So the funniest (ha-ha-ha-NOT) thing happened at work yesterday (because of my overall stressed state of mind, the birth of my therapeutic writing turned into a humorous and funny entry which I am now posting for your amusement specifically--which is why some of you are tagged. I thought you'd appreciate my satirical, cynical, and sarcastic wit and writing--everyone else, because you were there for one or more of the following events and therefore witnessed the inspiration to this post. Lucky you!).
I'm a Student Administrative Assistant at my church (hereby referred to as BCC). And, lucky for me, I got to experience one of the most hilarious and mortifying incidents of my life so far, and these are the written results from yesterday:
FLASHBACK!
I set off the alarm.
I'm waiting for the SWAT team to arrive and Ms. A* to tackle me to the ground.
No, seriously. I can just picture them repelling through the Onion© ceiling, bursting through the Onion's© doors, and surrounding the building with agents.
They would invade the portable and have R* on the ground in handcuffs, T* locked in the bathroom, and B* in a cage. I don't think D* would notice, being too absorbed in his computer, and M* would definitely fight back. J* would just interrogate the entire SWAT team. ("Why are you doing this? Why is the alarm going off? How does that make you feel? Why do you feel like that? Is it legal for you to do this? I'm not saying you're wrong, no, not at all, I'm just asking why.").
And, unfortunately, this occurred when the other interns weren't there, (or maybe fortunately, depending on how you look at it) so the SWAT team would not have had to deal with any of them (okay, I'm going with 'unfortunately'. I would have liked to see that).
And me? I would either,
a. Be sobbing on the ground in hysterics,
b. Screaming bloody murder and scratching eyes out, or
c. Stuffing my pockets with bubble gum from the conference room supply and making a run for the 220 acres of wilderness in hopes of surviving until it all settles down. I estimate I would last maybe two weeks on my stock, which would enable me to wallow in my misery with the Paramore Bunny^*^ and chipmunks as company.
Queen Alyssa: FUGITIVE.
Wanted By BCC SWAT Team for Falsely Setting Off Onion© Alarm.
Reward: Eternal Life in Heaven, Get-Out-Of-Hell-Free Card, and a dash of good ol' Faith, Hope, and Love, Love, Love.
Warning: May Be (Al)armed and Dangerous.
Last Seen With Paramore Bunny^*^ on the H*park BCC Campus.
(end bold, large font, centered).
Actually, I just stood there, in the rain, wondering what, exactly, I was supposed to do.
Because after your thirty seconds of disarming time is up, the entire church starts wailing and red lights begin flashing and you know you're a goner, because if Ms. A* doesn't have you unconscious, on the ground, and chained in the secret Bellevue Community dungeon within fifty seconds, then the police will, not to mention you'll endure days of torturous and relentless teasing from your coworkers.
Who, considering the fact I might not having only gotten myself fired, but the entire Student Ministries staff, probably wouldn't visit me in Juvie.
It is clear to me that when D* answers the question "Is the Onion© disarmed?" with an assuring, "uh, I think so" not to take this as affirmative, otherwise you'll find yourself sitting in a jail cell for the next two years of your life.
(Honestly, it's no one's fault but my own. I set the alarm off. Me. I take full responsibility. Still, with the opportunity to make fun of my coworker(s) after I have endured many jokes about myself...too irresistible to pass up. Insert sinister laughter here.)
It was (and is) actually quite funny, once I'd gotten over the initial panic-slash-ohmyGodIamsode
And my face flamed into so many different shades of red and purple the Red Hat Society showed up thinking it's a convention/ mega sale, only to be disappointed it was my face burning from shame. At least they were able to warm their hands on my 350-degree Fahrenheit temperature before heading back out into the raining cold fall weather.
Regardless, I found myself alternatively feeling as though I might vomit, cry, and laugh, which is a very awkward situation to be in. Trust me.
My embarrassment only furthered when D* TOLD THE ENTIRE STAFF IN THE CONFERENCE ROOM AND THEY THEN PROCEEDED TO DISCUSS THE INCIDENT IN THIRD PERSON, NOT ACKNOWLEDGING THE FACT THAT I COULD HEAR THEM IN MY CUBICLE OF HELL ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL.
Oh, God.
I went and apologized to Ms. A*. She didn't tackle me to the ground with a forbidden secret-government choke hold like I had imagined. She laughed, but I could still tell she was also sort of well, uh, agitated.
But whatever. She forgave me and I gave my solemn oath never to unlock the Onion door again without a written and signed (if possible, in blood) permission document from one of my sensei elders hailing from the almighty province of Portable 3.
