Well, you probably recognize that headine... I ripped it off from Ron White. And if you know me like I think you know me, you know I love me some tater salad. Ron is about as subtle as chainsaw, and I must admit I have my moments like that, too.
In fact, I had one Friday night. And it was a doozie.
Now, if you've read my "Poop Is Funny" blog, you already know that there are very few topics that are off-limits at our office... in fact, I can't think of a single one. Nothing (I repeat, nothing) is sacred. So when one of our favorite co-workers showed up at work last spring with a huge bite on the back of his arm, there were questions. Lots and lots of questions. Suffice it to say that after a lame excuse of "a tree limb fell on me" (which we were soooo not buying, because none of us has ever seen a tree with an overbite), we finally coaxed out of him that it was indeed his wife. Apparently, after an evening of imbibition, she came at him unprovoked as he brushed his teeth, and proceeded to take a chomp at the back of his arm. It left the most kaleidoscopic bruise I've ever seen in my life... seriously, it was like tie-dye... various purples, blues, blacks, yellows and reds, all jockeying for position across the triceps.
Let me say that our poor friend has endured hours of ribbing about the now infamous biting incident over the past eight or nine months. He has been so good-natured about it... what a great sport. Really. Heck, it's not personal or malicious. You're not "one of the gang" unless you can handle merciless taunting and teasing about an assortment of inappropriate topics that are better left outside the workplace. It's a lawsuit waiting to happen. We like it that way... We go to extreme lengths to cultivate that sort of environment... We want to make sure it stays that way. Frankly, it's what keeps all of us loving our jobs and gives us the will to get up and come in to work, day after day. I mean, trucking is neither glamorous nor particularly fun. But the people r-u-l-e.
So we've established that (A) We are ruthless, and even the more so to our own inner circle and (B) To exist within the circle, you must be either thick-skinned or extremely forgiving. And there should, apparently, be one more bylaw to running with this crowd: (C) Tell your spouse / cohabitant / inamorato about all the crap you take at work... because they're going to hear about it at the office Christmas party, anyway. And if they hear about it there (instead of from you) and it catches them unaware, it ain't gonna be pretty. You could find yourself sleeping on the couch for a week.
Let's get to the 2007 party, then. This is where it gets good. I made the phenomenal mistake of referencing said biting incident to the biter, herself, in the course of normal conversation... in front of no less than ten people. Oh, yes, I did. She did not find it one bit humorous, either. And you should have seen the horrified look on her poor husband's face; it ran the gamut of emotions: Astonished. Apologetic. Mortified. Beat down. One faded into the next, just like the colors of that big, ugly bruise. I was the proverbial turd in the punchbowl. All of a sudden, the music scratched to a halt, all conversation ceased, a giant spotlight shone brightly down on me alone, and the crickets began to chirp... Total silence as I crammed my size 9 foot in my mouth. And in that moment of profound awkwardness, the biter looked at her crimson-faced husband and said, "It's time to go". Gulp. Boy, do I know how to clear a room...
Well, naturally, it's my turn on the hot seat at work now... Amid the snickers and winks, I've been admonished for my 'biting' comments. I still can't explain what happened to my filter (or lack thereof) that night; it was the most natural thing in the world to bring up the bite... we've been talking about it for months, it's the stuff office legends are made of. And within the past few days, we've told "the rest of the story" dozens of times. I've apologized to the husband tenfold and still can't manage to look him square in the eye. I probably never will. My girlfriends think it's the most hysterical thing ever (yes, there have been high-fives, they consider it kismet) but I still feel ugly. There's definitely a lesson to be learned... well, several, actually... at least one for each party involved. Wives: Don't take yourselves too seriously. Your man will really take a beating if you emasculate him in front of his office peeps; they won't let him forget who's wearing the pants at his house. Husbands: Grow a set and keep your wives in the loop that your co-workers are hooting it up at her expense and yours. Explain to her that it's not personal. It's totally not. Bystanders: Keep your big freakin' trap shut and remember that the office Christmas party is no place for fun. Oh, yeah, and everyone else: No biting. We should have all learned that by the age of 4.
In fact, I had one Friday night. And it was a doozie.
