Wednesday, November 18, 2009

Fat guy discrimination

I work with a guy who smells like he was pieced together using old onions, feet and soured milk. Most of the time it's cool with me. If people want to smell, that's their thing. He's a cool guy and it's a free country. Stink away, my friend, stink away!

I just hate when I have to work in close proximity to him and people pass by us. I get funny looks from these people sometimes. They aren't the inside jokey "that guy you're working with smells but he doesn't know it but we both totally do!" looks. They're more like the "you're a bigger guy and therefore I'm going to assume this horrible smell is coming from you because fat people have poor hygiene and I hate you" looks. It's so unfair. I feel oppressed. Do you have any idea how it feels to apparently look like you smell? It doesn't matter what it is. If there's a bad smell and I'm near it, it seems like people automatically assume it's me. I could be standing next to a skunk and people would be like, "Jesus! That fat guy over there smells like a skunk!"

I was thinking about this the other night as I waited in a fast food drive-thru line. I was thinking about how sometimes it's funny to be fat, but most of the time it seems like people unfairly discriminate against us. I was thinking about some sort of awesome plus-sized revolt against society and how George Wendt could be like our patron saint or something. Jared from Subway would be tried for treason and properly dealt with. How amazing it would all be.

Then I dropped my debit card and it went under my passenger seat. While feeling around for it I found an opened bag of pizza-flavored combos I bought a couple nights before and had forgotten about. Needless to say, I was excited. "Fuckin' awesome...combos!" I probably actually said aloud. So I ate a few. They were a little stale, but still packed with that pretzel-y, pizza-y goodness that combos are know for. Then it hit me: I was eating stale, old food I found on the floor while I was waiting in line for more food. Maybe the discrimination was justified.

But I'd do it again in a labored heartbeat! (Get it? Because of the clogged arteries?)

Edit: They are combos! Wtf are kudos then? Thanks to thinkinfyou for pointing out my blunder (and for being sexy. *wink*)

Monday, November 16, 2009

...and I didn't even get her number

"Where's your braunschweiger?"

"I don't know what that is, ma'am."

"Really? You work here and don't know what braunschweiger is?"

"I'm sorry. Is it like bratwurst? Like a sausage or something?"

"*exaggerated sigh* No, it's not bratwurst! It's a spread. I have to get it now. I already have the crackers! If you work here you should at least know stuff about this place and what they sell."

(After looking for a few minutes...)

"Ah, here's some. Is this what you wanted?"

"Yes, yes that's it. It took long enough! I can't wait to get home and get out of this leg!"

Then she angrily drove her little scooter away.

Livery meat spreads and belligerent amputees.

This is my hell.

Perception becomes reality

I was walking to the back room of the store the other night when I saw a woman propping open the men's bathroom door just a little. I heard her say, "start counting so I know you're ok." Then from the inside, I heard a kids voice counting, "1...2...3..." I don't know if her kid was sick or if she thinks gangs of pedophiles hang out in store bathrooms waiting on unsuspecting kids, only to be thwarted by their counting out loud. As I passed by her I smiled and said, "My mom makes me do that, too. It gets pretty embarrassing sometimes." She gave me a really mean look and rolled her eyes.

This is what I do.

This is a perfect example of how people see me, or how I think they see me. Some would think that was funny and laugh about it, but for every person who thinks it's funny, there are three more who think I'm an idiot. I start to see me how they see me and then my confidence is shot for awhile.

I usually try the humor approach on women, but I'm starting to rethink that strategy because it's obviously not working. Maybe I need to be more confident in it and not think so much. Let's face it. I'm 27, have a crap job and just moved back in with my mom. That's not really the definition of a "catch." I can't really afford to screw up too many more opportunities. I'm like a hitchhiker walking down a seldom used highway. When one of the few cars passes, I can't be jumping out all flaily-armed and crazy eyed. It's time to get my "I'm not gonna kill you" face on. That's a metaphor. Not saying I'd kill a date. Oh jeez...I'm doing it again. ;-)

Thursday, November 5, 2009

Mein Mom

"What the hell?"

"What's wrong?"

"What are you doing over there?"

"Nothing, why? Oh, this? They are going to look like spools of thread when I'm finished."

"Ok, but you don't see a problem with what it looks like now?"

"No. Why?"

"Mom, LOOK AT IT! You don't see a problem?"

"Oh, yeah, I guess I see what you're saying."

This is what she was needlepointing or whatever the hell it's called. In her defense, it did look like spools of thread when she was done with that part, but you've gotta think the pattern could have been a little different and still achieved the same thing. Either that or maybe my little, gray-haired mom is secretly a Nazi, filled with hatred and anti-semitism. I guess all the signs were there. Her love of bratwurst, saying that Sara Silverman "just isn't that funny," and her insistence on cooking everything in the oven.

I sent this pic to all my sisters and we did our "is it time to put mom in a home" coinflip.

She got lucky this time.