I’ve had this running joke with my coworkers over the years that if they see me walking down the hall with a can of gasoline, they should grab their shit and get out of the building. It’s a harmless little joke, meant to show that we’re all down in the trenches together. Obviously I’m not being serious. Obviously.
Inappropriate jokes in the workplace make me think of the signs at the airport that expressly tell you not to make jokes about the ridiculous security measures. As in, don’t say, “Man, I’m sure glad I stuffed that bomb up my ass where the rapescan machine can’t see it.” It’s the immature child inside me, but every time I see that sign, I have to clamp my mouth shut to not say something stupid. Which, in turn, makes it look like I have something stuck up my ass.
I flew in/out of the San Jose airport last month. A recorded announcement on a loop stated that, among other things, one should report “suspicious behavior.” The thing is, one person’s suspicious behavior is another person’s Tourette Syndrome. Or hangover. Or fear of flying. Or stifled inappropriate joke. As the bombing at the Russian airport shows, you can’t totally secure the airport. Or the train station. Or the subway. It doesn’t mean you should give up trying, but it does mean that security theatre is just that – something designed to make you feel safety that isn’t really there. Someone making a stupid joke is the least of your worries.
I’m taking that cheese enchilada class at Robb Walsh’s house this weekend. I can’t wait! Enchiladas are not something I’ve had very good luck with – I always end up breaking the corn tortillas when I roll those bitches up, so I’m looking forward to learning from the master. The other thing I’m interested in is seeing exactly who will be taking this class with me.
There are twelve slots total. I figure there’s bound to be a Comic Book Guy guy in the group, someone who thinks he knows just a little more than everyone, including the host. Worst. Enchilada class. Ever. There will be one or two long-in-the-tooth fan girls (who haven’t been “girls” for many decades), who will wear their cutest cat sweatshirts for the occasion. A couple of foodie types who are there in part to learn Robb’s method but really just want to see his kitchen so they can snark/praise it in their blogs later that evening. Maybe one or two lonely people who just like to do stuff and aren’t necessarily that interested in the particular topic. And then the rest will be people like me – home cooks who like to get they grub on. You know I’ll report back after the fact.