homeaboutarchivescontactham sandwichprivacygoodbye

A nervous lunch

More unwanted holiday cheer: Darla took her staff to lunch today, and that's us. Jennifer begged off somehow, and Peter called in sick. If I’d known Darla was planning it, I would’ve called in sick, too. 

As always when these company events can’t be avoided, we ended up at some Michelin-starred restaurant where I’d never eat in the real world, a gold-plated buffet with butler-class service to clear away our plates when we went back for seconds. I went back for seconds four times, so I won’t deny it was delicious, but I’m not comfortable in such elegant surroundings, or with people who are. I’d rather relax, maybe eat a cheeseburger at a greasy spoon, not a place where the silverware is actually made of silver.

It made the whole meal into a competition to see who’d dribble potato soup on their clothes first, who’d use the wrong fork, or who’d accidentally knock over the coffee. In order, it was Kallie dribbling the soup, Carlotta confused by the several forks, and me almost spilling the coffee jug, though I caught it before it toppled off the table.

The conversation was uncomfortable, too. She’s a nice enough lady, but I don’t have anything to say to Darla, and don’t want to pretend to. I can talk to Carlotta, but prefer the innocuous office setting where we know we’re acquaintances, not pretending to be friends. Kallie, of course, is a friend — we could talk like real people talk, somewhere else, but not in that restaurant. Sitting with the boss and a co-worker in the Cafe del Mucho Dinero, we’re not going to talk about things we’ve talked about, like her rude flatmates, her mammogram results, or my dreams of my dead dad.

And anyway, what’s ‘Christmas’ about eating a lunch that costs two hours wages? I’d rather have the two hours wages, and make myself a peanut butter sandwich. I said, “Thank you, Darla,” said it real nice and hope it sounded sincere, but inside I was just thankful it was over.

 From Pathetic Life #7
Tuesday, December 13, 1994

This is an entry retyped from an on-paper zine I wrote many years ago, called Pathetic Life. The opinions stated were my opinions then, but might not be my opinions now. Also, I said and did some disgusting things, so parental guidance is advised.

Pathetic Life 

← PREVIOUS          NEXT →

itsdougholland.com 

← PREVIOUS          NEXT →

No comments:

Post a Comment

🌌 Don't be a jackass, unless you're also funny while being a jackass. 🌌