TOWEL CHECK, YOU ABSOLUTE MORON: REID #232
When did we evolve past fighting for what we need?
SHORT:
My shoulder kills and my hand goes numb in a weird pins-and-needles way at random times, making it impossible to focus or sleep. I’m doing nothing about it1.
MEDIUM:
There’s only one working outlet at the café I go to, and today, someone was sitting right next to it without using it.
Across the room, a woman tried plugging a charger into a dead outlet, and the barista pointed at the only working one and said, “That’s the only one that works.” The person sitting beside the only working one looked up, said “Oh,” and then… went back to reading her book.
Everyone was like, Huh?! No offer to move?
The air in the room was feral and silent for hours after. Eventually, the woman had to leave because her laptop died. When did we evolve past fighting for what we need?
LONG:
To my coworkers,
I hesitate to even bring this up, but I feel compelled to address what transpired at the beginning of this morning’s call. I am, of course, referring to the moment I abruptly disappeared from frame, followed by the unmistakable sound of a door being forcibly shut with the strength of a thousand men, only to reappear—visibly out of breath.
There is no existential reckoning quite like the three-second delay between opening Zoom and seeing your own face staring back. No one—not even the most powerful, the most dignified, the most chronically online—has ever logged onto a video call and thought, “I don’t look like a sentient thumb that figured out how to use its own thumbs to open its laptop.”
But this morning, for once in my life, I had made peace with my reflection. Until I saw it. In the background: the bathroom door. Open. And on the door—hanging, limp with the weight of its own betrayal—my bath towel.
The call was starting in 4 seconds. I considered leaving it be. There is no logical reason why this should matter. Everyone on the video call probably owns a towel. Some may have even washed one.
But then I thought, No. A towel suggests showering. And showering suggests nudity. I cannot be suggestively nude on a work call. That would be… well… suggestive.
A visible bath towel is far more humiliating than
The multiple in-office lunch breaks where Dan has described his IBS in shocking medical detail.
Or the time Dan, in a meeting, said, “Sorry, my bad—sometimes my wife and I just like to try new things in the bedroom, and it throws my whole morning off.”
Or the fact that Dan’s wife is always in the background on Zoom, bouncing up and down on her desk treadmill2.
Moreover, a towel is not just a towel. It is a question:
Had I just showered?
Was I about to shower?
Did I own multiple towels, or was this my only one?
So I made the decision to sprint across my apartment and shut the door before anyone could fully register what was happening.
Unfortunately, in my haste, I miscalculated the necessary force. The door did not close. It slammed. Loudly. Which, in retrospect, was far more alarming than just doing nothing. By the time I returned to my desk, the call had started. Someone said, “what was that?” To which I replied, “WHAT WAS WHAT?”
I deeply regret this response. It will not happen again. None of this will. I have set a daily alarm labeled “TOWEL CHECK, YOU ABSOLUTE MORON” to prevent future crises.
That being said, if anyone requires financial compensation for the distress this caused, I am prepared to Venmo you $1.47, which I believe is the fair market price for the emotional labor of pretending you didn’t hear what you heard or almost see what you almost saw.
I appreciate the patience and grace you have extended to me during this difficult time. While I cannot undo what has been done, I hope we can all grow from this experience.
…
What else?
I watched The Feeling That The Time For Doing Something Has Passed3 this week, and even though I am sex-negative, I loved it. It’s a genius collage of moments and images. Like one of those crime boards in a detective show, where red string ties the victim to a gas station receipt to a blurry image of a man in cargo shorts. But less exciting. And in being less exciting? It was more exciting! Feel free to print this review on a poster, Joanna.
Snack Of The Week was the vegan chocolate chip mug cake I just had.
C U Next Tuesday
Thank you for subscribing to this newsletter. Sometimes it’s funny, sometimes it’s not [it’s a lot like when people slip on ice].
If this is your first time reading, pls check out the archives.
Sincerely,
Reid Pope
Bonus Jonas Zone:
Actually that’s not true, I went to a place called Hands of Hope for a month, and it got better, but I stopped because it was far away, and I started feeling like they were hustling me. I am now trapped in an ongoing cycle of discomfort, but at least I feel like I won. My nose hair clipper is broken. I am also doing nothing about that. Which is a problem because testosterone has given me robust, wind-resistant nose hairs. My nose is a haunted house for dust… every time I breathe, my body is like nah, we’re keeping this one in the lobby for a while. If you’re still reading this, you get a prize.
There is obviously no real Dan on my team. That’d be crazy to write about here. Dan is a conglomerate of past coworkers I’ve had. Nobody on my current team is even close to a Dan.
The Feeling That The Time For Doing Something Has Passed is also how I feel about every single email in my inbox. Amirite?