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JWR 2.43 - Burritos & Mensa
So, I went to my Mensa meeting just a couple weeks ago and was approached by a new member who knew a little bit about me, which always gives me a slight fright simply because, how do people youíve never met get to know anything about you? It doesnít matter how, apparently, there are one or more cylinders that are not firing properly within the ďsphere of secrecy.Ē All this aside, I listened to what she had to say, smiled at her jokes, took her card and shook her hand when she said, ďIt was nice to meet you; Iíd like to see you at our first meeting.Ē I was a bit shocked, especially since I zoned out and must have been nodding my head like it was on a spring as she spoke. My eyes saw right through her and my ears blocked her as my brain thought about the special Mensa punch that was going to be served.
Later on that night, I purposely tried to avoid this lady, Giselle, her card informed me. Young Professionals of Racine it also informed me. I saw her talking with some other people I was vaguely aware of and knew she would think were ďyoung professionals,Ē too. Little did she know they were engineers and lawyers, the fool! She saw me looking, can I look away? No. Too late. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a gun...no, it was a burrito, no, it was my personal business card. But it was personal, so calling it a business card may defeat the purpose, but I wanted you to realize it was not a Hallmark card she pulled out, it was a small piece of sturdy paper shaped like a burrito, no, I must be hungry, for it was not shaped like a burrito, however, I was across the room. How, you may ask, did I know it was my personal business burrito--there I go again, calling it a business card--my personal burrito she pulled out? Well, aside from the card being purple (for I know no othersí whose business--dammit!--personal burritos are purple, she shook it in the air and mouthed ďIíll e-mail you,Ē as she held her pinky and thumb up to her mouth and ear respectively, the universal sign for e-mailing...or so says Stummer.
Girls, man, they used to call.
So, I was getting trashed with my best Mensa friend, Howard, when he asked me if I wanted a burrito. I am a man that canít refuse a burrito, especially if Iím hungry from the punch Mensa especial. Thatís Spanish for ďspecial Mensa punch.Ē Because in the punch they put Stacker 2, the worldís strongest fat burned, and that just makes me hungry. Someone once said that they put weed in it, however, you donít get hungry from weed, you get high, and where the hell is my burrito?
To think of someone like me as a ďyoung professionalĒ is hilarious to me, coming from me. Because I simply am not professional. I donít dress the part, nor do I act the part. Although I had a meeting today with a gentleman from TransWorld Systems (check out their website @ www.transworldsystems.com -- catchy addy!) that went rather well with very little tomfoolery, as in I only offered him a burrito after, AFTER, mind you, he started talking about how cute the little chee-whooah-whooah from those Taco Bell commercials is. Although I donít think the meeting was productive, it did allow me to not only head my very first professional meeting with someone Iíve never met before from a company that wants our business AND it allowed me to not work for about two hours. That was nice. And it made me even hungrier for the burrito that Dan Decker neglected to bring with him. The meeting ended when he kept nudging me like some drunken prom date who wants to go do the hibbidy-dibbity in the back of a Volkswagen. Yes, uncomfortable like a burrito.
So, back at the Mensa place, Howard must have been teasing, I surmised; he does know of my fondness for burritos and thatís his little thing: not making jokes, but offering burritos when there are none abouts.
We have a conference coming up at work for other businesses who use the same operating system as us, and I am in a frightful state because I simply donít think the lunch that will be served is going to include burritos. Probably pizza or sub sandwiches. Those are like the only meals my company will order. Itís like they never heard the proverb, revenge is a dish that is best served cold. Well, maybe it was that burritos are best served cold, I do know some who feel that way, especially if itís a bean burrito. Iím more partial to el burrito supreme, which is Spanish for ďa supreme burrito.Ē I just like the meats and cheeses and sour cream and lettuce and beans and even black olives, however, since my boycott of Taco Bell, my interactions with that particular burrito have been few and far between, much like my interactions at Mensa with someone who likes Spirograph as much as me.
A young professional is someone under the age of forty who has a job, near as I can tell. If I was being courted to come join, then pretty much anyone, short of a Hardeeís late shift employee can join YPR. Iím not big on clubs. To tell a family secret, my grandmother was a Dutch. And I was a member of the Star Trek fan club for a while, but all that entitled me to was a sporadic copy of the fan club magazine that was produced about as frequent as my Ramblings.
Clubs are kind of silly, I guess. Itís just a friendship based on common interests that you discover artificially, like the beans in a Taco Bell burrito. I mean, your friends, chances are, like some or many of the same things as you, but if youíre in a club, then everyone can be your friend because you all like the same thing, right? And to not like someone in that club for whatever reason is simply hypocritical. I mean, you are both interested in the same thing: chess, for example. Whatís the problem? Itís very clear to me however, I feel as if I am not being completely burrito in your eyes.
Speaking of which, I think itís time for bed.
ďCímon Sharon, Iím fucking Ozzy Osbourne, the prince of fucking darkness. I donít want fucking bubbles. Evil. Evil. Evil.Ē --Ozzy
Copyright © 2002 John Lemut