So, as many of you may or may not know, John Hamm and I work together at a restaurant. She does a plethora of things there, and I just hostess, but one of her jobs is as a lunch server. Her uniform for this job is black shoes, black pants, and a long-sleeved black button-down shirt, tucked in. I know: so cheerful.
Anyway, this is relevant for you to know because a few weeks ago, on Halloween, I got this message from her while she was at work, serving lunch:
John Hamm: And then I served lunch in a mystery man’s shirt.
John Hamm: It comes down past my butt. It’s… Awkward.
Me: [realizing that she was wearing the shirt of a man whose identity was in fact a mystery] Wait… can I have this story?
John Hamm: What? Like for the blog?
Me: No. Well, maybe, but mainly because I don’t understand why happening.
John Hamm: Haha, okay. Well, I’m borderline retarded and forgot my black shirt today. So I went into the linen closet at work to see if someone left one there that I could use. There were a couple but they’re men’s size medium. I could be wearing this thing as a dress. It’s awkward, and it looks like I”m either a lesbian who has no idea what size she is or a harlot who grabbed a man’s shirt on the fly from leaving her latest conquest… The thing is, I have no idea whose shirt is currently in contact with my butt. So, Lemon and I devised a plan…
Me: Oh, this will be good.
John Hamm: We’re going to put a packet of Splenda in the pocket and wait and see who’s all “Who put this Splenda in my pocket?” At which point I’ll be all like “YOUR SHIRT TOUCHED MY BUTT!!!” It’s flawless.
Me: Holy crap. I fracking love it.
John Hamm: Depending on whose this is, I might have Butt-AIDS too. Solidarity, bro.
Me: Yaaaaay! Now this is totally going in my blog. :)
Yeah… I love being best friends with John Hamm.