Farmyard Olive Garden

I work with professionals. Although the skill mastered to earn this title varies, I do work with professionals…they are all pros at something. A while back I was treated to a rare display of barnyard sounds from two very skilled women. Two large women. In Olive Garden. Eating Dinner. Making Pig noises. And I don’t expect you to believe me because I doubt I would either. But it happened.

A group of eight of us were on the road and met for dinner. Most of the people I work with are older, slower, and more conservative than I’m used to after fifteen years in the Tech industry. I ended up working here because the commute was short and vacation days plentiful. I normally find it tough to engage myself in social conversation because we just don't have much in common (except Sloth of course, but he wasn't on this trip).

I was amused when two larger older ladies, Porky and Elmer (and I am not picking these names because of their ‘larger’ size…read on!), began talking about their pet pigs. Porky is a loud woman with crazy black curly hair. Her boisterous voice fills a room like an entertaining stench (the kind that smells horrible but is so intriguing you have to take another whiff). Elmer is on my team and doesn’t like me. She’s complained to my boss several times about my refusal to work after hours on projects that I deem a complete waste of time. I don’t share her passion for work…or pigs for that matter.

So Elmer and Porky went on about how their pigs are like one of the family, sometimes eat at the table (I swear, I am not making this up), and even will sleep in their beds on occasion. Then, Porky started talking about “cute” noises her pet pig makes. And then, and I shit you not, gave us an example of a low throat like grunting sound it makes when it's happy. Elmer answered with her own version of the happy grunt; which reminded me that I could have been back at the hotel fighting orcs in “World of Warcraft.” Instead, I’m sitting in what sounds like a barnyard hoping nobody else in the restaurant recognizes me. For what seems like an eternity (fifteen seconds), I sit in the middle of an Olive Garden Restaurant while my two professional large older women co-workers lean over their dinner plates making pig sounds. All the while I’m thinking, this can’t be happening.

I don’t think it would have ended, except Elmer noticed the people around us staring. She cut her grunt short and Porky oinked out moments later. I looked down at my food and did what I always do in a situation like that; ignore it. I had to shut it out of my mind for a spell because otherwise I would have either been too embarrassed to finish my dinner or burst out in uncontrollable laughter. My guess is that it would have been the latter.