Now, if you've read my "Poop Is Funny" blog, you already know that there are very few topics that are off-limits at our office... in fact, I can't think of a single one. Nothing (I repeat, nothing) is sacred. So when one of our favorite co-workers showed up at work last spring with a huge bite on the back of his arm, there were questions. Lots and lots of questions. Suffice it to say that after a lame excuse of "a tree limb fell on me" (which we were soooo not buying, because none of us has ever seen a tree with an overbite), we finally coaxed out of him that it was indeed his wife. Apparently, after an evening of imbibition, she came at him unprovoked as he brushed his teeth, and proceeded to take a chomp at the back of his arm. It left the most kaleidoscopic bruise I've ever seen in my life... seriously, it was like tie-dye... various purples, blues, blacks, yellows and reds, all jockeying for position across the triceps.
Let me say that our poor friend has endured hours of ribbing about the now infamous biting incident over the past eight or nine months. He has been so good-natured about it... what a great sport. Really. Heck, it's not personal or malicious. You're not "one of the gang" unless you can handle merciless taunting and teasing about an assortment of inappropriate topics that are better left outside the workplace. It's a lawsuit waiting to happen. We like it that way... We go to extreme lengths to cultivate that sort of environment... We want to make sure it stays that way. Frankly, it's what keeps all of us loving our jobs and gives us the will to get up and come in to work, day after day. I mean, trucking is neither glamorous nor particularly fun. But the people r-u-l-e.
So we've established that (A) We are ruthless, and even the more so to our own inner circle and (B) To exist within the circle, you must be either thick-skinned or extremely forgiving. And there should, apparently, be one more bylaw to running with this crowd: (C) Tell your spouse / cohabitant / inamorato about all the crap you take at work... because they're going to hear about it at the office Christmas party, anyway. And if they hear about it there (instead of from you) and it catches them unaware, it ain't gonna be pretty. You could find yourself sleeping on the couch for a week.
Let's get to the 2007 party, then. This is where it gets good. I made the phenomenal mistake of referencing said biting incident to the biter, herself, in the course of normal conversation... in front of no less than ten people. Oh, yes, I did. She did not find it one bit humorous, either. And you should have seen the horrified look on her poor husband's face; it ran the gamut of emotions: Astonished. Apologetic. Mortified. Beat down. One faded into the next, just like the colors of that big, ugly bruise. I was the proverbial turd in the punchbowl. All of a sudden, the music scratched to a halt, all conversation ceased, a giant spotlight shone brightly down on me alone, and the crickets began to chirp... Total silence as I crammed my size 9 foot in my mouth. And in that moment of profound awkwardness, the biter looked at her crimson-faced husband and said, "It's time to go". Gulp. Boy, do I know how to clear a room...
Well, naturally, it's my turn on the hot seat at work now... Amid the snickers and winks, I've been admonished for my 'biting' comments. I still can't explain what happened to my filter (or lack thereof) that night; it was the most natural thing in the world to bring up the bite... we've been talking about it for months, it's the stuff office legends are made of. And within the past few days, we've told "the rest of the story" dozens of times. I've apologized to the husband tenfold and still can't manage to look him square in the eye. I probably never will. My girlfriends think it's the most hysterical thing ever (yes, there have been high-fives, they consider it kismet) but I still feel ugly. There's definitely a lesson to be learned... well, several, actually... at least one for each party involved. Wives: Don't take yourselves too seriously. Your man will really take a beating if you emasculate him in front of his office peeps; they won't let him forget who's wearing the pants at his house. Husbands: Grow a set and keep your wives in the loop that your co-workers are hooting it up at her expense and yours. Explain to her that it's not personal. It's totally not. Bystanders: Keep your big freakin' trap shut and remember that the office Christmas party is no place for fun. Oh, yeah, and everyone else: No biting. We should have all learned that by the age of 4.
1 comments:
As one who has heard of the many hijinks at your office, I felt the need to post. I have NEVER heard the biting story. EVER. How could B. Dav. forget to tell me about this?!
Your blog is great. Maybe I can join you ladies for lunch one day and hear great stories from two points of view!
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