Food Fun

We've all done it. We've all done stupid things that caused us to end up wearing food. I can think of a few times, but I think it happens so often that I only remember the really outstanding food-related accidents.

I had at least two of these when I worked for Kimball. One was during lunch with my friends at a local Mexican eatery. This pesky fly decided he liked Mexican cuisine as well; as he kept flying around our food. I hate flies. I just know they've landed on some "poop de jour" just before landing on my food. I kept shooing this thing away with my hand, but he kept coming back.

I shooed once too often. Just as my friend DeeDee was lifting a fork to her mouth, the fly returned. As he flew in front of her fork, I did a back-swat. Of course the fly just flew away, but I ended up hitting DeeDee's forkful of food with the back of my hand. That swift move neatly deposted all that nice red Mexican food onto DeeDee's chest.

I had to laugh. It was always a running joke that either DeeDee or I would end up wearing some of our lunch. For some reason we had not yet slopped any food on us, so it was inevitable.

One other time I was getting ready to give some Windows classes to some of our folks at the 30th Street plant. I went to lunch; and as I usually did, got a refill of iced tea before leaving. I had just enough time to make it to the class. I got into the car and put my huge cup of iced tea in the seat beside me. When I grabbed the seat belt, I realized I had sat on it. So I lifted my rump to pull the belt out from under me. As I did that, the iced tea fell on the seat right where I was sitting. When I sat down, the lid popped off and I was drenched.

I was a half-hour from home and class was due to start in five minutes. All I could do was tie a sweater around my soaked butt and teach the class. I did explain to them why I was drenched, but these guys knew me and nothing I did ever surprised them.

After Kimball, I went to work for a small technology company in the same town. On my second day there, I was sporting a new ivory sweater. At lunch, I went to one of the downtown eateries where they were serving meatloaf. When the waitress served the meatloaf special to me, I grabbed the ketchup and squirted a very generous supply of the red stuff on my meatloaf. Then I saw my utensils on the other side of the table.

Instead of doing the smart thing and getting up to retrieve my eating tools, I simply reached over the table to pick them up. This swift move deposited my...well, you know...right in that big pile of ketchup. I had a huge circle of ketchup on my chest in the worst spot possible. Again, I was more than a half-hour from home. All I could do is slump to hide my spot until I quickly finished my lunch. Then I took off to the other side of town to a clothing store. I explained to the clerk what I had done and she let me wear the replacement out of the store (after paying for it, of course). Since it was basically the same color of my other sweater, no one even noticed.

...and now I'm queasy from thinking about meatloaf and Mexican food. I guess this stomach bug IS still with me. I've gotta run.

Mark-isms

Remember I told you that my little brother Mark has provided me with plenty of stories? It's time for a few short ones.


BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

Mom and I were hanging clothes on the line when my brother Mark (maybe 11 at the time) came out of the house with a panicked look on his face. His right hand was covering his right ear. Of course, we were thinking, "What now?"

"Mom! Mom!...I got a fly in my ear!", he yelled. Mom had the perfect answer. "Well, let it out, Stupid!!!".

Mark took his hand away from his ear and the fly simply flew out. We didn't even bother asking him WHY he was holding the fly in his ear.


BRIDGE OUT!

When we were very young, we must've been staying with our Aunt Rita. She and Mom were non-identical twins. Aunt Rita was a fun aunt, but she also loved to scare the bejeezus out of us.

Mark was just a little squirt--maybe three years old. He and Mike were in the back seat of Aunt Rita's car and I was sitting in front. We were riding around in the countryside, and came upon a collapsed bridge. It was just one of those little one-lane country road bridges and had the typical warning sign for "BRIDGE OUT". Well, Aunt Rita turned the car around to go back the other way; but then got this look on her face. She put the car in reverse and started backing up to the bridge.

We thought she'd lost her marbles. The louder we screamed, the faster she backed up to the bridge. We screamed for what seemed like an eternity, and just before we got to the bridge and the big gaping hole, she stopped the car. Aunt Rita then put the car into forward, and drove away from the bridge in a cloud of gravel dust. I remember hearing this maniacal laughter from her, so I know she really enjoyed the scare she put into us.

It took all three of us a few minutes to catch our breath and calm our hearts down. None of us said a word--until Mark piped up with, "I like being scared, 'cause it feels so good when it quits!".


Bonjour, Class!

Our music education at Center Grove Elementary was cheerfully provided by Mrs. Hunter. Although she was a very nice lady, she was a pretty bad music teacher. When it was time for our weekly music class, Mrs. Hunter would push her little cart of stuff into our class. (I don't recall that she ever used anything off of that cart, but she always had a dried sunflower on it.) Anyway, we would start the class with...


Good morning to you!
Good morning to you!
We're all in our places
With sun-shiny faces.
Oh, this is the way
To start a new day!

God, we hated that stupid song.

Then Mrs. Hunter would choose someone from the class to come up to the blackboard. He or she would be instructed to draw "100" on the board. Then we were to turn the "100" into a sunflower. She never explained the reason for this strange lesson, but it was easy and it made her happy to see that we knew what a sunflower looked like. Every week was the same. Sing the dumb song and draw a sunflower. I'm sure we must've done something else during these classes, but I don't remember what it was.

One week it was my brother Mark's turn for music class. As always, Mrs. Hunter had Mark's class sing the dreaded song and then chose someone to draw the sunflower. As she was pushing her cart out of the door, as always, she tried to give the class one last piece of culture. She always said her goodbye as, "Bonjour, class!". Then out the door she'd go.

Well, this time when Mrs. Hunter bade the class "Bonjour" in her finest French accent and turned to go out the door, that goofy brother of mine said (and in a loud gruff voice)..."BONE-JORE!!!!". Mrs. Hunter wheeled around and demanded to know "WHO SAID THAT????".

Twenty-nine fingers pointed in Mark's direction. I don't know what his punishment was, but it probably involved a principal and a plank of wood.