Pretzels

There's more cake in our office than there is oxygen.

Every time it's someone's birthday, we have cake.

Someone going on maternity leave? Cake.

Someone retiring? Cake.

Someone's baby retiring? Cake.

Death of Mr Kipling? Cake.

Run out of cake? Cake.

Superman in town? Cape.

Superman's birthday? Cake.

I don't particularly like cake. Which is fine. I just don't eat it. It's an arrangement that suits everyone. But people don't seem to understand that I don't like cake. They think there's something wrong with me.

There is quite a lot wrong with me. But dislike of cake is probably not even in the top fifty.

People will be surprised when I refuse it. There must be something wrong - that's what their eyes say. And sometimes their mouths. Who doesn't like cake?

Well, I don't dislike cake. I just don't particularly care for it. Given a choice between, let's say, a sewing machine and a cake, I'd take the sewing machine 99 times out of 106.

So I feel bad and strange and wrong, and my colleagues feel suspicious of me.

It's an arrangement that suits everyone.

It's the same with alcohol.

I don't particularly like alcohol. I rarely drink, but I'm not teetotal.

It is a concept some struggle to understand. If you can drink, surely you will (says their eyes and mouth, and sometimes their wife).

I just don't like it. I'm not against poisoning my body. But I'd prefer to do it with actual poison. I'm also not against poissoning my body, but that's a side issue.

I get annoyed that alcohol is such an integral part of the work environment. It's almost enforced as a team-building activity. If I try to explain to Sales Reps that I don't like drinking, it's like performing Japanese Noh theatre to an audience of blind cats. Anathema.

I'm sure they all think I'm gay - a prejudice I try to encourage with winks, just so I can feel the warm glow of the oppressed just.

I'm not anti-alcohol. But I'd just rather it wasn't obligatory. Imagine if instead of drinking, people went skiing.

"Coming for a quick slalom after work? Me and the boys are gonna get SLUSHED."
"No thanks"
"What's wrong? You drivin'?"
"No, no. It's just - I don't really like skiing."
"You are a homosexual."

Right, now imagine that same comedy scenario, but better researched, better realised, and with a better punchline.

There was an article in the Guardian today, expressing a similar view about the pressures to consume alcohol. I thought I was going to agree with the writer, but ended up hating her and hoping she drowns in a pint of bitter.

Speaking of bitter, here's my assessment (her in blue text; me in black text and 'the wrong'):

I've never been drunk, and I can't say I feel the worse for it.

Well, no. You can't say you feel anything worse for not experiencing something you have no experience of. That is true. I can't say I feel the worse for not licking the door of a Honda Civic. I can't say I feel the worse for not visiting Torbay. I just don't know.

I have to do something before I can make an accurate judgement about whether I probably shouldn't have done it or not.

I'll add several personal reasons why I don't drink or do drugs. First off, I make enough bad decisions when I'm sober. The last thing I need is artificially impaired judgment. Secondly, I like to remember things. I understand that alcohol makes one forget things. Has this ever happened to you?
"Hi, So-and-so, it's great to see you again."
"Oh, have we met before?"
"Sure, at Such-and-such's party last weekend."
"You know, I was so trashed that night."


Maybe you're just really, really dull. ("Oh, now I remember you! I was talking to Such-and-such after you left, at 8pm mind you, and Such-and-such said you were a tedious fucking bore. Then we did another shot of tequila, a couple of lines, and laughed about how much we hated you.")


Hmm, really? Because we talked for half an hour about Black Swan and Julian Assange. Can I have those 30 minutes of my life back? I'd like to think that when I interact with someone, we're exchanging ideas and possibly building a relationship, not tossing our words into the ether.
Yeah, it's all part of an ongoing project, isn't it? Forget living for the moment, let's just make comprehensive notes towards a future goal. That way, when we're about to die (at EIGHTY 'cause we're so fucking healthy from all the abstinence), we'll be able to weep for our lost youth into the laminated pages of an alphabetised ring-binder.

Thirdly, I like to accurately perceive things. Does this sound familiar?

"Dude, that party last night was so fun."
"But it was just a bunch of people sitting on three couches eating pretzels and listening to REM."
"Oh man, no way. Well, what do I know, I was totally wasted."

No, it doesn't sound familiar, because I don't hang around with dicks. Stop hanging around with dicks! And what's wrong with REM anyway? And pretzels? I like pretzels.

And three couches? Why is "three couches" an important part of the complaint? Yeah, junkies love their three couches. A friend of mine OD'd because he only had two couches and a fucking love seat.

And finally:

I'm fortunate that, being naturally outgoing, I've never needed alcohol in social situations.


Oh, fuck off. FUCK OFF.

Lucky fucking you.

I'm fortunate that, being a stranger, I'll be able to sit on my three couches and never have to worry about you turning up to one of my AWESOME PARTIES.

***

I'm pretty sure all of that anger was ironic. And that the line about being naturally outgoing was the only thing that annoyed me. And I haven't sworn that much in a blog post in quite some time.

Really, it was all an experiment in form and anger and pretzels.

Anyway, back to the cake:

Part of the reason I don't eat cake is that I'm not very good at eating in public. I don't like to eat in the office, and if I go out to a restaurant I generally like to get something small. My appetite goes when I'm confronted by the banter of strangers or the all-seeing eye of the office eagle (I'm tired of being judged by a stuffed bird).

It's probably a result of insecurity. I'm sure I could overcome it with some therapy or medication.

The thing is, as hang-ups go, it's a pretty good one. It's much better for me that I don't eat cake, and that I buy salads in restaurants. It's actually an example of neurosis being a means to self-improvement.

More people should harness their insecurities to become better people.

Fear dying alone? Take in some homeless people.

Fear of commitment? Romance Alzheimer's sufferers.

Arachnophobic? Put spiders everywhere but in orphanages, and help the children. They'll especially need comforting about the mass of spiders encroaching on the windowpane.

So I won't eat cake or drink alcohol. I won't go skiing. I won't live in a house with an even number of couches. I won't remember that tedious, yet naturally outgoing, whinge-rag journalist.

It's an arrangement that suits everyone.

Now look at this picture of the Victorian family with the funny eyes and get out of my sight.