Fucking Lynne.

This is the first in a 50 part series of posts dedicated to the people I work with at the deli. Just kidding. I don't know if I'm committed enough to do that. But I love Lynne and have to share this story.

So Lynne is one of the managers and whenever I mention her to friends or my family I refer to her as "Fucking Lynne" because she uses the word fuck-- a lot. I love it. LOOOOOOVE it. Of all the people I've met in my entire life, Lynne easily makes the Top 10 most naturally hilarious list. When I first started working, she used to explain things to me and then quickly follow with, "But don't do that because you'll fuck it up." It was hard to argue with such a direct managing style. Plus, she was right. I probably would have. But even after about 4 months she would still say things like, "Jess, you stay there because you'll fuck this up." and before I could begin to protest I'd think, "Well, she probably has a point." 

When a certain regular comes in looking for her, Lynne speaks through a wide grin, "How many fucking times does she have to kiss me hello, Jess? I don't fucking know. Is it 5 times, Jess? Fucking six times?"  And I tell this story all the time but when she first started with Weight Watchers--excuse me-- the "WW"-- I complimented her sandwich and she launched into this rant about points:

You can't have any of it. It's all I'm fucking eating for lunch and it's like 3 fucking points, or 6 points, I don't know. It's all about fucking points, Jess. I don't know. I just eat what Lisa makes me.  All I know is I get my fucking chocolate ice cream bar at the end of the night, that's like 1 fucking point."

OK, so you get it. 

Anyway, I left work in quite a mood the other day. I try to subscribe to a "life gets heavy, lighten up" philosophy, but I really wasn't having any of it that day and I was pissy. Pretty close to my version of a boiling point. Anyway, I left the restaurant and started to cross the street without a walk signal but quickly had to jump back to the curb to avoid the oncoming traffic. As soon my feet landed back on the sidewalk, some fool laid on their horn and started screaming out of a rolled-down passenger side window, "Stay out of the fucking road, lady!"

Well that's all I needed to hear. I was already worked up, but having someone scream at me for no reason sent me to an entirely new level of mad. I could feel my pulse in my neck and had every intention of giving them a piece of my mind. (Pointing was going to be involved. I was thinking of saying something like jerkoff. It was going to be epic.) As the SUV slowly drove past me, I steeled myself for verbal combat, looked into the car, and saw Fucking Lynne laughing her head off. 

I walked the rest of the way to the train with the biggest most ridiculous grin on my face as I tried not to keel over laughing on the sidewalk. Who would have thought someone screaming obscenities at me from a car would be the fastest way to calm me down?