Raindrops on roses

Being as it is that Harold is in Bangkok this week, I though I might go a full week at work without having an extremely awkward moment. But, as usual, I was wrong. 

So my mom sent me a package of really amazing sugar cookies here to Israel. My mom seriously makes the best sugar cookies I've ever eaten and getting a box of those brings all the comfort and happiness one could really ask for in life. They got me through the tough spots on the mission. If I were to start singing about my favorite things during a thunder storm, these cookies would so be one of the first things I mention. But the cookies always come with a caveat: I have to share them or no more cookies. This is not always easy for me, but I do it because I want more cookies. I'm selfish, but I'm no idiot.

I decided that I would share with some of my favorite people at work. Since most everyone is gone this week to conferences in either Istanbul or Bangkok, I couldn't have planned it out better. Fewer people to share with. I work with a fabulous woman named Karen who is originally from LA but immigrated here when she met her now husband, an Israeli named Ofer (who is amazing and definitely worth immigrating for, if you ask me). I have worked a lot with her and she is an absolute blast. She seriously keeps me sane and I really love her. So after much thought, I went into her office and gave her a cookie. She deserved it. She tried the cookie and, of course, loved it. She finished most of it, but a small piece if it remained when she had to take a phone call. I went back to my little reject desk a few doors down and started working when a few minutes later this really crazy woman I work with, Orly, came into my office holding a baggy with a piece of one of the sugar cookies my mom had sent. She came in with a disgusted look on her face and exclaimed while holding up the sugar cookie, "This is disgusting."

My first reactions were 1) confusion that this crazy woman (and oh, she is crazy--I've got stories) somehow got her hands on one of my precious cookies 2) absolute rage that this beloved cookie was being wasted on such a unappreciative nut bag and 3) shock that someone wouldn't like the cookie in the first place. 

She continued in her rant. 

Orly: "This is disgusting, Erin. This is poison."

She dramatically threw the cookie in the trash can near me. I sat silently with a shocked and slightly crazed smile across my face as I fought every urge to bolt across the room and tackle her the ground and pull her arm across her back until she took it all back and apologized for being so rude.

Orly (still grimacing): "This is disgusting. Where did you get that thing?"

Me (holding back the rage): "Wh-where did you get that, Orly?" 

Orly: "Karen had it on her desk and I took it while she was on the phone. Where did it come from?"

Me: "My mom."

Orly (stammering a bit now): "Oh, I thought you got it upstairs of something. But who made it?"

Me: "My mom."

Orly (feeling awkward and confused and looking for a way out): "Well, how did you get it?"

Me: "I asked her to send them to me because I love them so very much. It's hard to be alone in a foreign country and her packages bring me great joy."

At this point, any normal human being would feel so stupid that they would somehow apologize, mutter something unintelligible while leaving the room as fast as they could. Oh, but not Orly. She needed to justify herself and continued:

"Erin, this is poison. You should tell her to stop sending it to you."

Excuse me? She said this as if everything that was wrong with me was somehow linked to this piece of a cookie she was pointing to in the trash. It was like I was some self-inflicted mutant on a daily diet of toxic waste.  I felt defensive and a surprised by her rudeness. 

I wanted to dig out the last remaining piece, shove it in my mouth right in front of her and say, "If this is poison, well, kill me now!" I wanted to point out that at least I wasn't crazy and weird (hey, no comments on that one, guys).

It was like that moment in the movies when all these fantasies begin to flash in the main character's brain about how to really "show" the offending person who's boss. But like in the movies, I never manage to do or say anything that really merits a really great theme song and a close up shot of my confident and triumphant face. I usually just stammer a bit and try to escape the situation.

Instead, I put on my sweet smile and sincerely thanked her for her "care and concern for my well-being" and assured her that I would manage "just fine." She opened her mouth like she was going to continue in her rant, then the awkwardness of the moment FINALLY hit her with all the force of a grand piano falling from the sky and she left as quickly as she could muttering something unintelligible.

I turned back to my computer stunned into a motionless state. I continued working and tried to forget what had just happened. I had to run into someone else's office and left my office a while later and passed Orly in the hall. Orly was so visibly awkward as she passed me and smiled uncomfortably.  Then it dawned on me. If I act like nothing is wrong and act super nice to her, it'll drive her nuts. So I smiled a friendly smile and waved a little cute wave. It killed her.

So it's become a little game for me. The nicer and sweeter I act towards her, the more unnerved she becomes. 

It's great. Making her feel awkward is quickly becoming one of my favorite things worthy of singing about. Forget whiskers on kittens and warm woolen mittens. Give me my mom's sugar cookies and control over a large dose of awkwardness and I'm one happy camper.