Last night I went to dinner with some people from work. We were hosting a visitor, wining and dining and yukking it up. It was at a restaurant that I consider fancy-pants – my steak was $42. You know, one of those birthday/ anniversary/ corporate expense account kinds of joints?
And I couldn’t read the goddamn menu. I’m not kidding, it was so dark in there, I couldn’t make out anything except the main headlines: SEAFOOD, STEAKS, etc. I thought about firing up the flashlight app on my phone, but worried it might be frowned upon. It makes a loud whirring sound as it’s powering up.
So, I squinted my shit down until I was on the verge of an ocular charley horse, deciphered the New York strip information, and went with it. I have no idea what else was on the menu, I was physically and emotionally spent after zeroing in on those six or seven words.
Then I got a little snooty judgment about the way I ordered it: medium-well. I know it’s not highbrow, but it’s the way I like it. I prefer it a little pink in the middle, but definitely cooked. I don’t need the comments, thank you very much. If you want to go to town on a load of bloody meat, like a coyote feasting on a decomposing quarter horse, that’s your business. But leave me out of it.
My role during dinner: color commentary. I didn’t instigate any conversations, or go off on any lengthy jags, I just injected occasional “witty” comments and anecdotes, and quickly got out. Guerilla style. When they brought out the dessert menu, for instance, I said, “Oh, I see they have dessert beverages. Wonder if I can get a frosty can of cheesecake?” Crickets. Nothing but crickets. But I stand by it… it’s good stuff.
During a previous life I made myself miserable in those kinds of situations. Because I’m awkward and weird, and strangers often don’t know when I’m kidding around. So, I’d stress and try to pretend to be a normal human being. I’d eat crap I didn’t want to eat, laugh at shit that wasn’t even in the neighborhood of funny, and try my hand at conventional shoptalk. But, at this late date, what does it matter? Oh, they don’t get the completely undiluted Jeff Kay, like Toney does, but it’s getting closer and closer.
Yeah, I don’t get invited to too many of those kinds of things.
For a Question I’ll pull something from DEEP inside the notebook. This might’ve been scribbled in a semi-drunken scrawl a full year ago, but it’s pretty good. I’d like to know how you think you’d die in a work-related accident.
Everybody has different jobs, and different situations. How do you believe you might perish at work? When I was at the record store in Greensboro it would probably be because of suicide, following a full-album play of any Frank Zappa album. Any of them. Horrible! And at my various office jobs, I might get my head sucked into an industrial copy machine, or something.
What do you have on this one? Use the comments link above or below… I don’t even know anymore.
And I need to call it a day, my friends.
I’ll see you again soon!
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As the resident 911 dispatcher, I figure it’ll probably be from a disgruntled citizen or another employee who goes postal. There are only so many ways to off a guy who works deep in the bowels of the police department and rarely sees sunlight. I figure it only takes one person who gets so angry that our response time to a barking dog is longer than that of a man waving a gun around a Subway (demanding more mayo for his bukkake look alike sub) to wait for my ass in the parking lot and off me with a tire iron or run my fat ass down in a 1984 Chevy Camaro.
Work in radio so, A) driving there half-asleep, B) leaving there 100mph, C) salesman with a gun loses it though to be fair it would more likely be a sword or machete and really all I’d need to do would be to get anyone in management between me and the salesman and I could probably use the time spent hacking to get away so option C is unlikely.
Joe T says
FROSTED CAN OF CHEESECAKE!!! LOL!
I worked as a med lab tech, so I figure I might die contracting HIV from a sample or needle stick. Slow, but not out of the realm of possibility.
Escaped that hazard though.
I’m studying now to be a librarian, so my best guess is being crushed under an overturned shelf of hardbacks, or getting attacked by a homeless person in the bathroom.
Time will tell.
Lee Harvey Ramone says
I am at work right now, and for all I know I am already dead.
I don’t have to go to things like that – thank God. But – we are now having these employee workshops or whatever they are called. We have to interact with people outside of our department. I am not a fan of such things.
