Archive | September, 2013

Egg Whites, Please?

23 Sep

Sitting with some friends at brunch the other day, I silently discovered a deep seeded problem I have. I am terrified to ask for what I want. Not simply, “I am a little nervous to voice my desires” but rather, “if I say what I want people will hate me and reject me and I’ll be all alone.” What’s really kooky is that this thought process came up over an egg white omelette.

Realistically I know that wanting egg whites rather than the full egg is a minor change. It probably isn’t very tough for a kitchen staff to separate the yolk out, but what if they hate me now? In my mind it goes down like this:

– I ask for the egg whites instead of regular egg.
– The waitress thinks I’m pretentious and instantly loathes me.
– She goes into the kitchen to give them my order and a long winded conversation about what a pain I am ensues.
– They all laugh at me and spit in my food (which I now accept and somehow feel I deserve).
– The entire restaurant staff goes home at the end of their shift and tells everyone they know and love how horrible and pompous I am.
– People see me on the street and laugh at me, pointing and sneering.
– The media catches wind of the populous’ general hatred of me and it becomes commonplace to abandon me as a friend and loved one.
– My community decides I am a plague upon their well adjusted lives and casts me out.
– Word of my banishment spreads far and wide; now, with nowhere to go I am alone and helpless, I become a nomad, traveling from place to place with only my neurotic pets as company.
– Eventually the animals turn against me and no longer view me as their pack leader. They will soon leave on their own journey, leaving me to talk to rocks and trees.
– I become the crazy long haired dirty woman that people only know for her tendency to sway back and forth on park benches while trying to talk to pigeons.

Sensing that this thought process was perhaps a little dramatic and unreasonable, I worked up the nerve to ask if they offered egg whites for their omelets. The waitress smiled and said, “Of course! Not a problem at all.”

I’m nuts.

Revolving Doors

13 Sep

I have always hated revolving doors. I have never really been able to pinpoint why, but something about the pressure to keep moving… I think I’m onto something there.

Maybe a revolving door is like life. It’s one opportunity after another after another after another and so on. There are all these chances to jump in, but once I do, I have to move quickly because it’s going to keep moving. The worst is when I let it spin for too long without acting and end up looking like a special needs cat watching a box fan (my GIF of the day).

My fear is always that the door will hit the back of my feet, but really, what would be so horrible about that? True, it might hurt a little, but it wouldn’t permanently maim or disfigure me. The anticipation of the door catching up with me is really the part that is scary.

I can stop the door I suppose, but then I’m just in there, stuck.

Or perhaps the fear is my lack of control over the door once I’m in it. It has a momentum and weight to it that make it feel in charge. Plus, if someone gets in behind me, they are contributing to the speed of it now too. I really hate when the person behind me gets in the same compartment thinking there is room for both of us. Forced upright spooning isn’t a good look for anyone.

The other trick to a revolving door is jumping out at the right time, otherwise I have to rotate all the way around again, thus, not getting where I actually need to go.

Oh the allegory just goes on and on doesn’t it? I think the root of my hatred towards these spinning portals might be based in how easily they make themselves metaphorical, like forks in the road, soaring eagles or a Whitman’s Sampler®.

Maybe a revolving door is just a revolving door and I need to get myself together and stop looking for philosophical meaning at my local federal credit union.

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