Have you ever had one of those days, or a sequence of days where your life plays out like a sitcom? My sitcom life started last night and carried over to today. It’s strange to stroll through life with inaudible theme music and deliver your lines. Definitely strange.
In real life, people don’t call out to each other on the street or strike up conversations with their delivery boy. They just don’t. In real life, people have iPods and no time for social interaction. Not today, my friends. Not today. Like I said, it started last night when I came home and couldn’t find my new cat. I adopted a two-year-old black cat, named him Cee Lo Green and brought him home on Wednesday night. As soon as the latch on the carrier was lifted, he bolted into hiding and I didn’t see him until late Thursday night. I searched everywhere for him when I got home from work and had myself convinced that he had somehow escaped my locked, second floor apartment. I put out a can of tuna and vowed to deal with the horrid smell until the cat came out to investigate. It worked. He made an appearance somewhere after 9pm last night and had a sudden burst of bravery, exploring every nook of my home.
I never got a chance to show him his food dish or litter box when I brought him home the previous night, and I assume he couldn’t find them because he hopped up on the couch to sit down, stared at me and peed. A lot. It’s a leather couch so the cleanup wasn’t terrible. Just icky. And I’m sure there are crevices I couldn’t reach, which is actually a recurring theme in my life (uncomfortable fat girl joke). So, my sitcom life started with my very disappointed utterance of “CEE LO GREEN!” with a complimentary “hands-on-hips” pose. And, cut to commercial.
For dinner, I ordered Jimmy Johns and waited happily for the “freaky fast” delivery. After about 20 minutes there was a knock on my door so I shuffled across the apartment in my giant blue sweatpants and giant blue t-shirt (wearing the same color head to toe is never acceptable, not even for pajamas. I must have been overcome with grief about my lost cat) boasting my status as an honorary member of my friend’s family and begging the question, “whereinthehellisroselake?” I pulled open the door to an overly cheerful “Hullo!” and a youngish, attractive delivery boy. I mumbled the requisite pleasantries and was about to close the door when he said, “I am really struggling today. I turned 21 last night and I’m feeling it!” I was taken aback. I honestly don’t know what made him think I cared how he was feeling and/or what the events of his birthday entailed. It was like someone wrote a script for a scene and didn’t give me the rewrite. I panicked and blurted something about “congratulations” (on…surviving?) shoved a tip in his hand and closed the door. Nobody talks to their delivery guys…I mean, short of leading them to believe someone else is in the apartment so they don’t think you ordered all that food for yourself. Which of course you did.
This morning I opted to wear a hat that I picked up in Chicago. I never wear hats so I expected to be made fun of at work. What I did not expect was the barrage of compliments, backhanded or otherwise. The minute I stepped into my office I was greeted by my co-worker with, “Hey Blossom, good morning.” Followed shortly by, “What’s up, Jon Cryer?” I’m assuming the latter was referring to Jon Cryer circa 1985 (Ducky). Our senior chemist asked me why I was decked out for St. Patty’s Day so early and one of the paint-mixers on the factory floor pulled me aside to discuss my apparent hipster-status. Not ok. I also received a few, “Hey! Nice hat!” as I walked through the plant, accompanied by a wave and a smile. These things may seem like mediocre blog-fodder but they all happened within the first hour of being at work. It played out like a bouncy small town dog-walking montage where all the neighbors stop and say hello along the way. At my job, friendliness among the staff is rare and punishable by incessant mocking. It’s like a men’s locker room but with less nudity and more body odor.
After that start to the day, the rest proves to be slightly less interesting. Until I leave this paint factory and head out into the real world once again. A real world sans cheerful, if not hungover, delivery guys and a cat that hopefully hasn’t peed on anything but the litterbox all day.