I could take it. I really really could. But I won't. I won't take it. I am refusing to face the same ignorance and bullshit day after day after day.
"It," of course, is the collective name for my diet-obsessed coworkers. I have plenty of other names for them, but I'll try to be polite. Or at least civil. Or, at the very minimum, not call them meanies and stupid toads (even though I want to).
To call today a disaster would be an understatement. If the truth were a billboard, disaster would be in microscopic print. After every Big Fat Loser episode, I keep thinking "This can't get any worse." And yet, every time, I am proven wrong. It can and does get worse.
Event #1: I walk in at 8:15 am, early for once, and kind of strutting. See? I can get my mangy butt out of bed at a decent time. I overhear words about "photograph" and "scale." My heart sinks. They have already taken their "after" picture, so this can only mean one thing: a newspaper article.
No effing way.
Oh yes effing way. The reporter from the local paper is there to do a feature on the Big Fat Loser contest and how it was so beneficial, and how the health department is setting such a good example. WTF???? Setting such a good example? By embarking upon a weight loss contest which neither works nor has any long-term health benefits.
My head boils. You know that "This is your brain on drugs" public health campaign from the '80s? Well, my brain was the frying pan and you probably could have cooked an egg. Not that anyone there would have eaten it, however. They're filled with cholesterol and fat, dontcha know.
Event #2: I see the display poster they made for the interview. There were all of these little gold stars scattered around saying how many pounds each person had lost, how great they feel, that they had to buy new clothes because they lost so much weight. Blah blah blah. I actually feel offended not only because of the obvious reasons, but because I couldn't add my own little gold stars:
That's what I have lost when I lost weight. Only they don't know that.
Event #3: There had to be more, didn't there? So it's lunchtime, and I go into the breakroom (almost Freudian slip there- I initially typed "weight room") and get my lunch. Normal thing to do, right? It's lunch time, eat lunch. I sit down at one of the tables with a really nice nurse- or so I thought. She peels an orange. I pull out a bagel with hummus.* She looks at me and says:
"I'm trying to eat healthy. You know...stay away from junk like that."
Thank you. Thank you for ruining my lunch and my day. That, combined with everything else that had happened today, made me totally, utterly, and completely lose it. I chucked the bagel in the trash bin and walked out the door. I'm now regretting not chucking the bagel at her.
I go into an empty conference room. I sob. I call my therapist. I sob some more. I talk to my therapist. I decide to leave for the day, calm down and do some serious thinking, and then make sure I really want to quit before I turn in my resignation. I tell my boss I'm nauseous and need to leave- I'm not lying. I really wanted to toss it at that point. Not purge, but I was so emotional and anxious, my stomach was roiling, boiling, toiling. Drive home and manage not to barf in the car. Ate some lunch (not any bagels...not anytime soon), took a nap, and here I am.
I'm currently composing a little memorandum for my coworkers to read upon my departure. I'll post it for you later. Woot.
*Please note that this was only part of my lunch. I actually had packed quite a bit more.