Feed Mayo To The Tuna, April 23rd

I’ve always been a bit of an annoying efficiency expert. (Just ask my son.) I think I learned this from my Father. Strike that. I definitely learned this from my Father. I was once visiting my parents and my Dad was about to do a big food shop. I was already launched from the nest but made little money in my early 20s, so groceries were a serious commodity. When the ‘rents offered food freebies, you always said yes. Anyway, my Dad handed over the coupon folder and told me to pick through it to see if I needed anything that matched his cost saving clips. So I diligently scanned the pile and picked out a few I could use– StarKist Tuna in Water, a massive jug of Tide, and a Thomas’ English Muffin six-pack.

When I returned the coupons carefully to their folder I was scolded for not putting them back properly. “Dad, I placed them back neatly. What are you even talking about?” He replied by saying, “You’re supposed to put them back in order of the aisles of the grocery store.” After I composed myself from absolute hysterical laughter, I managed to eke out, “Ummm, Dad? I don’t know the aisles of YOUR grocery store.” Ya, that’s a little about my childhood. TMI, right? And yer thinkin… it’s alll starting to make sense now! You don’t have to tell me– I know.

Scarier than that? Well now when I make my own grocery list, I mentally weave my way through the aisles, jotting down what I need on paper to match the layout of the store before I arrive so that I can make one pass through and collect everything without having to double back. (I know– totally a cry for help.)

I love the expression, “Feed Mayo To The Tuna.” This brilliant concept was most famously discussed in the movie Night Shift. “What if you mix the mayonnaise in the can, with the tunafish? Or… hold it! Chuck! I got it! Take live tuna fish, and feed ’em mayonnaise! Oh this is great.” So said Michael Keaton’s character, Bill Blazejowski. I bet my Father could have come up with this. It is pretty brilliant.

I’m a chronic list maker and a “no dish left behind in the sink before bed” kind of cat. I’m one of those people that used to align the items on my corporate backsplash even if said items were just a company phone list and an announcement for a blood drive, but maybe that’s more OCD than efficient? I remember a colleague of mine once, just to torture me, crumpled up a piece of paper on his desk and placed it right in front of me. I didn’t even get the joke until he leaned in and said, “It’s not bothering me. It’s not bothering me.” Then I couldn’t stop laughing. And while I desperately wanted to throw away the offensive paper, I didn’t. This makes me similar to Bill Murray’s character Bob Wiley in the movie What About Bob who knows for a fact he doesn’t have Tourette syndrome because he can curse at will and then stop himself. And I stopped myself. Indeed a proud moment.

I genuinely feel happy when I’ve completed errands in an order that make sense like throwing in a load of laundry right before I leave the house to drop off the mail on my way to a haircut, after which I swing by to pick up a few groceries, and then return home just as the dryer cycle is complete. I almost feel like I should take a bow in front of the dryer. I’m not looking for applause from an audience, I’m much more interested in the endorphins released when I maximize an opportunity for supreme efficiency. (Ya, I can hear myself uttering those words in therapy while Dr. Lauren carefully makes notes and discretely dials the first two digits of 9-1-1.)

Like many Type A female friends of mine that also identify as Alpha-esque, I get shit done. (I’m sure Phyllis, Tracey, Anita, Robyn, Heidi, Alison, Susan, Esther, Kelly, and Heather can relate, right, ladies??) Also typical of a busy person, I tend to get more stuff done when I’m in that mode to think, decide, do, and move onto the next task or chore. Yes I tend to operate at a more urgent pace than most, demonstrate a higher level of impatience, reflect a competitive nature, and associate self-worth with achievement, but I don’t see many others injecting humorous rewards into the mix– like taking a bow in front of the dryer– c’mon, that’s all me.

I have learned to nurture my Feed Mayo To The Tuna-type life strategies– it’s just how I’m wired. (That pesky DNA thing again? I think so, Dad.) They say admitting you have a problem is the first step toward recovery. In this case, I’m happy to admit that I do strive for excellence in efficiency, but I’m wondering how many steps there will be on the path toward recovery and how many outfits I’ll need to plan for each step. I’ll definitely have to wear at least one pair of shoes twice and I think I’ll need a dress up outfit– especially for when I take my bow at the end.