People generally think of me as being a sweet little girl. And by “people” I actually mean “people who don’t know me.” Somewhere between my affinity for hair ribbons, the color pink, and my Minnie Mouse apron, I think I inadvertently lead people to think that I am a kind, gentle person that would not dare hurt a fly. I am here to tell you that this is not true. I am a mean, mean person. I revel in killing flies and bugs alike. In fact, I taunt them for a bit before actually doing the deed. “Did you know when you woke up this morning that you were going to DIE today?!?!” That is my line of choice. Lame, I know, but it’s all I can come up with when facing a spider whose fat black butt may quite possibly hold my demise.
But my cruelty isn’t limited to exoskeletons, I’ll have you know. I work at the front counter of a university Registrar’s office. Okay, hold on, let's back up a bit. I feel that what I am about to say needs prefacing. I love my job. I really do. Dealing with a few special students with their endearing quirks and their affable parents everyday rarely gets tiring, but my office family is pretty much the cat’s pajamas and they are my energy on most days.* Well, that and a mean cup (or four) of peppermint tea. For those fair few “other” days, I am left up to my own creative genius to get through all eight, drawn-out hours. This typically happens at the expense of the lovely students and alum that come to me seeking help and guidance. What perfect prey.
A few days ago a freshman came in asking about his P.E. credits. Freshmen are interesting characters. They're either still under the impression that their last eighteen years have seasoned them with all the knowledge and wisdom they'll ever need or they are still reeling with confusion as to why recess and fruit break have been cut. Freshmen are my favorites. They need a little additional help lightening up and I am more than up for the challenge. This particular freshman fell into the former of my two categories. I watched him saunter up to the counter, throw his conditioned hair back, and remove his fluorescent sunglasses too pink for Barbie herself. From the moment he walked through those double doors, the melding aromas of arrogance and Sun-In breathing trouble in my nostrils, I knew I was going to have fun with this guy.
But my cruelty isn’t limited to exoskeletons, I’ll have you know. I work at the front counter of a university Registrar’s office. Okay, hold on, let's back up a bit. I feel that what I am about to say needs prefacing. I love my job. I really do. Dealing with a few special students with their endearing quirks and their affable parents everyday rarely gets tiring, but my office family is pretty much the cat’s pajamas and they are my energy on most days.* Well, that and a mean cup (or four) of peppermint tea. For those fair few “other” days, I am left up to my own creative genius to get through all eight, drawn-out hours. This typically happens at the expense of the lovely students and alum that come to me seeking help and guidance. What perfect prey.
A few days ago a freshman came in asking about his P.E. credits. Freshmen are interesting characters. They're either still under the impression that their last eighteen years have seasoned them with all the knowledge and wisdom they'll ever need or they are still reeling with confusion as to why recess and fruit break have been cut. Freshmen are my favorites. They need a little additional help lightening up and I am more than up for the challenge. This particular freshman fell into the former of my two categories. I watched him saunter up to the counter, throw his conditioned hair back, and remove his fluorescent sunglasses too pink for Barbie herself. From the moment he walked through those double doors, the melding aromas of arrogance and Sun-In breathing trouble in my nostrils, I knew I was going to have fun with this guy.
I feel like I'm setting up a pretty mediocre story much too elaborately.
Anyway, he comes up to the counter and says in that annoyed, breathy, "I'm too cool for school" kind of voice, "Is there some sort of physical fitness test I can take to get out of having to do P.E.?" There is a simple answer to that. No. But simple answers simply aren't fun. So instead I chose to tell him that there was a skills test he could perform. I informed him that he had found his way into the right office. Not only is there a skills test, but I am the proctor! He stood across the counter looking at me for a few moments, waiting for the "but", however I just stood there staring back at him, waiting to see how he'd respond. And that poor, naive little hipster actually believed me. He said, "Great! What do I need to do?" Thinking he would finally catch on to my humor I responded, "First you'll need to run and circle the bell tower eight times. Then, when you're done, drop and give me 50 push ups. I won't actually be out there, but at the end you will sign a form which states, 'As the Lord Jesus Christ as my witness, I solemnly swear that none of the fifty push ups I did were girl push ups.' After that, you'll sprint to Starbucks and run me back a tall toffee mocha with no whipped cream. The less it spills, the more units I can give you. It will be timed." I waited for a laugh. I waited for an expletive. Instead, I got the response I was deep down, secretly hoping would happen. He dropped his bookbag and bolted out of the office towards the bells. He never came back. His stuff is still sitting under my desk, waiting for his shame to subside enough for his Macbook to be worth the trip back to see me. I sure hope he realized it was all a joke before he made his trek over to Starbucks. Wait. No I don't.
Oh fine. Confession is good for the soul, I suppose. This didn't quite happen like I painted it. A student did come in asking about taking a fitness test to get out of P.E. and though I longed to trick him into running willy nilly about the campus, I refrained and gave him the simple "No." I may have actually pulled this on him if I hadn't already brought a student to tears earlier that day with another one of my harmless jokes. This one is not a lie. But that is a story for another day.
Anyway, to make up at least in part for my cruelty I'll go ahead and offer up one of my favorite cookie recipe modifications as atonement. Pudding. Add a package of instant vanilla pudding to almost any cookie recipe for softer cookies. I usually use vanilla because I'm plain and boring, but it can be fun to experiment with different flavors (especially for snickerdoodles). I've been on the hunt for the ultimate chocolate chip cookie recipe for a while now. I have a potential candidate to test out sometime in the next fews days. I'll have to let you know how it goes.
The next J.K. Rowling.
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