A Thwarted Cookie Monster

I have four completely disparate thoughts going today, so I thought I'd organize them in a cheap easy way via the numbering system detailed below. I'd apologize for being so lazy, but you're probably lazy too, so if you're judging me just know that you're a hypocrite. That's right, now I'm judging you. The tables have turned spectacularly.

Number One. You wanna know what’s frustrating? Girl Scouts never solicit me for cookie sales anymore. I’ve been mulling this issue over the past few days since I started craving thin mints a couple of nights ago, and now I’m starting to get annoyed. Shouldn’t some overbearing parent be badgering me at work, or, better yet, some nice, doe-eyed little kid wearing a sash come knocking on my door? I’d probably purchase like ten boxes, and I wouldn’t even be a jerk about it by pretending to be doing the little kid a big favor. I also have my order all worked out. Two boxes of thin mints, three boxes of somoas and five boxes of tagalongs. Plus, I’d consider sharing them with friends assuming that I was confident that said friend would properly appreciate the sweet goodness that is Girl Scout cookies.

Why am I being subjected to this cookieless purgatory? I’m mostly a nice person. Children generally don’t fear me. Where the hell are my cookies?

Number Two. In a million years, I never could have even thought of a story that sounds this fake. An attempted murdering, adult-diaper wearing, love-triangling astronaut? It almost makes me believe in soap operas.

Number Three. I’m taking new vitamins that turn my pee a funny color. It’s an exciting, electric shade of yellow now. Like if a highlighter went pee. At first I thought I might be suffering from some new extreme form of dehydration, but that wasn’t really feasible under the circumstances. (I’d been chugging water all morning.) I’ve since confirmed that it was the vitamins by stopping taking them to see if my pee reverted back to its traditional color. It did.

Also, for some reason you take four pills per day (all different colors, textures and sizes), which makes me feel like they must be more effective. Really, it’s more like a vitamin system than just a plain vitamin. I’ve been bragging about it to all my friends.

Number Four. On Sunday at the super bowl party, Mick asked me if I have any hobbies. We’ve known each other for about eight years, so you would think that if I had a hobby he would be aware of it, but I considered his question momentarily before responding.

“Knitting.”

“When do you knit?” he asked skeptically.

“Remember that blue scarf with the pink fringe? The one Tom always used to wear as a joke. Also, three years ago I started to knit scarves for everybody in my family for Christmas, but then I got bored with it and quit.”

“I don’t think you can call knitting a hobby if you can only knit straight lines.”

“I could see that,” I conceded with a shrug, “I like to read.”

“I think it’s weird that you can count reading as a hobby when people generally frown upon calling ‘TV watching’ a hobby.”

“Or going to bars and drinking.”

“That too,” he said, “but it’s okay to say that wine appreciation is your hobby.”

“Yeah. Weird. Do you have hobbies?”

He gulped down a blue Jell-O shot before responding.

“Nah. Not really.”

Number Five. So, anyhow. On a slightly heavier note. This guy in my department almost died this morning. In retrospect, ‘almost died’ is a strong assertion, but at the time it seemed like a terrifying possibility. He was choking on a cookie, but nobody knew what it was. Somebody called an ambulance, and somebody else ran downstairs to health services. And everybody else (including me) just kind of hovered in the general area not really knowing what to do. What’s the etiquette in a situation like that? It seems cruel to stand around staring at the person. I wouldn’t want to be stared at if I were choking. But, you certainly can’t calmly continue editing a spreadsheet at your desk like nothing’s going on. Not acknowledging the situation would seem insensitive.

After several seconds of silent indecision, I finally ended up walking down to the first floor to watch for the medical personnel so that I could have the elevator waiting for them. It was the only semi-useful thing I could think of to do and probably only saved like thirty seconds (at the most). But at least it was something. After the general feeling of panic subsided, it dawned on me that the fact that my choking co-worker was hacking and wheezing was a good sign (since that meant he could technically breathe). The poor guy ended up having to sit in the infirmary for half an hour waiting for the food to work its way down his esophagus. He’s back at his desk now, and everything’s back to normal. In fact, he keeps bothering me with questions about actual work, which has mitigated most of the goodwill I was feeling towards him in response to his possible near-demise.

Everybody else has reverted back to eliciting vague complaints about the weather and eating stale cookies left over from somebody’s super bowl party and clicking around on their respective computers.

Life continues, and, yet, I keep recalling my reaction to the panic. The self-centered thoughts that reeled and repeated in my head at a rapid pace.

People die in car accidents and sky diving disasters and at hospitals and in shark infested water and occasionally even tragic ‘boat-hits-iceberg’ type scenarios, but people don’t die in cubicles. That sort of thing just doesn’t happen.

Dying at your desk surrounded by faux walls in front of a half-finished spreadsheet while devouring a stale cookie that you’re not really tasting and thinking about how much you like TV is implausible, if not impossible. Correct?

I need to get some hobbies.

-EEK