Lew in Bama says
I spend my days surrounded by military officials and geniuses, as in actual rocket scientists. If I were to die at work, it would probably be because of 2 scenarios:
1: one of my co-workers goes postal due to the never ending government bureaucracy and we all die in a hail of gunfire
2: I work on a government installation in a town known for its extremely high concentration of defense contractors. Terrorism is not out of the realm of possibilities.
Another possible 3rd scenario isn’t so much about my work, but the region I live and work in. We get more tornadoes than anywhere else in the country. My whole house, truck, or work building could blow away in a storm and there’s nothing I can do about it.
If you’re in Huntsville, I think we may work for the same employer, although I’m up north. So, what he said, minus the tornadoes.
Wow Jeff, disparaging the good name of Frank Zappa and voluntarily admitting to ordering overcooked steak in same article? For shame. The frosty can of cheesecake was good stuff though.
Oh, there’s any number of ways I may die.
Most likely is an angry patient or family member shooting me (one of my coworkers was taken hostage in the. Emergency department and another time a guy brought in a grenade and pulled the pin).
Any angry coworker with some knowledge and access to powerful medications could inject me with something.
Then there’s exposure to disease -hepatitis, HIV, flu, Ebola; any and all are possible. I’m around radiation fairly often, so radiation poisoning or cancer from radiation is possible.
I suppose I could take an accidental shock from a defibrillator.
On the more exotic side I could be killed in the hyperbaric chamber either by the bends or by a fire and resultant explosion. I could also be beaten to death by a disgruntled patient; there’s nowhere to hide once your’e in and pressurized and no help coming.
Likely I’ll die of a heart attack. As involved as I am at the office, it may take a few days for anyone to realize I’m dead. But I still get paid, right?
Oh, chicken wings! Free money, here I come!
Choosing to just be the color commentary guy is risky. You can easily come off as the weirdo, whose only contribution to the evening’s conversation comes from a random interjection of odd non-sequiturs.
Root 66 says
“Ocular charley horse” was hilarious! There isn’t a thing in the world wrong with medium-well done steak. That’s my preference, too.
If I were to die at work (which wouldn’t be my first choice) I know exactly what will happen: The $#%@#$ copier will jam in the middle a project AGAIN and I will have a stroke right there!
Easiest question of the day ever!! I’m going to die at work by getting shot/blown up by mistake. Because some fired-up moron full of political rhetoric has mistaken the organization I work for for one associated with BIG POLITICAL Donations (to the other party, of course!). We get about 3 to 4 death threats a year. And we try to politely point out that they are threatening the WRONG organization – we’re not related in scope, philanthropic specialty, or funding, in fact, we are expressly prohibited from making political donations. The two Foundations are not related in any way…just share the name. It’s a common name. There are about 5 or 6 non-profits (including the real culprit) who share this name or some derivation of it. But political psychopaths rarely do research before directing hate, it would seem. This is a re-occurring problem that gets worse every election cycle.
I hate those snooty steak places. I ordered a medium-well (knowing full well it would probably arrive less than that). I get a rare. F’ing rare. I asked the server what I ordered (confirmed I didn’t forget) and I told her to slap it back on the grille cause I don’t feel like cleaning up blood. She went off to see the chef, or just toddled off for a minute, and told me the chef says that not how a steak should be done. I told her the chef ain’t eating it, I am, if I want well done crispy, I expect well done crispy, medium well should not be beyond the realm of reality for him. She took it back… I didn’t eat it upon its return knowing full well where it probably got dragged through, but upon its return it was still doing some bleeding. I look at her, and asked her to tell the chef he’s a fucking retard and can shove his bloody steak up his ass if he insists on doing it his way, don’t ask how I want my steak done if you ain’t going to do it as indicated, and if he wanted to debate it further he can come out here so I can tell him directly.
Yes, I can be an asshole.
If I die at work, it’ll either be from falling off a ladder, or being hit while driving between service calls.
There’s basically no blood in a steak. Most of it drained out weeks ago after they beheaded the animal, the rest came out as it was dismembered.
