Tuesday, December 13, 2011


When I was in high school, I worked at a burger joint. It wasn’t a big corporate chain. There were just two restaurants. It was a huge learning experience, I eventually I became the co-manager with Milly of all people. I’ve known Milly since third grade. We did not like each other when I started working at the burger joint. I met Annie in fourth grade. We didn’t become friends until junior year and she was actually the one to get me the job in the first place. Annie and Milly worked together for two months before I came along. They hated each other. So already enemies at work and ten years later a step away from being sisters. Life is so funny. Anywho, back on tack of what this post is really about. I worked at this place for four years. When I started, I worked the counter and had to make milkshakes. The metal cups that most milkshake machines have were long gone. We made the shakes right there in the cup. The thing about that was when you pulled the milkshake down it sprayed the front of your shirt and, if you were wearing a short-sleeved shirt, your arms. We made the milkshakes from real fruit and real chocolate sauce and real peanut butter. Everything was fine except the peanut butter. It started to sicken me. The smell, the feeling of it on my arms. Washing the spatula after closing made me gag. Soon, I started to actually do everything I could to avoid making a peanut butter shake. I would trade favors or chores so someone else would make them. My co-workers started to catch on to what was going on and I started to get teased for it. They would chase me around with a spoonful of peanut butter and it would drive me to tears. I had developed a phobia. I could still eat it though, that was the strangest part. As long as it didn’t touch my skin and I held my breath, it was delicious. I still can’t stand the smell of washing the peanut butter knife at home, I use plastic knives and throw them away. If it touches my skin, I still panic. I tried to look up if other people are like me but all I could find was a fear of peanut butter sticking to the roof of the mouth. It’s called arachibutyrophobia. I don’t have it since I can eat it. I’m going to name it olfactoaraciphobia. Anyone else out there have it?

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