: Jewelry

Cop: Jewelry?!  What kind of jewelry, exactly?

Me (realizing this doesn’t sound good and that I also haven’t even looked inside the baggie and I could be a drug mule, for all I knew.  So, cheerfully and with fake-confidence, trying to be as darling as possible): “Well, hmmmm, let’s just take a look-see, shall we officer!” 

He doesn’t think I am darling.  He takes the bag from me and sees that, thank GOD, it is, in fact, jewelry.

Cop: Whose jewelry is this?

Me: A friends’ girlfriend (so sketchy)

Cop: What is her name?

Me: um….I don’t know (the sketchy continues)

Cop: Whose house is this?

Me: I…uh…I don’t know. (and the sketchy is complete)

I continue: “Look, I know this sounds peculiar, but I am honestly just trying to do something nice right now and help out a friend who has a new girlfriend that –“

Cop Interrupts: “I’m just gonna go check out this story with the people who live here.”

I hop out of the car to go with him.  As he goes to grab his gun, he forcefully says “Get back in your car, ma’am.  We’ve had some problems with mail theft around here and I need to speak with these people without you there”

So he leaves me there, alone in the nighttime (and remember how I feel about the nighttime.  I hate this guy).  I hear him talking to her, but cannot make out what they are saying.  He comes back over and:

Cop: “She has no idea what you are talking about.”

Me (this is where I lose it and start yelling): “I’m being framed, sir!  I swear, I’m an honest person who – “

Cop interrupts again (chuckling): “Oh. I’m just kidding with you, ma’am!  Your story checked out.  She said it’s true.  Lighten up, why don’t cha!”

Well look who found a himself a sense of humor.  I’m not laughing, officer.  I hate you.

No good deed goes unpunished.

Men in Black

I am at work.  I am walking down the hallway and pass by two men I work with.  They are both wearing black shoes, black pants, black belts, and a black shirt.  Since I can’t stand silence, I decide to comment on this similarity, “Well, look, it’s the two black guys” while pointing both fingers at them.  Like the valet at the Ritz, I am getting blank stares back.  It finally clicks what I have said.  Are you ready for it?  These two men happen to be the only two black people that work at my company.  Let the backstroke begin!  “Oh, I meant, um, your outfits.  You both have all black on, see.”  Thankfully, one of them jokingly says, “Whatever Lolo, you were talking about our race” and laughs.  I proceed to nervously laugh too loud and too long at his joke and quickly walk away.

Coming Out

I am the maid of honor in my best friend since childhood’s wedding.  I walk in to a couple’s shower for her and realize it is mostly her college friends that I don’t know very well.  No big whoop, I am great in these situations.  I can talk to a wall if I need to.  I have a met a few of them at other wedding events, so make my way over to some familiar faces.    I start talking to a guy I have met maybe twice.  The convo goes like this, no joke…

Me:  “Hi, How are you?”

Guy:  “Fine. How are you?”

Me: “Fine.What is new with you?”

Guy:  “Well… I am a homo.”

Me:  (Thinking this is some sort of a weird joke I say with a slightly sarcastic tone):  “Really?”

Guy:  “Ya, really.”

Me:  “Oh! (long pause) When did this happen?”

Guy:  “Today, actually!”

Me:  “Who have you told?”

Guy:  “Hmm…actually, you are the first person I have told.”

PANIC SETS IN!  I try to remain calm.  For some reason this guy has decided that he wants to come out of the closet to ME standing in the middle of a party.  I guess I have made him feel comfortable, so I try to continue to “be cool.”  I had the thought - what a strange and offensive word to use to tell me this news.  Homo?  But if he’s gay and he’s using it, I guess I should be cool with it too! 

Me:  “Good for you!  Congratulations!  Is that such a relief?”

My attempt at “being cool” fails miserably.  The look on my face must have said it all when he asks, “What did you think I said?”

Me:  “You are …. (scared to say the word out loud) a homo?”

Guy:  “Um, no!  I am a home-OWNER.  I bought a house today.” 

I start laughing so hard that it causes a scene, and I proceed to tell the entire party about the conversation.  Poor guy bought a house and my terrible hearing completely stole his thunder!