“My life is just a series of awkward and humiliating moments separated by snacks.” ~Unknown
This morning, I stopped into the post office to pick up some bread and milk. Just kidding…I stopped to mail a package.
Anyway, there was only one person working at the desk and a relatively long line. After about five minutes, the woman in front me turned and asked if it would be OK if she stepped out of line for a moment to set her heavy looking package on the counter.
I smiled and told her I didn’t mind at all.
When she returned, she informed me that her daughter had just recently moved to Arizona and she was mailing her a box of duplicate Pampered Chef items she’d accidentally purchased more than once, while at different parties.
I thought about telling her the last thing my mom mailed to me were treasures from my childhood….covered in green mold and mostly broken….but I didn’t, because I’m working on improving my small talk skills.
“Obviously, I love Pampered Chef.” She said.
“Me too.” I lied….for literally no reason. “I have so much of it.” (Lie)
“What’s your favorite product?” She asked.
“Fuck.” I said. (Lie)
I have one thing from Pampered Chef. A pizza stone I bought when a neighbor hosted a party at least eight years ago and I doubt it’s the pinnacle of their product line.
What I actually said was, “Just one favorite?! There are so many.” (Lie)
She told me she had a lot of favorites too….including some kind of pan, that had some sort of foam thing and maybe a heart, I’m not really sure, I wasn’t really listening, but then she said her prized items were the knives.
That sounded good, so I told her I would have to agree. (Lie)
Apparently, those knives are pretty damn special, because she informed me she is the only person in her household allowed to use them.
I told her I was the only person in my household who ever cooked and that I doubted anyone in my family would even knew where to find a knife, let alone what to do with it if they did. (Lie)
Then she asked if I purchased often and if I knew a consultant, or just attended regular parties. Then, I panicked.
I knew that if I told her neither applied, I’d probably end up leaving there with a business card, a catalog and possibly a commitment to host a party in the very near future.
So, I told her I had a consultant. (Lie)
“That’s great! Good to have the connection. Is she local, what’s her name?”
“Fuck.” I said. (Lie)
“No, not local.” Her name is Wendy. I’ve known her since college, she lives in Kentucky.” (LIES….ALL LIES).
Then she gave me her card and told me that if I was ever interested in attending a local party and meeting some new people, to give her a call or send her an email.
“Awesome! I definitely will!” I said with enthusiasm. (Lie)
Now, I have to find a new post office.
The Suburban Primate 