Wednesday, November 30, 2011

I Can't Make This S*#t Up - The First Installment

"man losing his mcdonalds in ur gyno room"
sometime in 2010

this story, as you will find most of these do, starts off completely normal.  well, as normal as anything involving me can be.  

girl goes to annual doctor appointment, checks in, waits in waiting room probably playing a few games of words with friends while wondering how it is possible for an office to be running 30 minutes late at 9 o'clock in the morning, finally gets her name called and blood pressure taken, is forced to stand on the scale, looks at the number and starts doing the math to answer the question "if i keep gaining 3 pounds a year how much will i weigh in the year 2036?", gets herded into a room left alone to put a gown on (opening in the back - do people still need to be reminded that this is how to wear them???), then sits on the  edge of the table and waits some more.

see? totally innocent.

and then...

without the usual warning knock the door handle turns and in walks a man.  it is of importance to note that this man is neither my doctor or anyone's doctor.  he is clearly some pregnant woman's husband who has been sent to mcdonalds to pick up food because they have been waiting as long as i have, and hungry pregnant women get what they want.  he walks into the room looking down at the balancing act of drinks, food, and coats going on in his arms and immediately starts talking about something... i couldn't even begin to guess what because the soundtrack going on in my head was "WHAT THE FUUUU?!?!?!?" (ok, there are some missing consonants on the end of that word.  fill them in yourself.)  after a solid half an hour (megan time, real time was probably more like 7 seconds) of him setting down fountain drinks on the desk, refolding the coats draped over his arm, and opening the giant bag of food he carried in... he looked up.

slow motion replay:

man looks up, instantly realizing that i am not his wife/baby mama.

his face turns from normal accountant-esque business to complete mortification.  a look i am convinced i will never see recreated in the wild.

his arms go up and french fries go flying.  and i mean FLYING.  and not just a few french fries.  i'm talking two super size containers full of those hot, greasy bad boys.  FLYING.

man falls to floor with stop, drop and roll type urgency.

the next 10 minutes (megan time, real time: 5 seconds) were spent with him on his knees, body parallel to the floor scraping french fries around with an extended right arm and shoveling them into the hallway behind him.  his left arm was frantically reaching for and continuing to miss the door handle in an attempt to escape and close himself into the safety of the hallway as quickly as possible.  

the best part about this whole event was the communication, or lack there of, that was going on between us.  mr. stranger danger was babbling and stumbling over phrases like "oh shit", "so sorry", "wife you're not mine", "no no no", "fries everywhere", and, my favorite, "oh dear".  this poor man was in such a state of humiliated distress and i was, for the first and last time in my life, totally speechless.  i just sat there with my jaw on the floor.  i didn't gasp.  i didn't yell.  i didn't say "honest mistake, no worries" and ease some of his embarrassment.  i didn't point and laugh, though in hind sight this is really the best response to this type of situation.  i just sat there until he finally backed himself up on his hands and knees into the hallway and got the door shut, not without a handful of french fries getting flattened into the carpet in the process.

then i started laughing.  and i mean cackling.  like tears streaming down my face laughing.  couldn't catch my breath laughing.

icing on the cake?  i heard him go into the room next door and a woman's voice said, "where are the fries?"


No comments:

Post a Comment