Through out our long and crazy history, people have always found ways to keep the chaos that is life at bay.
Whether it be using a burnt stick to mark on a cave wall how many apples you lent to the cute but loud couple in the cave next door or charting the constellations to see if you should ask out that girl you saw in the market or downloading that app that helps to keep all your contacts backed up, people will always find a way to make things organized.
That is why I am a big fan of the list. A list is such a simple thing, yet the help it provides is beyond measure. They take up very little space, all your thoughts are easily accessed and you can jam it in your pocket and go. Also, my favorite part of a list is being able to check things off of it.
During the holidays, lists are literally my lifesavers. Without a list there is a pretty good chance my brother won't get a present or my niece would get the same exact toy I bought her last year for Christmas. Do you know how hard it is to try and explain why Santa Claus brought the same present two years in a row? It's not as easy as you might think.
Lists even found their way to my job. Every year around Christmas time, my boss, Larry, takes around a sign up list for the annual Christmas party. This way the company gets a fairly accurate count of how many people are attending the party. It also helps to ensure two people don't bring the exact same thing. At least, it theoretically should have.
I was a little late to the party because I had decided to call my girlfriend and talk to her for a bit. She had been working some insanely busy hours as of late, and I just wanted to tell her good night before she went to bed. So, by the time I made it to the party, everyone would already be eating.
As I walked to the break room my mouth started to water a little from all the food I remembered seeing on the list. There was going to be ham and southwestern spaghetti, all sorts of pasta salads, desserts and the such. Last year there was so much food, people were able to not only get seconds but a pretty healthy serving of thirds as well.
I pushed open the break room doors like an old west gun fighter who just entered the local saloon. My eyes quickly scanned the room until they found the food table. The first thing I noticed was a large ham with pineapple rings around it. It looked so delicious. I was going to take a big helping of that followed by...my eyes drifted down the table in a growing disbelief... followed by baked beans. And baked beans. More baked beans. Baked beans. Baked beans... and finally some kind of marshmallowy thing.
Literally, there was a total of 8 baked beans on the table. There was no southwestern spaghetti or pasta salads, and the only dessert looked as is it might have come from another planet or escaped from some secret government testing facility.
What was this? How did this happen? There was a list. I saw the list. There was only one person who had been marked down for bringing in baked beans. Confused, I cut a few slices of ham and took some baked beans. I passed on the mutant marshmallow creature and found a spot to sit next to the guy who was supposed to bring in the southwestern spaghetti. I needed to know what had occurred that caused everyone to go rogue and abandon their original choices.
As a guy who works several jobs I find I have become very adept at pulling information from people in a gentle and friendly manner. This is basically how the conversation went:
Kevin: Hey. Where were you at? Foods almost all gone.
Me: Yeah speaking of food, where the heck is that southwestern spaghetti at you have been bragging all week about.
Kevin: Ran out of time, so I just stopped at store and picked up some baked beans from the deli. It looks like a few other people had the same idea as me.
And that was pretty much the same reason everyone else gave as to why there were enough baked beans on the food table to make manually inflating a hot air balloon seem possible.
I know it seems like maybe I am making too big of a deal out of this, but I find it hard to believe this lack of list etiquette isn't bothering other people as well. After all, the point of the list was to ensure there were lots of different foods to choose from. Not to see if we could break the world record for the amount of baked beans that can fit on one table.
This year, I suppose, there is little I can do about the baked bean situation this year except try to avoid anyone who went back for second and thirds until we are outside in the fresh air... but next year, oh next year my friends, there will be consequences from going rogue.
Perhaps the company would allow us to ban baked beans outright or maybe some form of suspension without pay would be more appropriate. I guess we will just have to wait and see what the company would be willing to do and how firm of a stance they are willing to take.
Now if you will excuse me I am going to see if the vending machine upstairs has any cookies, because I am not going near that marshmallow stuff with out a sword and the head of Medusa to protect me.
What was this? How did this happen? There was a list. I saw the list. There was only one person who had been marked down for bringing in baked beans. Confused, I cut a few slices of ham and took some baked beans. I passed on the mutant marshmallow creature and found a spot to sit next to the guy who was supposed to bring in the southwestern spaghetti. I needed to know what had occurred that caused everyone to go rogue and abandon their original choices.