So remember the other day when I was talking about our weirdo staff and all their idiosyncrasies? Patrick’s not far removed from that list. At first, the only thing odd about the Canadian native was his tendency to throw in the “eh” in “mehgazines” and call beanies “tooks.” (I don’t care where you’re from, that still sounds utterly ridiculous. Almost as silly as calling a knitcap a beanie, I guess.)
But then I found out Pat hates eating fruits. But specifically, he detests oranges and everything they represent in this world. EDIT. He doesn’t hate them, he’s deathly afraid of them. To the point where he won’t go in a room if there’s an orange inside. He doesn’t eat/smell/look at oranges, won’t drink orange juice, not even orange soda! Not even orange candies, not even orange chicken! The kid is a total case. Once, his sister attacked him with an orange and he jumpkicked her so hard that he shattered her ribs. I wish I was kidding.
So upon hearing this admission, I did the only rational thing. I took one of my blood oranges from lunch, perched it right above Pat’s desk on a bookshelf, and drew a smug watchful face on it. Now, Orange keeps a watchful eye on Patrick, and Pat’s always uncomfortable at work.
But then today, Orange couldn’t take it anymore, and went after Pat.
This is the stupidest blog entry I’ve ever written.