Last week, in the midst of my steadfast commitment to having Whole Foods sushi for as many meals as possible (I’m in a deep and meaningful relationship with their brown rice, salmon and avocado rolls), I found myself fresh off a long run and starved – sitting in front of a beautiful tray of light brown, green and orangey pink.
Now, I’m nowhere near above eating sushi with my fingers, but I also had a container of pineapple chunks swimming in juice on the table – and I had to eat and type – so fingers weren’t gonna do it this time. But, as the drool started to drip onto the floor, blood sugar dropping by the second, I realized I hadn’t picked up any flatware.
My first thought was to go downstairs, but I’d already unpacked my phone and my laptop (and plugged them both into the wall) from my bag that contained my wallet and other importantables, so – not wanting to pack everything up again and haul it downstairs, I looked around for a better solution.
Lo and behold, a few feet from my table was an actual sushi bar…with a big bucket of chopsticks behind the counter. They were closed (because most people, ridiculously, don’t eat sushi for breakfast), but I figured it wouldn’t be a big deal to reach across and grab a pair.
Those of you who’ve met me in person know that I’m not exactly what you would call ‘tall’ or ‘leggy’. Having given up all hope of cracking 5’2″ back in the 10th grade, I usually get saddled with ‘shrimp’, ‘short stack’ or ‘and what will your daughter be having’. All that is to say when I got to the counter and it came up to my chest – and was at least 3 feet deep – I knew there was no way I was going to get my chopsticks easily.
First, I climbed onto a stool and sat down. Couldn’t reach the bucket.
Then, I knelt on the stool. Still couldn’t reach it.
So, I tucked one foot under myself and half stood on the stool. And finally reached the chopsticks with most of my body draped across the counter.
Sweet success now mine and the eating imminent, I jumped down from the chair as inconspicuously as I could…and almost rammed into a monster of a man – we’re talking ‘he could’ve been on the Patriots’ defensive line’ big. He was not happy. In fact, it didn’t look like he’d showcased any joy in at least 10 years.
In a sinister, holier than thou, deep and eerily quiet voice, he said this: “That was not cool.”
I responded in kind with: “I beg your whosie whatsie?” It wasn’t planned intelligencia, it just rolled right off my tongue.
“Putting your shoes on someone’s seat.” If he’d been Greek, he would’ve spat, ‘ptew’ as he uttered my blasphemy.
Quite honestly I’d had it up to here with his self-importance. “Okaaaaay,” I said and raised my eyebrows towards the stool. “I’m pretty sure it’s gonna live.”
He gave me the evilest look, said, “You know, we have those [pointing to my chopsticks] downstairs,” and walked away.
Shoes, Asses and Problem Solving
I sat down and ate my breakfast. Mulling over the fact that I didn’t step on the counter, but on the stool – where your ass goes.
You know what they say, one person’s brilliant, inspired, resourceful problem solving – another’s total disregard for the rules and manners of one Miss Emily Post. I get it though, genius is seldom recognized for what it is.
I’m a problem solver by trade, birth and the sheer drive to get what I need. And while I make it a practice not to step on people to get the job done, I’m not above stepping on things.
Image credit: modomatic (Did you look at the picture? I mean really look at it? Because what that guy’s doing with his chopsticks is much, much worse than what I did with mine. I’m just sayin’…)