When Bill decided to undertake a regular JOB (…forgive me for the swear word…) about 20 years ago, it was quickly determined (not necessarily in this order) that (a) I make better sandwiches than Joe’s Sandwich Shoppe down the street thus (b) necessitating a lunch box for Bill to proudly tote his gourmet largess to his place of employ to amaze the rest ‘o the ratz partaking of the race.
Now, be forewarned: if you issue a VAGUE directive to moi, I WILL follow through with initiative! Just ask my mother.
So Bill’s seemingly-simple request to “just buy me a lunchbox – and don’t bother me with the details” was literally License to Fly in my book.
SO MANY POSSIBILITIES – and license to fly with them ALL!
I burned through listings of GREAT possibilities for Bill, i.e.:
(…’cause lunch doesn’t GET more Manly than
The Starship Enterprise or Darth Vader!)
And after looking in about 10 places (including Collector Lunch Boxes on Ebay) I settled on the perfect one. And since Bill had been REALLY specific about the “don’t bother asking me/just GET ME ONE” piece, I felt my acquisition had MORE than enough thought put into it. (Actually, I THOUGHT I wanted them ALL…then he could ROTATE. How cool would THAT have been???)
The Day of Unveiling arrived: I carefully packed the lunch in his new box and had it all ready to go by the door when he skidded to a halt from his outward trajectory with a look on his face akin to biting into a lemon.
Bill (roaring): WHAT is this??
Moi (proudly): Your new lunchbox! You wouldn’t believe how many themes I burned through before finding JUST the right one!
Bill (more roaring): You expect me to actually BRING THIS TO WORK?
Moi (puzzled): Of course. What else would you do with it? ‘Course I suppose you COULD display it on the mantel…
Bill (adamant): I CANNOT GO TO WORK CARRYING THIS THING – I’d be a laughingstock!
I put it to a vote: who in the world doesn’t like Scooby Doo?
Me (huffy): FINE. Today it’s an innocuous brown paper sack. You can go to work and mix up your lunch with the other 100 workers in the building. (booooring….)
Bill (equally huffy/totally unappreciative): FINE. That’s more like it.
Scooby was supposed to be returned; but having Scooby Envy (personally, I’d give an eyetooth to proudly carry Scooby to work), I couldn’t bear to part with him and he’s buried in the depths of my Someday If I Live Long Enough, It’ll Be Worth a Fortune room.
The replacement: an appropriately BORING plain gray lunchbox with NO distinctive qualities. Which the Man proudly carries to work daily even 20 years later.
That’s ok. I keep putting Post-Its on his lunchbox from time to time to strike the Fear of Lunchbox Gods into him.
They all read:
“Scooby Doobie Doo – WHERE ARE YOU?”
Only I know where Scooby still lives.
In our Collectibles Room, just awaiting valuable reincarnation.
And when he’s worth $5K (in mint condition) – Scooby and I will be laughing ALL THE WAY TO THE BANK. I’ll be RICH!