If you know me in Real Life, you know that I have a tendency to be a little scattered. I'm always doing too many things at once, working too fast, running from here to there. My trips out the door to go to work are not casual graceful events but instead consist of me running from room to room snatching every thing I've missed. This is how I ended up running out the door the other morning, with my pantyhose and my breakfast stuck into my gaping open purse.
I can get things done, but they're haphazardly done and probably look like chaos as they're in progress. But the end result is usually OK.
But I was remembering, with a giggle, as I went running out of the door - pantyhose and breakfast in purse - about a Thanksgiving a few years ago.
The company I worked for was cooking a big Thanksgiving dinner for all the employees. We'd had the turkeys brought in from Honey Baked Ham - but we were actually cooking most of the sides, the exceptions being stuff people brought in hot from home. My good friend Renee was coordinating the company wide feast and I was helping her. We were fortunate that we had two REAL kitchens there, and could actually heat stuff up/cook it and send it out to the tables as people's lunch times rolled around. It was a pain in the ass, but it was also really fun.
My mission, take items out of the fridge and stick'em in the oven/on the stove top to heat up and then get someone to carry them out to the tables. Cook everything in the fridges - that was my direction. There had been signs on the fridges for two days telling people not to use these particular refrigerators because they were full of food for the company Thanksgiving dinner.
One of the things I also tend to be, when on a mission, is single minded.
Take items out of the fridge, cook them.
I embraced this mantra fully.
About halfway through the day, someone from the advertising department rolls into the kitchen, opens the fridge and says "Where is the dinner for the homeless family?"
Seems that the artsy types from advertising hadn't heeded the signs on the Fridge. They had thought that I would divine that their carefully packaged but unlabeled dinner purchased for a homeless family would escape my fervor to cook everything in said fridges.
"But where is the ham?"
I pointed to the banquet table outside the door, and the half devoured ham.
And the horror began to be cried to heaven! "SHE COOKED THE HOMELESS FAMILY'S THANKSGIVING DINNER!"
It's a story that still gets told, the time I cooked that poor family's meal.
I don't really think it's my fault though. You'd think that people smart enough to be employed by the advertising department of a major corporation could also heed signage on a refrigerator door.