Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Mr. Hyde (Or, A Rush of Blood Sugar to the Head)
I'm tempted to spend the next week (leading up to Thanksgiving) talking about food...
A decade ago, I worked for a small design company. Our office was housed in a huge floor-through loft space in an old underwear factory. My work space was in a shared grid of three other desks - all of which were occupied by women.
Two months after this set-up was configured, the three women's, um, cycles all, um, synced up.
I know this because they all talked about it - non-stop - when that time of the month came a-calling.
When Flo was in town, I would bait them with questions like:
"Did you know PMS is a social construct?"
"Did you know PMS only exists in Western Culture?"
"Did you know it's all in your head?"
I don't have to say - that line of questioning went over extremely well.
Anyway, the point of this story isn't related to women's reproductive health. This story's more about my own struggles with a certain personal demon...
Low. Blood. Sugar.
Now, my mother claims that my saying I have blood sugar issues is really a license to be a royal dick now and then. But I think it's more real than imagined.
You see, when I worked at this little design company, the three women I sat near collectively kept a drawer full of food (pretzels, nuts, protein bars) to fend me off when my maniacal, hungry side broke through.
One of them said - "We might all get PMS at the same time, but you're a bitch every damn day before lunch."
The food drawer in question came into being when I nearly reduced our office manager to tears over an order of recordable CDs. I'd asked and asked and asked her to order them day after day after day. After a week of no CDs, I finally confronted her:
"Are the CDs in yet?"
"Oh. They're out."
"Yeah. I called everyone."
"I find it hard to believe that the entire Eastern seaboard is 'out of CDs'."
"You're lazy. Step to it. NOW."
The whole event was witnessed by my three deskmates - thus, the drawer. Although they were impressed by my bitchery, they were more than a little scared.
After nearly two years of working with me, the three of them got a system down. Before I even had the chance to roll my eyes - or even think about rolling my eyes, I would be pelted in the head with sourdough pretzels or cookies or half a sandwich.