All In a Lunch Break

I've been working like a dog lately. (You know, I don't know why people say that - my dog lays around all day taking naps in the sunny spot in our living room) Which explains the lack of writing. I mean, really, what can I blog about?

Dear readers,
Today I accounted for something. It was wrong. I fixed it. I did that another 27 times. For 14 hours straight. Tomorrow I will do the same thing. Maybe have a meeting or two.

Today is another busy day. In fact, it was 12:30 before I realized it was lunch time. I grabbed my purse and jacket and headed to the local soup place.

* * * * *

But not before a pit stop. See, I'd been sitting at my desk working hard all morning and hadn't taken any little nature breaks. So I stopped by the ladies restroom.

I had the room all to myself and in my haste, I grabbed the nearest stall. Didn't even bother taking off my jacket, I was in such a hurry.

As I went to grab some toilet paper, the tail of the belt from my leather jacket got tangled in my hand. I don't tie the belt very frequently, but as I sat there I thought "I ought to tie the belt before . . . "

Yep. You guessed it.

I reached around to the other side. No belt. Reached behind me.

Yep. In the toilet.

And now you are at the next logical step.

I peed on the belt to my leather jacket.

* * * * *

After frantically washing the pee off the belt and double-washing my hands, I headed off to the soup place. Seattle has these wicked hills downtown, so while the entrance to my building off 3rd Avenue is technically the "street level", the soup place is on the other side of the building and is located 2 stories lower than the "street level". So when you want soup, you take these massive outdoor escalators two stories down.

I was riding the escalator down, watching the people ride up the escalator. One of the gentlemen riding up by himself looked me square in the eye. And winked.

Some people nod. Some people smile. Some people give you a wave. I guess he winks.

Or maybe he likes girls who pee on themselves.

* * * * *

Which made me think of Chrissy. Not the peeing part. The winking part.

Chrissy is a server at a local establishment. She's probably an excellent waitress, on the whole. But she's a winker. One of those creepy winkers that winks to emphasize every point.

Some people wink and its subtle. I've often been caught off-guard by winkers. Did he just wink at me? Does he not see my husband right there? Then a few lines of conversation and another wink (maybe even the husband has gotten a wink at this point) . . . you realize that this person really just winks, occasionally. It's not his secret way of saying "Come away with me Mrs Chako."

Chrissy is not subtle. Chrissy is overt with her winking. In your face. Big, giant, exaggerated eye crinkling, emphasized by heavy, Pat Benetar-meets-Boy George eye make-up. Creeping you out. Sample conversation:

"I'm Chrissy, and I'll be your server (*wink*). If you call me by my name, I'll respond better than "Hey you!" (*wink*), ok? Now what can I get you to drink? Ice tea (*wink*)? Sugar? No? Just lemon? Sounds great! (*wink*, *wink*)."

Thank heavens she's not a doctor with that habit. "Mrs. Jones, I've got the results of the biopsy back (*wink*). Yeah, looks like you have one of those nasty little tumors, ok (*wink*)? We're going to get one of our surgeons to cut that nasty little guy out (*wink*), and then we're going to scan you again and make sure he doesn't have any little friends. (*wink*).

* * * * *

I ordered my chicken basil chili and went to pay for my lunch. The little guy who always works the lunch hour was all smiles like usual. I don't even think he could tell I'd recently peed on my self.

I ordered my soup and complimented him on his new haircut (which made him beam - he'd only cut it the day before). It made me smile, as I left. Forgot all about peeing on my jacket. (Not really.)

* * * * *

Rode the escalator back up. The door to our building is a revolving door. People can get really confused in those things. I watched a poor older woman almost get her face taken off as she tried to enter, because the door was spinning too fast for her pace. Still, she managed to stop it momentarily, which stopped the momentum and caused the guy inside the door to crash into the front of his partition. It would have made a great Mr. Bean sketch.

But just to be safe, I waited until everyone cleared the doorway before I stepped in. I wasn't about to be someone's amusing blog post from lunch break.

* * * * *

I was about to ride up the elevator alone when a guy jumped on at the last minute. Looking completely out of place. I work in a high rise office building where Wells Fargo is the main tenant - white collar heaven. This dude looked like he'd just flown in on the last puddle jumper out of BFE Alaska. Big beer belly, woolly beard, Rudolf-nose courtesy of a few years (decades) of vodka or some equivalent, buffalo-plaid shirt, smelling like smoke and wood and a little Skoal. Think lumberjack, but shorter.

Says "hey".

Maybe all backwoodsmen talk like that.

Maybe he doesn't talk much to girls who smell like pee.

* * * * *

Back to the grind.

Wonder what lunch has in store for me tomorrow?

Respectfully submitted,

The Wife