I think I have a fever. This is so mortifying. Scratch that. THIS IS THE MOST EMBARRASSING STORY OF MY LIFE. (not counting almost giving the softball coach a concussion or opening the door on that guy in the portable bathroom, both of which still haunt me).
I am soooo dead. DEAD. DEAD, DEAD, DEAD, DEAD, DEAD.
DEAD.
But I have to wait until after I call in and order pizza to crawl under my desk and curl up into a fetal position.
I've come to the point where Chuck❤, the pizza guy, and I are acquaintances in the sense we never actually see each other face-to-face. Still, I find his gravelly, Southern-accented growl to be comforting in my time of misery, as it is I end up doing business with him every week (I know his shift as phone monitor begins sometime around noon and ends one hour later, so I call around midday to work with him). Despite the fact he can be somewhat impatient with my oh-so-sweet, super-polite, hold-on-just-a-second-whil
But now I have ordered pizza, I feel somewhat rejuvenated, and able to complete my tasks of the day without hiding myself in a dark, enclosed space and biting my nails down to the cuticle or pulling the hairs out of my arms in painful punishment for my stupidity. The only good outcome so far of this incident is the fact that I just wrote a completely cynical, sarcastic entry that will one day make me laugh instead of cringe. I suspect this will take many years of mending before I can look back on this and smile (and not in the grimacing way). Like, say, eighty, give or take a few years.
But I'll survive. Hopefully.
Because flinging myself off of the cliff edge outside the portable doesn't sound particularly appealing. I think I'd rather endure my mortification with my head held high (and flaming bright tomato, fire truck, or hot-tamale-holy-guacamole-
But at least the pizza has been ordered, so if I do make it to youth group tonight, I won't be attacked by a rioting mob of uncontrollable, hungry, and very very angry teenagers. Due to their (okay, our) hormonal imbalance, this causes chemical reactions if not met with large quantities of caffeine, grease, and free food. If this isn't supplied, expect pitchforks, torches, and a stampede. Luckily for everyone, this will not happen.
So in small group tonight, there was a lot of blahblahblahdiddyblah going on (AKA restricted topics such as Boys, Boys, Gay Boys, Boys, Politics, or Boys, which tend to commonly come up, though they should remain unspoken and confidential like Area 51. But when it comes to boys, my small group is like vultures and/or flies to a corpse--they tear immediately into it and shred it apart, everyone greedily searching for gossip, a chance to gossip, or a gossip story about themselves and the current He-Man of the week. This also occurs when presented pizza--high schoolers are attacking it the moment it arrives, and it's gone the second the pizza man takes the check from my hand, only the empty pizza boxes coated in a cold grease remain in their depressing state of emptiness, possessing none of their nutritional content and otherwise useless--the highlight of their existence over within seconds, before you can say Holy Pepperoni!, leaving the band who work very hard every week to gift us with worship songs nothing, resulting in low blood sugar, and, depending on the performers, a lesser performance overall--their scowls and grimaces of hunger are not found attractive when singing about the love of Jesus. Returning to the topic of teenagers and pizza--or my small group and talking--they, like wolves or sharks to a new kill, fight over it viciously, top dog getting the biggest, cheesiest, greasiest, or meatiest pieces by shoving and elbowing their way through their peers).
So when my turn came around to recount the events my last seven days of existence (finally) I took a deep breath. "I don't really know how to phrase this." I admit hesitantly.
They wait. I can tell words are forming in one girl's mouth by the way she draws in a breath (plus, she always is looking for an opportunity to speak) so I quickly spit it out in a calm, composed manner: "I was almost arrested today."
(begin italics):
Loud gasp!!! Shocked expressions! Exclamations of my name in higher octaves than normal!!!! More gasping!!! Swooning from the males!!! SCANDALOUS!
(end italics)
"Well, okay." I relent. "I'm exaggerating a little. I just set off the alarm in the Onion© and sirens placed in conveniently-located hidden places started wailing while I stood in the frigid rain, catching the cold that could end with pneumonia and my untimely demise."
All right. So that's not exactly how I said it, but whatever. Close enough, right? At least their reactions are adequate to uphold the truth. But I was able to get their attention, so there.
All in all, quite a productive and inspiring situation to find a girl in. I might have to set off alarms every week if I'm able to write this much about it.
____________
*Note: First Initials used in place of names.
©Note: Onion© is the building we hold our student ministries services in.
^*^Note: Paramore Bunny^*^is a long, long story for another post. All you need to know now is it’s a two-foot tall stuffed rabbit…that sings Paramore and plays a Rock Band Guitar.
❤Chuck❤
