A woman was fairly certain a coworker and myself were trying to kill her with tin foil. The restaurant where I was working used biodegradable paper boxes instead of styrofoam for food. Problem with paper is that it gets soggy. In order to counteract the sogginess, we put aluminum foil in the base of the box and traditionally we box customers’ food for them.
A new kid at work delivered a box to a table instead of taking her food back and I happened to be walking past when I heard her ask him why there was foil in the box. He explained that he didn’t know, he was simply trained to do that. So I intervened.
I explained to her that the boxes are cardboard and the foil is to protect the box and anything underneath or around it. In turn, she explained to me the dangers of aluminum poisoning and that it’s unsafe to keep food in or near aluminum foil.
She digressed to telling me the equally terrifying dangers of using plastic wrap.
So I reiterated to her once more, gently, the dangers of putting her salad in a small paper box and taking it home to her refrigerator.
Her response was something to the effect of “I’m debating having a soggy box, or getting aluminum poisoning. I think I’ll have a soggy box.” And so she handed me the foil.
I told her to have a nice day, and thanked her for the lesson in health and nutrition. We went about our days and all ended in a cordial manner.
There are a number of reasons I’ll never call myself perfect.
The earliest piece of evidence that comes to mind is a time when I was probably eight years old. My dad spent a lot of time out of town and working out of state. One time he came back from a job in Kentucky with two slingshots as souvenirs, one for me and one for my brother. The were both carved of wood, mine was in the shape of an eagle and my brother’s was a bear.
Instead of shooting rocks and doing damage, my brother and I came up with an alternative: together we made balls of toilet paper, soaked them in water, and shot them to watch them splat against any surface. I mean, it was kind of amazing.
I was curious and a bit too curious and I thought it was a good idea to take aim at a taxi that’d just pulled up in the alley behind my house. I remember pulling the band of the slingshot and holding it back for the longest time until I just let it rip. The thing snapped through the air and smacked the window at mach-4. It nailed the rear, driver’s side window and scared the hell out of the driver. He was a greasy, middle-aged man; and he was not happy. He got out of his taxi, yelled at me, and wanted to talk to my mom.
So I went inside, told my mom what happened, and that there was a guy who wanted to talk to her. She went outside before talking to me about it, and I went straight to my room (as was the usual punishment). I sat there for hours before I came downstairs to hear what my mom had to say about it. I wasn’t in as much trouble as I’d expected to be in, but I was not allowed to hang on to that slingshot.