Oh Honestly, Erin

“I have a present for you!” Gayle announced on Monday. I instantly perked up. “I’m not above buying your love!” she teased.

“That’s how I became friends with this one,” I said, thumbing at Barb’s desk over my shoulder. “You don’t think that came naturally, do you?”

Gayle laughed really loud.

I wasn’t joking.

But Gayle had forgotten to bring my present on Monday, and then she forgot yesterday, too! But by then, I already knew it was a chocolate-covered Granny Smith apple. If you’ve been following my apple journey over the last year, you know I’m not a big fan of green apples, but hey — it’s the thought that counts, right?

“Um, how am I going to cut it?” I asked Gayle, because this sounded like a job for my enemy, Knife.

“Oh, don’t worry—I’ll cut it for you,” Gayle said. Suddenly, this present was sounding better and better.

Today, I came to work and was met with a giant orb of chocolate on my desk, the size of one of The Situation’s testicles after a scoreless night at Karma.

Every person who passed my desk today did a double take. Some even backtracked to inspect it closer. Amber1 stole it twice.

Finally around 6:00, I could stare at this chunk of confectionary Heaven no longer, and shuffled back to Gayle’s desk with it cradled in my palms. I batted my eyes at her, which she took as her cue to get to cuttin’.

She even cut all the seeds out for me, and made the slices into bite-sized pieces so I wouldn’t choke!

I snatched up a piece while Gayle was methodically slicing and was not prepared for the defibrillating jolt to my tongue as each taste bud blossomed in a beautiful rebirth. Suddenly, Granny Smith apples weren’t so bad.

Unfortunately, while Gayle and I were standing outside of the kitchen, one of the evil ladies from the Travel Office came slinking out of her cave and instantly sniffed out my golden apple. In an uncharacteristic fit of generosity, I offered her a slice, even though Barb is certain she’s a devil worshiper. I secretly hoped she would decline, but she TOOK ONE. 

Hopefully Heaven doesn’t drop a load of frogs on my house tonight.

I shared a slice with everyone on late shift, then took what was left back to my desk, where I sat in a very un-ladylike position, jaws engaged in some nasty Tantric chewing.

“How is it?” Chris asked, after spending all day looking at it even though he doesn’t like chocolate.

“Mmmmmmpgh,” I choked around a retainer of chewy caramel, eyes closed, slowly nodding.

“That was the best response ever,” he laughed, probably wishing he liked chocolate so he could know what God’s post-sex snack tastes like.

Look at how thick that chocolate coating is!

“Wow, you were really hungry,” A-ron said, noting that 3/4 of the apple had been demolished when he passed by my desk on his way out.

“I didn’t eat it all myself! I shared it with everyone!” I cried in defense.

“You gonna go to Wendy’s later, too?” he teased and I just whimpered in defeat.

I feel like I must have chocolate all over my face. (And I know for certain I have some on my pants.)

I. The Cutie

Henry hasn’t replenished my apple supply in TWO DAYS, so yesterday I was roaming around the department begging for apple handouts.

“No one around here has any spare apples!” I whined to Wendy, who gave me two Cuties as a consolation.

Hours after she left, I was ready for my fruit-meal, but I didn’t know how to start. I just sat there and twirled one around in my palm, looking for the zipper that the Cutie boxes show.

“How do I open this orange thing!?” I texted Wendy.

“OMG you’re a goof!” she texted back, before saying that she was going to display her Poor Henry pin for the rest of the week.

“Hmm, use a knife,” Amber, who is beginning to learn about my idiosyncracies now that I sit on her side of the office, suggested.

“Oh, I can’t use knives,” I said, putting my hands up. “I’ll just make Carey do it.”

But then Carey said her only tried and true method of peeling Cuties is to bite into them to get it started. So I just stabbed it with my fake blood-splatted scissors and went from there.

It was OK, but it was NO APPLE, I’ll tell you that much. And then I started to get angry because one of my co-workers comes from a line of apple orchard people so why isn’t he supplying the office with bushels of that shit? God, people let me down constantly.

II. The Fucking Orange Ball

Two of my co-workers, Chris and Lee, share a bromance so tight it would make even Pauly D and Vinnie blush. What they also share is an orange ball.

A fucking orange ball.

They like to play catch this fucking orange ball, which would be fine if they didn’t both sit behind me and sometimes one of them stands in front of my desk and does the little “Toss it to me!” jig, at which point the fucking orange ball is whaled above my head, tickling my follicles and threatening to hit one of my Jonny Craig pictures. I mean, my son’s pictures.

Other times, Chris announces his presence by dribbling the fucking orange ball around the department.

Apparently today, Chris left a note on Lee’s desk that said “Going to lunch. Watch Ball.”

Lee was the primary caregiver of the fucking orange ball the other day, because Chris was being punished or something. I’m not even sure, their relationship is so complex at times. That day was really bad for me, because Lee tends to be a little more aggressive and there were times my hair legitimately tousled in the wind as the ball grazed the air next to my head. And then he would threaten me with it, telling me I was lucky I had so many picture frames on my desk because he was so tempted to chuck it at the back of my head.

My first mistake was telling them how annoyed I was, how I come to work to get away from this same scenario at my house, where a five-year-old hurls plastic eyeballs against every available surface of the living room. Because of this,  I am trained to instinctively wince and duck every time I hear the dull thud of the fucking orange ball hitting the floor around me.

At one point today, I was holding a stack of papers with both hands while walking toward Chris, who just couldn’t help himself and faked me out with that fucking orange ball. I almost dropped my papers, you guys!

Here is what other people are saying about the fucking orange ball:

• It is so out of control
• I’m going to shove it up Chris’s ass!
• It’s better than a blue one
• What fucking orange ball?

Today, it came close to hitting me again, when Lee tossed it over top my desk to Chris, but it hit the ceiling and nearly ricocheted back down on top of me. Even Chris was like, “THAT WAS TOO CLOSE, LEE!” because Chris knows that if I get Marsha’d, that fucking orange ball is getting stabbed to death by my fake blood and Cutie-splattered scissors.

Natalie happened to be walking by at the height of the ball-bouncing and said the scowl on my face was priceless, even emailed me about it later when she was in her office, reliving my agony.  

“You should replace it with your other orange when Chris leaves,” Carey suggested all deviously. “And then leave a ransom note!”

“Yeah, it’s not like you’re going to peel it,” Kristen, who was here for last night’s Cutie conundrum, mocked.

This statement got me all flustered and I defensively sputtered, “Fruit is weird!”

“Pot kettle!” Kristen exclaimed, and then walked away laughing.

Touché.

(Wendy totally peeled the second Cutie for me today. It was a really big deal. People stopped to watch.)