Every now and then we’re called upon to demonstrate our confidence in our own sexuality and often this occurs in situations you might not expect such as at your job. Just such a situation happened to me yesterday. Seems the company had agreed to let representatives of a local credit union hold what they called an ice cream social in the building. Fliers for the event were pasted on various walls and cabinets around the building for the past week and it turns out it was less a social than an excuse to get a free pen with the credit union’s logo and phone number on it, enter into a contest to win some cash, and get free bit of ice cream.
Now the company I’m working for is in the automotive engineering field both in terms of actually doing engineering work as well as producing software products that are used to do engineering work. What I’m trying to say is that the majority of people in the building are techy geeks much like myself (though smarter and better paid in many instances) and if there’s one thing geeks live for it’s food, particularly junk food, and offering free junk food is just asking for trouble.
Needless to say the vast majority of really good ice cream bars being offered during the social were gone within the first two minutes of the announcement that it was underway. I ended up being delayed by a phone call so by the time I made it to the galleria the only ice cream left were fudgesicles and a classic from my childhood that was popularly known as a Bomb Pop. I’m no fan of fudgesicles and the sight of the Bomb Pop brought a wave of nostalgia over me such that it ended up being my immediate choice without really considering the consequences of this decision. Because, as it turns out, the frozen treat I had so quickly snatched up while reminiscing about countless misspent summers of my youth was not an authentic Bomb Pop, but rather a competitor’s variation of it: Popsicle’s The Bullet Firecracker Red / White / Blue. In addition to the rather ridiculously unwieldy name this take-off on a cherished childhood classic had another obvious problem:
That’s right. It looks like a big patriotic dildo.
I hadn’t considered the idea that my choice of ice cream would result in me sitting at my desk sucking on, what might appear to be from a distance, a colorful sex toy. Coworker Dave was less than helpful in pointing out that “the tip is even red” when I mentioned my sudden realization of the awkwardness trying to enjoy this frozen treat was about to bring upon me. His suggestions for poses I could use for the picture did nothing to diminish the slowly creeping sense of dread I was experiencing as I contemplated the practicality of trying to eat it from the side the way you might an ear of corn. Ultimately I just decided to have confidence in my own sense of sexuality and just go ahead and eat it in the traditional manner and to hell with the awkwardness of it all.
If nothing else the jokes Coworker Dave and I passed back and forth about it helped to break up the afternoon a bit. It was, as they say, a source of great amusement for a good 15 minutes or so.