a very sad but not at all superstitious tale
Today, after a long time waiting for the downstairs cafeteria to finish remodeling and reopen the wrap station, I got a precious turkey wrap. On the way back up to my office, I dropped my turkey wrap box, spilling the delicious ingredients all over the floor in a way that completely precluded picking them up, dusting them off and eating them anyway.
I have identified two possible culprits.
(In the culture of my father, one doesn’t just spill food. Food falls for a reason. That reason can be covetousness, or the Ojo. The Ojo is the Evil Eye.)
(No, YOU’RE irrational.)
Possible Culprit One: my coworker
Right before I went to get my wrap, my coworker, a lovable woman with the unfortunate habit of denying herself nice things, told me, “See if they have the wraps.”
“They do. I told you yesterday,” I said. “Want me to get one for you?”
“No…. Just tell me how much they are.”
“You want one?”
“No…. I want one, but I’m not gonna get one today. Just please find out how much they are now that they reopened.”
Whatever, Barbara. You know you wanted a wrap. You wanted one so bad, the power of your mind pulled mine from my grasp. (Maybe.)
Possible Culprit Two: the wrap woman
The wrap woman is never happy. She never smiles, not even when the office pochos practice their rusty Spanish pleasantries on her.
Today the remodeled wrap station featured not only onions and black olives, like before, but also cucumbers and salad dressing. Ooh! Just like Subway!
“Can I please have some cucumbers and… oh… is that dressing for the wraps?” I said, as politely and little-girl-like as my five feet nine inches can possibly render.
“This…” she says, looking down at the dressing as if just noticing it. “Well, you can have [inaudible mumble] if you want.”
“Yay!” I cried, clapping my hands. “I’ll take vinegar and oil! What? Oh, okay. Sure. Italian.”
She gave me my wrap in the same surly way as always. I’m used to her dour expression and try not to take it personally. I stopped asking her for the orange wraps instead of the beige and pleasantly accept whatever she gives me. She looks like my friend Letty’s mom, a little. I want to believe she is good.
But she’s not good. She’s bad. She’s a witch. A bruja with powers to make a wrap container fall out of a woman’s hand a hallway and escalator away. She is evil.
When I went back down to the cafeteria, I got the pork loin plate instead.
They let me have it for free. That’s the only thing that kept me from running back to the wrap station and throwing a holy water balloon at that woman’s head – screaming the Nicene Creed at her while making the sign of the Cross over the array of lunch meat and cheese.
The answer is clear. Thanks for making me drop my lunch, Barbara. Thanks a LOT.
Y’all stay away from the wrap station, and don’t tell that woman what I said.
