At Least You Wouldn't Squeak

Yesterday I was in the kitchen at work and my friend Bob, hilarious, young Bob of the utterly random and nonsensical conversations, the one who makes you feel like a teenage boy when you're talking to him, was getting some ice from the freezer. He dropped a piece on the floor and left it.

Now, every once in a while there's a random piece of ice on the floor.

So another of our colleagues, C, called him on it.

"You're the ice dropper!"

Bob confessed that yes, he's an ice dropper and leaver. Because eventually it just melts, right?

So I asked if he was drinking orange juice straight from the carton as well. To which he responded, "Of course!"

And he also pokes his finger in people's yogurt, just to see, and then says, "Oh, you mean it's not lotion?'"

Bob is the guy who got a headlamp for Christmas and declared it his best present ever. The gift he would recommend for anyone. And so I had a momentary flash of him investigating the contents of the fridge, headlamp blazing.

C made a comment that I didn't hear, but which apparently had a sexual connotation. To which Bob rolled his eyes and pointed out that C tries too hard to make everything sexual.

Which is true. C is not a bad person, I don't think, just kind of smarmy. And not funny.

And so I ignored C 's comment and said to Bob, "I met a woman at a happy hour who said she'd sub-let her place to a guy. She said he left a variety of things behind. And next to the bed she found a can of Pam and a box of plastic baggies."

To be honest, I cannot even remember who this woman was, or why on earth we started talking about her sub-letter. But clearly the Pam and baggies had left an impression.

Pam! Non-stick vegetable spray! And baggies!

Bob, however, was not impressed. "You know, it's ridiculous. You have anything next to your bed and girls automatically think you're using it for masturbation purposes!"

"What?"

"Yeah. This girl came over one time, and I'd been cleaning and fixing things, and so I had some paper towels and WD-40 on my bedside table. And she looked at those and looked at me and gave me an eyebrow wiggle and a 'heh heh heh'."

I laughed out loud.

"No, seriously! You can have anything and they think that! It's really annoying!"

It turns out we need to have at least one teenage boy conversation a week. Next week I think we should start trading baseball cards.