Because Monday

Today I decided to have a smoothie for lunch.

Upon ordering, I asked if they could make me a dairy-free smoothie. The young man said “sure, that’ll be $7.95,” to which I replied “I haven’t told you which smoothie yet…” This should’ve been my first clue that this was going to be a rough situation.

After a while, they called my name. But once I walked over to retrieve my smoothie, the same young man handed it to me with a nonchalant “it has milk in it, is that cool?” and then he turned around to go make another smoothie! – as if it was in fact cool that my dairy-free smoothie contained dairy.

“Wait, no, sorry I needed it to be dairy-free,” I said sheepishly as if I was the one who needed to earn back his trust. He said, – I kid you not – “there’s really not that much dairy in it. My mom drinks these and she’s lactose intolerant.”

 

Normally in these situations I just blankly stare at people, awkwardly laugh, apologize again and flee the building, all the while mentally spewing terribly clever comebacks but not vocalizing them.

But not today. I’d only had a mere three cups of coffee at this point in the day and I was in no mood to sit idly by and be slightly poisoned.

I said, through a gloriously condescending smile, “It sorta sounds like your mom may actually be tolerant of lactose.” Evidently I was smiling a little too genuinely because he laughed and let it roll off like a joke.

After his laughter faded, he looked down and we stood there in silence for a few seconds until again making eye contact. He then looked at the smoothie on the counter. Then back at me. Then back at the smoothie. Then back at me. I was experiencing a real-life Old Spice commercial. I gathered from his baffled, darting eyes that he expected me to just take the smoothie and leave. He verified this assumption when he began looking behind me at other people in line and waving them forward with a nod of his head.

I did not budge. And I refused to be the one to ask for another smoothie. I wanted him to offer it. Not because I am entitled, but because I am a psychopath. A hungry, lactose intolerant psychopath.

I stood there, head tilted like an adorably annoyed puppy, waiting for a chance to lock eyes with him and silently coerce him into making me a new smoothie. It took him what felt like years to finally realize I was not leaving with a smoothie that could send me to my grave (but only a little bit to my grave). “I mean… can I get you something else?”

 

VICTORY. I never win these situations. I was elated, but also knew I had to keep my cool. I couldn’t let him in on the fact that I never win these situations. For all he knows, I always win. I always get what I want (in terms of smoothies and virtually nothing else).

I ordered my new & improved smoothie (a different flavor – just to be safe) and again asked if it could be dairy-free. He said “sure!” and by his blind willingness I could tell that he didn’t even realize we had a situation.

 

 

Long story short, I finally got my dairy-free (as far as I know) smoothie and with it, a sense of conquest. When it comes to frozen treats, I will never give in. Even if my opponent is unaware of the battle. The lesson here is probably to lower my intake of caffeine before noon, but regardless, I won this situation.

Faded

How was your day today? Mine was swell. With one exception: I gave a presentation during class today and it fell flat. Pun intended. I’ll explain later.

If you’ve ever wondered what goes through a girl’s head in the moments immediately before she passes out, keep readin’:


I’m doing great. Look how interested these fools look at what I’m saying. I’m killing this. It’s a tad warm in here though… It’s alright I’ll be done soon.

Wow. Seriously toasty. Like, I don’t remember agreeing to give this presentation on the surface of the sun. Did the fire sprinklers just go off? Oh, no, it’s just me sweating. I’ll ignore it.

Why is everyone all of sudden blurred versions of themselves? Am I drunk? Wait. No. I can’t be. It’s 3 pm.

Man I need some water.

Me: “Sorry.. I’m gonna get some water.”

*********************************************************************************************************

Ok now I know someone just turned the light off because it’s pitch black in here. Is this a practical joke? Where’s Ashton?

Is my life flashing before my eyes? At this point I should be reliving all my favorite moments from my life with those I love, right? So why am I only seeing Flo the Progressive chick and Jennifer Lawrence’s 2011 Oscars dress? What does this say about me?

Oh dear I am definitely on the ground.

FLASHBACK to being in the gym at basketball practice in high school. Still on the ground. But that would be nothing new.

BACK to the present. Where am I? Did someone just chuck a brick at my face because wow. Pain. Wait why am I on the ground? Who the hell are these people? OH GOD I’m in class aren’t I….

