Thought I abandoned my blog, didn’t you?
Well, you’d be right.
I generally suck at blog maintaining.
So I can’t promise regular posts, BUT, I have a nice long story for you today.
Okay, Carol left work to head off from Nowhere New York to Nowhere Michigan. But for the last few months she before she left, she decided that pranking me on and off would be the best idea in the world.
First she walked in one day and announced, “I’m going to throw an egg at your feet.”
Well, eventually she did (very anticlimactic).
Then an order for a sausage came in, and the waitress comes back to hang the ticket, smiling. I raise an eyebrow, open the cooler to get a sausage and–
An egg drops at my feet.
I go to ask dinner crew if they need any help with anything and Max (was on dinner, now the current lunch sous) asks me to check on dessert station. I go to open the cooler door and –
An egg drops at my feet.
I walk up to her and demand to know if she’s doing anything else today, or if she’s done and she says, “Well, there’s only two others.”
So, it was still snowing outside and I had my coat hanging in the wait station so I go to check and, sure enough, there’s an egg in my pocket.
But, try as I might, I can’t find the second egg.
So I’m driving home and I’m about half-way home (about a half-hour into the drive) and all of a sudden there was a clunk-clunk-clunk as a FREAKING EGG ROLLS ACROSS MY WINDSHIELD.
It actually survives the rest of the way home and I throw it at her feet the next day and that was that.
Or so I thought.
The first week I went full-time baking, about three weeks after the first eggs, APPARENTLY she stuffed an egg in my coat pocket of Saturday. And as I’m walking out the door on Sunday, she asks, “So did you find that egg in your pocket?”
She is SO LUCKY it didn’t break is there. Still, I chucked it at her and left work.
And another week passes, nothing much happens, then I’m leaving work on Friday and my boss, Patrick, walks up to me and asks, “Hey Kara, why is there a potato on your car?”
I stomp across the street to where she’s working and yell at her for a second before she says, “Only one potato?”
I stomp out to my car and do a thorough check, but can’t find it. I take the one potato off my windshield, sit down, check my mirrors –
There’s a potato shoved in between my passenger-side mirror and the car.
So then Saturday comes along and Patrick happily announces there was nothing on my car when he came in, but when I go outside I see something purple in the distance. I get a bit close and it’s actually just a bunch of lilacs and I get all happy because I like lilacs and they’re pretty and then –
There’s a freaking tomato hidden under the flowers.
So I go and confront her and throw the tomato at her and she says, “Just wait until tomorrow. Celery.”
Oh, tomorrow. I walked out of work and there is celery TAPED ALL OVER MY CAR. Well, actually in three spots that I can see, so I tear them off, walk back in the building and throw them all at her. And she’s like, “Wait, so you didn’t find the fourth?”
To this day, months later, I still haven’t found the fourth.
Anyhow, I decided before she left for Michigan, I needed my revenge.
I asked EVERYONE I knew for advice. My friends asked their friends for advice. We concocted a devious plan.
Early on in the week I boiled some eggs and stashed them, let them get nice and stinky. Thursday comes (her second-to-last day) and I grab the eggs, grab some plastic wrap, and sneak outside. I place the disgusting eggs on her windsheid and proceed to start wrapping her car when SHE FREAKING COMES OUT FROM THE BAR THAT SHE’S WORKING IN AT THAT VERY SECOND AND FREAKING CATCHES ME. LITERALLY ONLY ME COULD THIS HAPPEN TO. IT WAS THE ONLY TIME SHE LEFT THE BAR UNTIL THE END OF THE DAY ASLBDSKBSDHJBSJHBA.
So, deflated, I go back to work.
Then people start coming up to me.
“Oh my god, Bacon, did you see what she did to your car?”
“Bacon, it’s getting worse.”
“She just keeps coming out with more and more stuff!”
So I go outside. Here are a list of things I can remember on my car:
Egg plastic wrapped to my antenna.
Olives shoved on ALL MY TIRE NUTS.
Olives on my windshield.
Bread all over my windshield.
Gloves tied to my handles.
Gloves shoved in my license plates.
Plastic wrap on my rearview mirrors.
And, my personal favorite, brocolli florettes shoved into my grill.
So I rage around and come home and plot. I get one of my coworkers to bring in crayons that can write on glass. I plan on putting peanut butter under her doorhandles. I’m going to let bacon cook on her windshield.
So I walk out of the restaurant, my arms loaded with these things. And you know what?
I CAN’T FIND HER CAR.
I LOOK FOR AGES.
I GET THREE OTHER COWORKERS TO HELP ME.
I. COULDN’T. FIND. IT.
And so at the end of the day I walk across the street, slam into the kitchen and literally scream, “WHERE IS IT???”
She freaks out and nearly falls into the frier and squeaks, “Wh-where’s what?”
“It’s, uh, right out front.”
Lo and behold, she parked her car right out in front of the bar where employees aren’t supposed to park, but it was her last day and why the hell not.
I gave up.
Though she left me a nice assortment of penis drawings on my windshield for the effort.