by Molly Jo Realy @MollyJoRealy

I just want to remind y’all, before reading this post, that I’m the Bohemian Hurricane. Do with that knowledge what you will, and read on:

So, y’all know I took a new job last summer, right? After years of sitting in an office, doing same-ol’-same-ol’ stuff day after day, my friends convinced to apply for an open position at the local newspaper. Now I’m rocking my own territory and going in and out of the office and car and meeting and greeting and creating and marketing and it. is. awesome.

And because I’m out of the office more often than not, and because it’s a big, windy [that’s wine-dee, as in go-here-there-and-everywhere, not win-dee, as in winnie-the-pooh-and-the-blustery-day], multi-hallwayed building, I was pretty pleased when my reporter friend found me at the break room vending machine and led me through the labyrinth to *gasp* another vending machine.

There. In the back. Past the printing press. Through the automated stackers. Beyond the double doors and to the left-left-right-left of what I thought was the end of the building. There I found my delight. Cheez-It crackers.

Frankly, My Dear . . . : That One Time Cheez-Its Made Me Lose My Way

Frankly, My Dear . . . : That One Time Cheez-Its Made Me Lose My Way

So this is when I confess share my love for these salty, flavorful bites. Like, I will go to the store for just these little babies if I have to. I’m serious. They are delicious with mini marshmallows. Especially when those marshies are roasted. [HOME HACK: mini marshmallows + fondue fork + pocket lighter = yum/fun.]

It’s like a cheesy S’more (Hey. Don’t knock it til ya try it.)

Frankly, My Dear . . . : How I Roast Marshmallows (Don't Try This at Home)

Frankly, My Dear . . . : How I Roast Marshmallows (Don’t Try This at Home)

And last week, I was craving these like a Southerner eats grits in the mood for something simple, so I meandered back to where I thought the other vending machine was. [Did ya catch the “thought” part of this statement? That’s gonna be important, dontchaknow.] But I ended up in a supervisor’s office. Thankfully he’s a nice super, so he walked me [most of] the rest of the way, and pointed. “Through those doors. No, not those doors. Those doors.”

“Got it,” I nodded. Not getting it.

And this would have been a good time to already have had the crackers, or something, to leave a trail so I could get back easily.

Oh, you already know where this is going, right?

I find the room. The vending machine. The crackers. My heaven. And then I turn around to go back.

Now, I’m not a fan of doing the not-working thing. Even if it’s just five extra minutes away from my desk to grab my Cheez-It happiness. So, I’m feeling a little rushed. A little anxious. A little, oh-my-gosh-would-someone-just-put-up-a-sign-already stress.

The press wasn’t running at the moment. In fact, no one was there. The lights were off. Which makes heels click a little louder in the behemoth machinery room.

It felt a little a lot like those stalker movies you see. Or the part in a horror film when the girl is being followed by the monster in the red cape, only she doesn’t know she’s being followed by the monster in the red cape. And she’s wearing bright, there’s-no-way-to-camoflauge-this clothing.

And then I couldn’t remember if it was those doors, or those doors. Or maybe it was those doors. Because I was facing the opposite way when Super told me. So now, well, I just don’t know.

Wait. There’s a sign.

Frankly, My Dear . . . : Do Not Enter

Frankly, My Dear . . . : Do Not Enter

Yup. That’s a sign.

Okay. Not those doors. And apparently not those doors, either. So, it’s just those doors. Got it. Phew. I mean, if I was writing a murder mystery, I’d begin to think this could turn out quite badly for someone like me.

I thought maybe I should slip my shoes off and tread lightly, but then the floor might be covered with tiny staples or paper pieces. Last thing I want is a paper cut on my foot, right? Especially when I have to run fast to escape the red-caped nothingness that by now I’m sure is breathing down my back. [Dang, those things move quickly out of sight when I turn around!]

I’ve been away from my desk phone work for about six-point-eight minutes now. I wonder how long I have to be gone before they realize my purse and coffee cup are still there … without me?

“She never goes anywhere without her coffee cup.” “Do you think something’s happened to her?” “Nah. Think she’ll mind if I take her crackers? Oh, wait. She doesn’t have any today.” #businessasusual #thankyouverymuch

And then some day, soon I hope, they’ll find me. Cowered in a corner. Licking cheese cracker crumbs off my finger tips and laughing maniacally. Because whatever was chasing me didn’t get me. And I didn’t give up the Cheez-Its.

I made it back to my desk after another right-left-left-right turn fiasco. Then it was retrace-left-left-right-right. [Insert expletive here.] Retrace-retrace-right-right-left-right. [Murmur of appreciation.] [Uhm, maybe more like get-out-of-my-way-I’m-happy-dancing-like-I-won-the-lottery kind of utterance.]

Super: “You find them okay?”

Me [feeling much like Kevin, the bewildered Park Security Guard in The Village]: “Yeah. Sure. No problem.” Please don’t look at me. I rarely recover well from awkward.

Super [Not looking up, much like the older, wiser Security Guard in The Village]: “Good.”

I expected him to say “It’s a really easy gig, Kevin . . . Don’t cause me any troubles.” Thankfully, he didn’t.

So I went back into the woods, delivered the Cheez-Its to my desk, and tried to forget Those (Awkward Moments) We Don’t Speak Of.

Frankly, My Dear . . . : That One Time Cheez-Its Made Me Lose My Way

Frankly, My Dear . . . : That One Time Cheez-Its Made Me Lose My Way

TWEET THIS: That One Time #Cheez-Its Made Me Lose My Way @RealMojo68 @cheezit

With a fondue fork and cheesy fingerprints,
Happy snacking.
~Molly Jo

And Frankly, My Dear . . . : That’s all she wrote!

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Sweeten my tea and share: