Annal 50: Tale from the Deli Scale

I came to a conclusion today: working in a deli is like a metaphor for my life in all of its singleness.  You see, I came into work this morning and the very first thing I was to do was whip up four trays.  I set to this with reckless abandon, and received multiple compliments on how my trays turned out.  I took pride in this and may have patted myself on the back.  When the customers who ordered these trays showed up, I proceeded to carry them out of the cooler, shutting the door with my foot, which apparently impressed a co-worker.  Needless to say, I was feeling quite good about myself and my abilities.  Sigh... what is that proverb about pride?

While pricing chickens, my scale decided to stop working and wouldn't print out tickets for me.  I remained quite calm but by my tenth time taking it apart (no exaggeration there) I was frustrated.  I may have raised my voice at said scale (yes, I always yell at inanimate objects) and then slammed the scale shut.  One poor co-worker looked at me, and then removed herself from the back, thinking perhaps it was better to leave me to my insanity.  A little while later I was placing frozen chicken legs on a baking sheet but couldn't break them apart.  My course of action?  Slamming the frozen legs against the tray until they broke apart.  More co-workers came into the back to check on me, their faces a mixture of humor, caution, and downright fear.

Do you ever have moments where you think to yourself Hey, I'm a pretty decent catch?  Look at what I have going for me?  Then it seems like not even a moment later you realize that there is indeed a reason you single?  I can make a mean fruit tray.  I can close doors that seem impossible to close using my posterior end.  But then that image is ruined when I yell at a scale and slam frozen chicken legs against a counter.  Or when I rewrite the Christmas carols that play over the radio so that they suit the deli.  When such a moment hits, the lights switch on and I remember, there are reasons why I am single.  While one co-worker was kind enough to tell me this is because of where I live and not who I am, I know the truth. 

I am odd.

And that's okay.

For whatever reason God created me with a rather distinct personality, one that lends itself to random outburts of dancing and singing, or the slamming of frozen poultry.  I don't know why He didn't make me with a less quirky personality, but He didn't, and I am learning to deal with that. 

Such is the life of a Christian single.