My new favorite thing to say really loud and at random intervals is “Hot donuts!” Originally, I just yelled “hot donuts!” and followed it with immediate cackling. However, I’ve recently fine-tuned my newfound expression. I now yell out in a hick accent so that it sounds like “hat donuts!” My mother hailed from Kansas and I hail from the former Cow County just outside of Seattle, so I’m really good at hick accents.
I love my new phrase so much that all Tyler has to do is say “hot donuts” once and I immediately begin yelling it out over and over again in my Cow County hick accent, much to the chagrin of whomever else is around. I find it sad that the only one who understands my inside joke is Tyler. It’s just not funny after explaining to inquisitive stares where the phrase came from. Most people haven’t even seen now defunct Sci-fi channel show, The Invisible Man, much less that episode. No matter how hard you try, private inside jokes just aren’t funny. Take, for example, yesterday at work:
Three co-workers were hovering inside the miniscule real-estate around my desk, all asking me at the same time why the project that they gave me just twenty minutes before hadn’t been completed. Yet another co-worker was leaning over me and talking really loudly into my phone, bumping my head with her ass, making me pray to the love of <insert god of choice> that she wasn’t going to fart in my face a second time (the first time has gone undocumented and will remain so due to the waves of terror it sends through my olfactory senses every time I remember it).
“Mindy, I need this phamplet done right now. I have to take it to be professionally copied.” “Mindy, someone said the hours for our <Name of Big Upcoming Event That Shall Remained Unnamed to Protect My Coworkers and My Job> wasn’t on our website. We need to update that, along with a whole truckload of other information that I want up before you leave in less than an hour.” “Mindy, I have some random project that requires hours of kicking the brand-new copy machine and cussing at it in German for you.” “HAHAHAHA. That’s so funny. HAHAHAHAHA. So you take debit cards. What? WHAT? I asked if you take DEBIT CARDS.”
The chatter was unbearable, especially since I sit at the main reception desk and the building was designed so that everything on the first floor echoes up to the energy efficient skylights and then off into a random void of nothingness. This makes it nearly impossible for me to decipher anything anyone says unless they’re standing right in front of me and no one else is speaking. If more than one person even speaks on the main floor at the same time, the noise ratchets in a jumble of gurgles and growls around the reception area and manages to mysteriously increase in volume before echoing upwards towards the skylights. Of course, need I remind you that I am also leaving this job in two months? Everyone I work with is also painfully aware of this. Hence, my treatment has been slightly better than that of a washed up prostitute with a stretch-marked stomach sagging from beneath that tight and faded leather corset she found on the discount rack. But I won’t focus on the bad things about my job- especially not the poor treatment I’ve received lately after my over four years of dedication and hard work.
Needless to say, my frustration was fairly high at that moment, and bubbling up even higher. I felt like I needed to whip out a machete from the folds of space and time and begin brandishing it wildly, smashing my piece of shit Dell computer and threatening to take on the copy machine if they didn’t quiet the ruckus down. The machete didn’t appear when I wished it would, so I reacted in the only other way I could think of.
“HAT DONUTS!” I yelled loudly above my co-workers’ bewailing. The words echoed upwards towards the skylights, twisting into a more volatile hick accent in their hollowness.
Everyone stopped and stared.
They no doubt think I’m a bit insane now, but I still have my job for two more months. Furthermore, this just proves how well I fit in there and how much they’re going to miss my indispensable presence. I mean, really, anyone who can fart in their co-worker’s face and not even acknowledge their evil deed is just as deranged as someone wants to smash the computer from hell with a machete or who yells “Hat donuts” randomly.
I now leave you with my hack job of a screen capture: the point during the episode “Tiresias” of The Invisible Man when Hobbes says, “Hot donuts, eh!?!”
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