Dear Apple Inc.,
Your iPhone product sucks. 50% of the time I go to use the Touch ID login, it doesn’t work. WTF? I thought you guys were supposed to be some kind of wizard geniuses.
Our data suggests that 95% of the time your Touch ID fails, it is due to the exorbitant amount of egg salad on your thumb. This egg salad obstruction impedes the device from accurately scanning your print. We are certain that if you learn to eat like a human, this will no longer be a problem.
Dear Apple Inc.,
Forks are for losers and a true lady eats her cold deli salads with a potato chip utensil, but I suppose I see your point re: the obstruction. I still think the technology should be sophisticated enough to scan through food or any other thick layer of grime that might be on my hand at any given moment.
You need more help than we here at Apple Inc. are qualified to provide.
Good luck in life,
Best gift I could ask for– life with this guy….
Partly inspired by a scale that told him he gained 9 pounds in the past week, and partly due to my constant complaints of feeling fat, Eric convinced me to try a “Paleo Restart” 30-day program with him.
Even though he discovered this morning that the scale was wrong (um, obviously. 9 pounds in one week? #science), and despite the fact that I didn’t actually want to DO anything about feeling fat, I just wanted him to respond “That’s crazy, you’re not fat! It’s fine to eat that 9th Hershey Nugget!” (um, obviously. #science) he’s still super into the program. Plus, we already paid the $35 for it. So fine.
I went to sleep last night totally on board to start this weekend, but then this morning had a horrifying realization.
Oh, yeah. Why didn’t I think of that?
PROBABLY BECAUSE I DON’T KNOW HOW TO MAKE EGG SALAD, MUCH LESS MAKE THE FUCKING MAYO FOR EGG SALAD.
(Part of the The NYC Effect series)
The gourmet deli next to me has delicious, freshly prepared foods, but it’s not exactly efficient. Every time I go in, the line isn’t that long, yet somehow I end up standing in it for at least 20 minutes, waiting to order.
Today I watched the man behind the counter take the order of a woman a few people ahead of me in line. She asked for half a pound of coleslaw. He took FOREVER to prepare it. And once he did, he gave her way too much. She pointed this out, and he shrugged and said, “Eh, no extra charge. We’re not here to make money or speed you through, we’re here to make friends!”
The old, Maryland me: “I love that! How refreshing! A place in NYC that actually values human interaction over robotic, impersonal efficiency! And he gave her free food! I’m coming here all the time!”
Me after a few years in NYC: “Aw, that’s cute! But still. I’m kind of in a rush here…”
Me today: <immediately walk out>
I don’t need friends.
I need some fucking egg salad.
(Continuation of I’ll Admit I Don’t Entirely Understand How To Prepare for a Storm )
For the record, the storm has passed and there is PLENTY of egg salad left.
To be clear, this is exactly how he handed it to me. With the egg salad sitting inside the bouquet.