I have a pathological fear of running into one of my co-workers (or other close-but-no-banana acquaintances) at the grocery store. I don't know what else to call it.

Today, my fear was confirmed when I ran smack - really, almost ran over - The Only Other Attractive Person in my Workplace®, who arrived at the exact same time.

GotdamnsumbitchIcouldn'tfindawhore-!

This only served to remind me that God™ is fucking with me.

Although it could have been worse. Much worse. I could have run into him with my items - Fancy Feast (Tuna in Gravy), batteries, and a lone cucumber - in my sad little single person's handbasket. That would have been worse. I guess.

So I flipped out and ran away and hid in the produce section with all the other fruits. As I paced between the casaba melons and the kumquats, I thought momentarily about joining him at the checkout to establish what a normal, non-social-anxiety afflicted individual I am, but realized I would have to write a check and I don't want him thinking I am a welfare queen in addition to an angry weirdo, compulsively masturbating, cuburbit-humping lesbian shoe-wearing cat fancier on Wellbutrin.

This was measurably worse than the time I ran into the co-worker who was purchasing Just For Men and Rogaine and banana-flavored condoms, only because I don't give a crap about what that guy thinks. He is a prissy, high-maintenance cheesewad, and his purchases only confirmed this.

But stomping up to someone and glaring, about to say something snotty because you think they might be a gangbanger and they won't get their brick shithouse-like posterior out of your way, then realizing it is your marginally attractive co-worker (made more so because they also happen to be your sort-of boss)? No es bueno, chiquititos.

It's just a bad scenario. Almost as bad as running into someone you know, who is just there to clean the fish tank, in an abortion clinic. Which has happened to me, also.

I must feel that I have something to hide, or else I just really hate bad lighting.