If I owned a steak restaurant, and a customer wanted an overcooked steak, I would comp them dinner at McDonald’s and send them on their way. I can see why I’m not a restaurateur.
I’m an antique dealer, I can’t see me dying in a work related incident. Maybe the toxic blood in an undercooked lunchtime steak will off me.
Today: Getting kicked in the face by an old, broke-down quarter horse.
Another lifetime ago: Dying of boredom behind the mic.
Baseball old chap, baseball. AKA Rounders, the game English schoolgirls play. Lots of standing/sitting around inactive time, perfect for teenage girls. Thankfully they wear short skirts not pajama pants, said younger Limey bored in class overlooking the sports field.
Recently read Pitch by Pitch by Bob Gibson, one of our pajama-clad ballplayers. I commend it to your reading list. I guarantee you he never stopped for tea.
Your American Cousin,
I almost posted my likely to die scenarios but then had the vision of people (I don’t really like) whispering around my coffin “One of that last things he did was to post on one of those crazy websites he went on how he would die…Creepy”
After this week, I’m not taking the chance.
I work in an elementary school, so if I die at work it will probably be a school shooting. Very unlikely I hope.
When we lived in Arkansas a family of raccoons fell out of the ceiling at my daughters school. The whole place went on lockdown. Rabies maybe?
With at least 3 years left at my hideous job, suicide has to be the leading candidate. Fortunately I medicate my mind sufficiently to stave off the impulse on most days.
This is why, if you’re working in corporate America, it’s so critical to have a good prescription drug plan. For older folks it’s called Part D: Medicare Prescription Drug Benefit, because you never outgrow your need for dopamine.
heh-heh, jtb….you got that right.
Work death will probably involve one of the nasty chemicals that we use in the tech industry. One of my favorites, Chlorine Trifluoride was going to be used by the Nazis in WW2. They finally decided it was too dangerous and abandoned it.
Big raging fire. I work in a 100 year old firetrap of a building loaded with boxes and boxes and boxes of paper. And since the place stinks of mold and dead critters in the walls, some people burn scented candles.
R. A. Reimer says
Getting my tie caught in a large, rotating manufacturing-gizmo, cinching that half Windsor knot tight enough to pop my noggin from my neck. Choking to death wouldn’t be good enough. My separated head would likely stare at my headless neck(tie) while my dimming consciousness would remark, “I hate ties.” Fade to black.
Alice in WV says
ocular charley horse!! Thanks for coining a new phrase! Hilarious and apt.
Purse Workout says
The Hubs and I don’t get out much for the same reasons and we seem to be getting more sarcastic as we get older. Here’s an important FYI for you though — Try really hard to be normal when speaking to a border patrol guard. We were pulled over at the border for 3 hours after The Hubs unleashed his best dry humor at the gate. I sat in the passenger seat and read the paper as our car was being picked through and his profile was being searched on every database. Me? They didn’t even ID me. It was all about the funny man…
I work at home so the only scenario that might end my days would be suicide after Facebook overload. One more “Like and Share if you love your kid” meme might someday send me to my maker.
The 30 years I spent as a trumpet player I always figured I’d go out by a jealous boyfriend or husband. Now as an over the road truck driver (on the top 10 list of most dangerous occupations.. #3 I think), l figure I’ll most likely go out by a jealous boyfriend or husband.
I’m over all the ass-hats with an opinion on how I like burnt meat. Rare-raw meat has no flavor to me and I don’t give a yard-wide crap for your thoughts on what I should/shouldn’t like.
My work death will occur when one of my workaholic coworkers brings in the Black Plague and slathers it all over the workplace.
I work in marine research and every time I find myself standing on the bow rail of a boat at the dock, alone, both hands reaching up to an overhead beam where I’m mounting or removing a 40-lb steel tackle block, I wonder how long it’d take anybody to notice my body if I slipped and whacked my head on the way down. Hopefully somebody would notice a thump when they took the boat out, at least.
I’ll probably get shot in the back by a jealous husband. Preferably on the out stroke. Hopefully I fall back in & piss the prick off one last time!