Yep. There’s my professor, hovering over me, confused, panicked, hesitant.

Prof: “Katie are you ok..?”

Me: “Yeah I’m sorry about that. Public speaking, am I right?”

Prof: “Aren’t you a PR major…?”

Me: “Did I get an A?”

*chuckles*
Prof: “Why don’t you go lie down somewhere? There’s no need to finish today.”

Me: “Ok cool because that fainting episode was a lot more exciting than my presentation was going to be.”

Prof: “I’m gonna pretend you said that while you were still unconscious.”


I got up and took a bow (I didn’t actually take a bow) and the class applauded as I left the room (this actually did happen. They clapped. Like, kill me now.)

So the lesson here is: kids, stay in school. Unless your heart rate starts skyrocketing and you feel yourself overheating, in which case you should def leave school for the day.

*but don’t expect BJs to comp your pizookie out of pity. They simply will not understand how much you deserve a free pizookie today.

Knock-knock

Mornings are my favorite time of day. But just to be clear, when I say “mornings,” I mean the hour I have to myself to lay in bed, drink coffee, eat eggs and unabashedly watch Broad City. Everything after that doesn’t count as “morning.” It’s just “day” to me. And throughout the day, there is one unavoidable social exchange that I despise more than parking garage elevator rides (for context, parking garage elevator rides usually consist of me accidentally forgetting to turn off my Pandora blasting Matt Bomer serenading the strangers around me with not-so-ambiguous questions like “How Does It Feel.” These are the longest 14 seconds of my day).

But alas, there is something worse to follow.

 

I know it seems like I overanalyze everything, and that’s almost definitely true. Most social interactions do not have to be nearly as awkward as I make them. However, there is one daily occurrence that I am sure is a universal struggle and that, my friends, is the unpredictable drudgery of door-holding. This epic assessment of human awkwardness is most prevalent at the end of long hallways…or parking garages…or literally anywhere with doors.
 
How long do you wait for the person behind you to catch up before letting the door close and walking off? If you wait too long, said person has to do that classy skip-sprint dance number to the door so you don’t have to uncomfortably stand there for what feels like hours. On the other hand, if you let the door fall without waiting at all, you’re just a criminal – especially if you subtly shoot an instinctive glance behind you to justify your decision. All of us walking behind you saw you briefly turn around; we know you saw us.

And if you’re the one behind, do you keep saying “thank you” as the person in front of you holds open four consecutive doors? Why does every building in Dallas have so many doors anyway? No one needs that much privacy or security. “Thank you. Thank you. Ha, thank you. Oh…thank you.” You sound like an indebted broken record. And what if they’re the kind of OCD person who has to verbally acknowledge your thankfulness:

Door #1: “Thank you.” “You’re welcome.” Door #2: “Thanks.” “Welcome.” Door #3: “Oh, thank you.” “No problem.” Door #4: “Wow, so many damn doors, thank you.” “Finally, we’ve made it to the Promised Land. You’re welcome.”

It’s annoying to imagine either of these scenarios, but you also can’t just walk through without expressing gratitude. According to Emily Post, that would be discourteous. So you must decide: would you rather be awkward or rude? If you’re like me, it’s not a decision per se. It’s more of a way of life. Awkwardness is an art I’ve long perfected. So it may be in your best social interest to simply be rude and remain thankyou-less – unless I’m the one holding the door, in which case you’d better sincerely thank me and tip me for each door.

 

Also, as a woman, I’m not sure exactly what the protocol is anyway. I hate to think I would just expect a man to hold the door open for me every time I approach a doorway, but when I end up holding the door open for a man, I nonetheless silently curse him and his family as he apathetically slithers through the door I so graciously held for him. But, like… I’m a feminist. In conclusion, doorways really distort all my beliefs and I am once again left questioning my identity. I don’t lose much sleep over this, though. Door-holding is like Manhattan real estate – there are no rules.

There’s no getting around this phenomenon since most establishments have – in more or less patronizing tones – laughed off my suggestion to use a row of those really cool, floor-length beads instead of actual doors (you’ll be sorry one day when those come back in style. You’ll all be sorry). I guess we’re stuck holding doors open and accepting doors being held open for us. So the next time you proudly stride through an automatic doorway at Target, think of how lucky you are that you have me to remind you of these things.