I got up this morning and went through my usual routine. Took a shower, got dressed, snapped a couple photos of the half-asleep dogs, etc. For breakfast, though, I took plan B, which means swung by Chick-Fil-A on the way to work and ordered my off-menu fave: A bacon-egg-and-cheese bagel.
As I pulled the Styrofoam container out of the bag, glaring up at me from the lid was a bright neon-orange-red sticker screaming in large, capital letters, “BACON!” Now, in the spirit of journalistic integrity, the sticker didn’t actually have an exclamation point. I’ve added it to give you an idea just how loud-and-proud this sticker really was. You could have backlit the sucker and not significantly enhanced its prominence.
But given that stickers don’t taste very good, nor are they particularly filling, I managed to pull my attention back to the task at hand: stuffing my face. So, off to work I went, delighting in the happy goodness of my cheesy, eggy, baconey, bagely breakfast comestible. On a side note, the answer is “yes, I do eat while driving”. If this sends you into fits and threatens your “potty controls”, then … well, I guess I’ll just recommend keeping a spare. Otherwise, you’re pretty much out of luck.
So. Breakfast eaten. Work started. Day progressing as usual. Sometime around mid-morning, I finished off my water and stopped by the break room for a refill. A couple of female co-workers were there discussing the pros and cons and personal preferences of reheating fish and seafood in a communal break room. Now, as a computer geek, I’m aware that the well-established standard procedure for this kind of situation (particularly if the females in question are attractive) is brief to moderate incontinence, followed by attempted escape from the general vicinity, punctuated by collisions with solid objects. If you’re an attractive woman, you know what I’m talking about. If you’re a computer geek, just reading this brings back at least a dozen personal traumas.
A few years ago I got tired of the bruising and excess laundry, so I adopted my own strategy: join the conversation and hope for the best. Which I did. Without much traction. Body language was evasive. Eye contact was erratic. Almost … distracted? Back to the standard procedure (minus the incontinence and collisions – I’ll get those next time)! So, having refilled my water and feeling as though I had somehow escaped certain destruction, I headed back to my desk.
A few minutes later, another female co-worker (also one of my best friends) stopped outside my office, leaned in, and said, “Uhhh. It has been … brought to my attention that … you have a bright orange sticker on your crotch.” Not what I was expecting. I’m confused. She pointed to indicate that I should probably just stop thinking about it and check the aforementioned anatomical region. I pushed back from my desk, looked down, and dead center on my “anatomy”, screaming up from it’s self-appointed showcase in all it’s attention-getting glory, a neon-orange-red sticker yelled, “BACON!”
We laughed, and laughed. And laughed. The co-worker who notified my friend of the “wardrobe malfunction” came by and we laughed some more. She said, “Well, at least it didn’t say ‘SAUSAGE’!” More laughing. And a couple emergency trips to the bathroom.
I’m not sure we’ll ever be able to read the word “bacon” with a straight face ever again.