Wednesday, June 26, 2013

Special treatment ...

I worry that I'm getting spoiled. I'm hardly a selfless person, but I am hyper aware of standing between someone and something they REALLY want and something I only barely care if I can get. Of being an inconvenience or taking up too much space. Around the time the waist belt on my winter coat became laughably obsolete, I had to get used to people doing things for me: Letting me budge in line, holding doors, picking up my phone off the ground, offering me food or a seat and just cooing over my beach ball-esque girth.

At first it was uncomfortable. I felt like I was faking a limp and everyone was buying it. This was my "no, no ... it's no big" period. Then came the awkward acceptance that, yes, I would be less aware of my internal organs while sitting down so I'll take your offer but make an exaggerated grimace to show that I'm not super comfortable with all this take-take-take.

I'm now basically at: What the hell are you going to give me for THIS? (Cue the slow, exaggerated belly rub).

I was on my way to Subway today for a BLT and notice that it was apparently still Food Truck Lunch Hour. As soon as I saw the green Bookmobile-sized restaurant, I started craving its Caprese Panini.

"Are you still open?" I asked. All the signage had been stowed.
"I can't let a pregnant woman go hungry," the guy said.
"No, really, it's no big. I can --" I pictured the limp 6-inch sub at the other end of my errand.
"I can't let a pregnant woman go hungry," he said.
By the time I finished nodding, he'd brought the menu board back outside of the truck.
"The only one I can't make is the Caprese," he said.
I scrunched my nose.
"Nuts," I said. "That was the one I was going to get."
"GET THE STUFF OUT," the guy called to his coworker. Then added to me: "It's going to take an extra two minutes."
"No, no," I said. "Really. I'll."
I read the menu, which included a few things that fall outside the boundaries of safe pregnant eating. Hollandaise, for instance. (Raw eggs).
"It's just I can't eat some of these things," I said.
He nodded.
"FIRE IT UP!" he said, picked up the sign and carried it back inside the truck.
We traded some small talk about due dates and how fast the Food Truck could get me to the hospital if need be. Then I ate my delicious sandwich.

So, I did feel a little eeps about that whole exchange. On the other hand, every time I'm in my car and feel slighted by a fellow driver -- a refusal to allow me to merge, jumping line at a 4-way stop, cruising through a dark yellow -- I get extra incensed. I'm actually bothered that they can't see the relationship between my steering wheel and my stomach.

I actually think to myself: "Great. You just almost T-boned a pregnant woman. HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT THAT?"


Futbol said...

food trucks should be used only for delivering food babies.

Christa said...


Sarah said...

Take advantage of everything anybody offers you! Feel free to demand as you've never demanded before! These privileges diminish with the second pregnancy and only return full force when you have grey hair...Trust me!