Yesterday morning started like any other day. Woke up to the sounds of my dog Dexter howling and whining like a little bitch while my girlfriend was walking my other pooch Holly. Fell back asleep and woke up once again to my girlfriend yelling at my 7 year-old roommate to move her ass and get ready. Nothing new here. Crawl out of bed, pet my pups, kiss the girls goodbye and put a quick breakfast together. We got Lucky Charms? Sweet. Coffee’s on. I wonder if we got – yesssss, OJ. So I take out the OJ and I notice it’s sealed with a receipt taped on it. Weird. So I remove the receipt, crack the seal, pour myself a glass to wash down my vitamins and think nothing of it. I proceed on my AM schedule to arrive at work promptly 2 hours late. Fast forward to around 6pm…
I’m in my office, door shut – don’t remember what I was doing but it’s usually a safe bet it wasn’t work-related. Then, the following text exchange ensued:
“Why did you open the OJ? I had to return it to get normal juice. Hence the receipt taped around it. It’s that Trop50 crap.”
“Isn’t it juice? Who cares? I wanted juice…there was juice. I enjoyed it. It’s $3. What’s Trop50? Did I drink AIDS?”
“Yes. Hope you had a nice life. It’s an orange juice beverage only 42% juice, which is why I was returning it tonight and the receipt was around it.”
“Who leaves AIDS in the fridge? If I live for longer than a half hour I am spitting under your tongue. AIDS for everyone.”
“Didn’t the receipt taped around it say anything to you? Like ‘oh hey maybe I shouldn’t open this’? Now I can’t return it.”
“No – the label said ‘oh hey I’m that juice you like in the morning. Pour me.’ So what you can’t return it – it’s OJ. We’ll be OK, sweetheart. I’ll just skip your birthday card and boom – $3 back.”
Now, first, I lied. I didn’t even look at the label. I saw a container with orange shit and made the reasonable assumption it was orange juice. Which it was. Actually, it’s orange juice that’s better for you than actual orange juice, now that I’ve done the research. Didn’t really notice anything out of the ordinary when I poured it down the hatch, but it’s 50% less sugar & calories. So if you take into account my girlfriend’s the same chick who tried to sneak turkey dogs in place of my Sabretts (closest I’ve been to single in a few years), I’d have chalked this up as par for the course if I did actually look at what I was drinking.
The most important thing to pull from this, however, is a glimpse into what you’re gonna deal with regularly once you share a place with a broad. Think about it. These are creatures who go to the supermarket, realize they bought an OJ they don’t usually buy, and not only take the time to tape a receipt to it but plan a trip back JUST TO EXCHANGE ORANGE JUICE. It’s these little seeds of stress that slowly put them into a permanent psychosis, and it’s mens’ inability to recognize such madness until it’s too late which makes them blame us. It never crossed my girl’s mind to just say, “Ah, fuck – bought the wrong OJ. Oh well.” It’s not like she thought she bought orange juice and realized later there’s a panda in the fridge. If she really wanted regular OJ, just stop at the 7-11 around the corner from the house. No need to schedule a field trip back to Pathmark armed with juice and a receipt. No need to stand on line at customer service and explain the OJ mishap so they give you a store credit to then use on the correct half-gallon. If it was that bad a situation, I’d have berated you for it as soon as I downed the first swig. Brought that shit right to your desk & dumped it over your head. But you didn’t hear a peep from me. So everything’s OK…it’s only orange juice…jeez…
Fuckin’ women. Am I right?