Pickles & Dimes

Scene: Last night, bedroom

Jason, putting on chapstick: Come here.

Shauna, leans over: What?

Jason: [presses end of chapstick into Shauna's forehead, making a ring-shaped indentation] This.

Shauna: Ow! Not so hard!

Jason, laughing: Let me do the Olympic rings.

Shauna: What? All right, go ahead.

Jason, making four more indentations: These look pretty good!

Shauna: They better be symmetrical.

Jason: Oh no! One’s already disappearing!

Shauna: Work faster, Olympic boy!

Jason: There.

Shauna: Awesome.

Scene: This morning, bathroom

Shauna: Hey, I have a red scratch on my forehead!

Jason: Let me see.

Shauna: Right there.

Jason: Yep.

Shauna: It’s not from the Olympic rings, is it?

Jason: No! Although I would like to hear you explain it that way to your new coworkers. “Oh, this scratch? It’s from the Olympic rings.”

We went to our first Twins game of the season on Tuesday. Because we were so excited, we got there right as the gates opened, grabbed some Dome dogs and made our way to our seats to watch batting practice. Amid the children’s seagalling cries of, “Here! Here!” every time a ball rolled to an outfielder, I saw a batter swing and the ball crack off the bat. “Hey, that’s not good,” I said through a mouthful of hot dog. “That’s coming here.”

And it was. In slo-mo, I saw the ball coming closer, saw my hands full with the hot dog and a soda, heard the people around us suck in their breath, and made a last-second decision to avoid having the ball implanted into my cheekbone.

I ducked and immediately heard a loud thump. When I looked up, no one was rushing to grab the ball. In fact, no one was moving at all and no one was saying anything. I thought, “Did I get hit and not even realize it? Is someone trying to find the words to tell me I’m missing my right eye?”

Then Janice, the security person for our section, said, “It’s in your coat.”

And there, nestled in my coat, which was sitting directly on the seat in front of me, sat the baseball.

I’m not saying that the fact my coat caught a ball had anything to do with it, but the Twins went on to overcome a 5-3 deficit with two outs in the 9th and won 6-5. Draw your own conclusion.

Yesterday, Jason took me to CiCi’s Pizza. We had been wanting to go there ever since we saw the commercial featuring macaroni & cheese pizza. Pizza with macaroni & cheese – could there be anything better?

We arrived and the cashier introduced herself and the two buffet cooks, one of whom delivered each new pizza with a booming incantation: “Spicy pepperoni at the buffet! This one’s like Bobby & Whitney, like Tina Turner – it’ll bite you back!”

We loaded up our plates with pepperoni, cheesy alfredo, sausage. Delicious. We went back for seconds. “How you doing, miss?” the buffet man called out. “Sloppy joe pizza fresh for you!” Jason came back to the table, excited. “This one’s buffalo chicken!” he exclaimed. And it was; it tasted just like a buffalo wing. I stopped eating the crusts to make more room for pizza. I went up again for a slice of the buffalo chicken. Wonderful. I was aware that I was eating way too fast, but every time I thought I was finished, a new pizza came out. “Fresh garlic bread on the buffet!” sang the buffet dude. “We had some cornbread, but you’re too late. Take this instead and put it on your plate!”

And then, as I folded up my napkin and pushed away my plate, I heard the call: “Fresh macaroni & cheese pizza at the buffet!” I had to try it.

It was just OK.

But that may have been because I had already eaten nine pieces too many.

So my incontinence project at work (there’s a sentence you don’t hear every day) has ramped up the insanity. On Monday, after receiving news that the 30-page communications audit will be ballooning from 7 companies (normally 3 or 4) to 11, and after finding out one of the companies just launched a brand-new website yesterday (after I already spent 3 hours analyzing the old one), I thought, “I quit this job.” HA.

But then yesterday they asked me to call one of the companies and order a product from them in order to assess their customer service process. So I had to concoct a ridiculous cover story:

Customer Service Rep: Hi, thanks for choosing Company X. How can I help you?

Me: Hi, my father recently had prostate surgery. His doctor said that he may experience some temporary incontinence. Can you help me decide what product to order?

CSR: I can send you our catalog!

Me: OK, well, I really need to order something today and I went to Target, but was confused by all of the products. (This is half true. I DID go to Target with a coworker and took notes on marketing copy and price points while he snapped photos of packaging. We also went to Walmart, where the clientele is less than ideal in our area and someone had actually opened a package of underwear and casually draped a pair on the shelf. My job is glamorous.)

CSR: OK, will your father be able to change himself or will someone be helping him?

Me (Oh my God, I’m using my own dad as my cover story.): Um, my mom will help him. (Oh great, now I just involved my mom. I am a horrible daughter.)

CSR: Can your father stand or will he be lying down when changing?

Me (This is horrible.): He can stand.

CSR: How much leakage is he experiencing?

Me (I am going to Hell for this): Um, I’m not sure.

CSR: Well, you can choose from briefs, underwear or pads.

Me: Which do you recommend?

CSR:: For his situation, I’d recommend the variety pack of pads.

Me (Yep, I’m definitely going to Hell for this): Sounds good!

And that was my day. How was yours?