Playfully difficult people. Playfully difficult people ruffle my feathers. Walk with me...
So everyday for lunch, I go to the deli next door to my office and get one of those salads where you pick the kind of lettuce you want and dictate which fixin's the deli guy should add. I get iceberg lettuce and add spicy chicken, roasted red pepper, tomato and feta cheese with low-fat Asian sesame ginger dressing. It's god-damn delicious, convenient, healthy and I'd be a liar if I said it wasn't the best part of my work day. And by "work day" I mean my day in general.
That being said, the deli guy who makes my salad is my new enemy. Everyday I have to deal with his shtick. We can never just have a "Oh hello," "Hi! Gimme some shit on my salad!" "Blokay! Here you go, take care!" "Hey thanks guy!" No, because this is the Jose the Salad Guy Comedy Hour (that's not me being stereotypical by the way, his name really is Jose. Jose Pedro Lopez Fuentes Sabatos Jr.) and I'm just part of the show.
The second I approach the salad counter, Jose gets this mischievous look on his face and starts giggling to himself. He hasn't even shticked me yet, but just the thought that he's about to "get me" is enough to crack his shit up. So I go to the counter and smile, hand him my lettuce, and ask for spicy chicken. And everyday the same thing happens: "No." He denies me my chicken, even though there is clearly spicy chicken readily available. L0LZ, right? So I courtesy laugh and play along, "Pleeease?" I ask sweetly. "Not today." BAHAHAHHAH!!!!!!, right? " "Man, that's too bad, because I really like that chicken." "No." ZLOLOMFGHAHAHAHA!!!1, where does this guy come up with it, right?? RIGHT?!?!
Frankly at this point I just want to grab him by the collar and say "give me my motherfucking chicken or I'll shove this avocado so far down your throat you'll be shittin' guacamole for days!" but instead, I just sweetly smile and wait for him to decide that Jose's Def Salad Comedy Jam is over and he'll amuse my request for spicy chicken.
You have to understand, this has happened every single day for the past month and a half. It's horrible. It's like forced audience participation at a comedy club, and that my friends is what I imagine hell being. Just a big comedy club where I'm always on stage holding a prop or shouting out a location and two celebrities for all of eternity.
I'm sure you're thinking, "Ok dumb ho, just go somewhere else for lunch or get soup or a sandwhich or something." To that I say, yes I am a dumb ho, and I don't know why you had to bring that up, but why should I have to compromise what I want for lunch just because the salad guy likes to be playfully difficult? I refuse to not experience the pleasure of my magical salad just because he makes me feel uncomfortable. This is my ship and the course of the S.S. McAwkward will not be mapped out by the fucking salad guy.
There used to be this Mexican restaurant in Olney called Costa Rico where my family dined probably like once a week until it closed. We had the same waiter every single time, and every single time he brought the check, he would give it to me instead of my dad. Now, it was funny the first time he did it when I was like three. He'd crack up and we'd all be like "OHHH, YOU!" But after it had been going on for 12 years and I was fucking 15-years-old, it really was not that funny anymore. It was annoying. Just hand the fucking check to my dad or get some new material. Do all playfully difficult restaurant employees have Alzheimer's?! You've pulled this crap with me before. You did it yesterday. And the yesterday before that. And the yesterday before that...
A few months ago, the McBlogger family was out to dinner at Cesco in Bethesda and when the waiter came with the check, I swear to all that is good and holy, he handed it to me and proceeded to crack up. My mom literally pointed and laughed at me, and it was the hardest I have ever seen her laugh in years. STOP SHTICKING ME GOD DAMNIT! I'm fucking 23-years-old! I have a job and actually could pay for the meal, so now you've put me in the awkward position of having to tell my parents that I presumed they would pay, but I could pay, but it's not a big deal, but whatever, and, um, er, AWKWARD. Why shtick me? What about me screams that I'm begging to be shticked? I've been told multiple times by multiple people that I don't look approachable. I seriously want to know what it is about me that makes friends of friends too scared to come up and say hey, but playfully difficult waiters think I've been blowing kisses at them all night. Christ.
And "playfully difficult"--what the fuck is that?! I deal with difficult people all day long, I don't really feel like playing the asshole game with you on my lunch break. What if murdering was my shtick and I was "playfully murderous"? Would society think that's cute and engaging? At the risk of sounding like a snob (although it's never stopped me before) just give me my effing salad and let that be the end of it.
Now, I'll be in the backroom stuffing my face with mints and crackers so I don't have to take lunch if you need me.