Okay so — you put four grams of salt in my coffee thermos this morning, which, fine, I'm choosing to make this a game instead of a reason to key your car.
Rule one: whoever adds salt to the other person's drink has to drink the next thing THEY make, unseen, no tasting first. Blind pour. I saw you eyeing my protein shakes in the fridge, so this should terrify you.
Stakes: loser buys lunch at Feng's, the one on Bramwell Ave, not the cheap combo either — the eleven-dollar one with the pork.
Four grams? That was barely a pinch, Jo, don't be dramatic. And Feng's on Bramwell? They cut the pork when I went last Tuesday, you know that. If we're buying, we're going to the place down the block with the greasy booth, not that tourist trap.
But the blind pour rule? That's stupid. You'd probably just poison yourself and then blame me. Unless... okay, what if the person who adds the salt also has to guess the exact weight of the salt? No, wait, that's impossible without a scale, so we'd just have to lie. Then the game breaks immediately.
Did I just make it sound like I'm trying to cheat? I'm not. That's your job.
A pinch. Sure. It was crunchy, Sam, I could feel it settling at the bottom like beach sand.
And no, we're not doing the weight-guessing thing, that's not a rule, that's just an excuse for you to say "twelve grams" with a straight face and dare me to prove it wrong.
Here's the fix: salt has to be pre-measured and shown to the other person BEFORE it goes in. Little spoon, quarter teaspoon, you hold it up like evidence. Otherwise no penalty triggers.
Which means the whole game only works if we trust the other one not to lie, and you just admitted you'd lie. So we're stuck before we even start.
Exactly, and that's the point. If we have to show the spoon, the game is already dead because nobody wants to be caught. I'm not lying, I just... forgot to bring a measuring spoon. Or maybe I did it for the texture. Who knows.
But wait, if you add the salt, you have to drink the whole thermos in one go, no stopping. That fixes the "stuck" problem, right? No, actually, that's worse because then you'll just drink nothing and say you lost. Ugh, you're making me think too much about the logistics.
Did I sound like I'm trying to weasel out of the pork? Because I'm not, I just hate rules that require trust. That's on you, not me.
"Forgot to bring a measuring spoon" — to my kitchen, where I own three of them, one shaped like a duck. You didn't forget anything.
Fine, drop the show-the-spoon rule, it's dead anyway. New fix: no salt allowed unless it's announced out loud beforehand, full sentence, "I am about to salt your coffee." That way there's a witness. Except the only witness is me, the victim, and I can just say I didn't hear it.
Also you still owe me for today, which nobody's addressed, and you're stalling on the pork question because Feng's cut it and you know it.
I wasn't stalling, I was just hungry and the line at the greasy booth was too long. Look, if the announcement rule is the only way, then I'll say it right now: "I am about to salt your coffee." There. Witnessed. But what if you're deaf? Then the game is void again.
And yeah, Feng's cut the pork, but you're the one who said the eleven-dollar combo, so you have to pay for the empty bowl. That's the penalty for bad specs.
Did I just make us both pay for a mistake? That feels wrong. I'm not saying it's right, but you started this whole mess with the coffee. Why do I always have to be the one to fix the rules?
I'm not deaf, Sam, I'm sitting three feet from you and you just announced it a week and a half after the fact, that doesn't count, there's no retroactive salting clause.
And "penalty for bad specs" — you invented that in the last ten seconds, that's not a rule, that's you trying to make me pay for pork that doesn't exist. You want me handing Feng four bucks for an empty bowl because I said a number out loud?
New problem: we now have three unresolved rules, one voided witness, and nobody's actually apologized for the salt. This game has more holes than the bowl you're about to owe me for.
I'm not apologizing for the salt, it was an accident. But look, if we have to fix the witness thing, what if we get a third person? No, wait, that's impossible, nobody knows we're here. This is stupid.
You're right about the pork, I should just pay. But only if you admit I didn't mean to make the coffee crunchy. Which I didn't. It was just... a lot of salt.
Did I just admit I'm terrible at making up games? Because I am. We should just go to Feng's and order the noodles. No rules, no salt, just noodles. Or do you want to keep fighting about a bowl that doesn't exist? You're being impossible, Jo.
I'm not admitting anything, "a lot of salt" is not "an accident," those are opposite sentences.
But fine — noodles. The garlic ones, not the sesame, last time the sesame sat under a heat lamp for two hours and tasted like a candle. You're paying though, since we apparently agreed on that three rules ago and I'm not letting you wriggle out of the one clean decision we made today.
Game's dead, by the way. Zero rules survived. We should've just started with noodles and skipped the thermos altogether — would've saved my Tuesday.
The garlic noodles are fine, but you're acting like I'm the one who decided to skip the thermos. I didn't skip it, you just refused to play by the rules. And I'm not paying for the noodles because you called me impossible, which is rude.
Actually, wait. If the game is dead, does that mean the salt incident is over? Or do I still owe you the pork? Because if it's over, I'm not buying lunch. If it's not over, I still hate the rules.
Did I just make it sound like I'm refusing to eat? Because I'm not. I just hate that you're making me feel guilty for a game that never really existed. You're impossible.
The salt incident and the game are two different things, Sam, one was a crime, the other was us failing to write laws about the crime. Dropping the laws doesn't pardon you.
So: pork's off the table, sure, fine, dead restaurant, dead menu item. But noodles are a new, unrelated transaction, and you're buying because you put beach sand in my coffee at seven in the morning while I was still half asleep. That's not guilt, Sam, that's arithmetic.
Also you called yourself impossible first, I just agreed with the data.
Okay, fine, arithmetic. I'll buy the garlic noodles. But you're twisting the word "impossible" — I said you were being impossible, not that I am. There's a difference.
And "beach sand" is hyperbole, you're just trying to win the argument before we even order. It was barely a pinch, Jo, why are you making this so hard?
Did I just say I'm paying? Yes, I did. But don't think this means the salt thing is forgiven. You're still going to owe me for the emotional distress of having to explain this to the waiter.
Wait, does that mean I'm paying for your lunch and the apology? That's not how arithmetic works. You're skirting the math.
"Emotional distress" from explaining a noodle order to a waiter who doesn't care what happened to my coffee — that's not a line item, Sam, that's you inventing a second bowl to charge me for.
You're paying for the noodles. That's it. No apology tax, no distress fee, no retroactive pork. One transaction, one thermos, one you-put-salt-in-my-coffee. I'm not letting this balloon into a whole ledger.
Order's simple: two garlic, extra scallion on mine, and you're telling the waiter yourself why you're paying, since you're so worried about explaining things.
Extra scallion? Now you're adding ingredients to the bill. I'm not telling the waiter why I'm paying, I'm just paying. If I say anything, you'll think I'm confessing to a crime I didn't commit. It was salt, Jo, not a murder.
And "one transaction" is a lie because now you're making me explain myself to a stranger. That's a second transaction in my head. You're worse than the salt.
Did I just agree to order? Yes. But if the waiter asks why, I'm blaming the scallions. They're the real culprit here. You're impossible.
The scallions didn't do anything, Sam, they're garnish, they've never harmed anyone in their life. You put four grams of sodium chloride in a thermos with intent, and now you want to frame produce.
Fine — you don't have to explain anything to the waiter, just point at me and say "he ordered." I'll take the blame for the scallions, you take the blame for the thermos, everyone goes home guilty of something proportionate.
We're leaving in ten minutes. Bring cash, Feng's card machine has been "down" since March, which I think is a personal choice at this point.
"Point at me" is a terrible instruction, that's just handing me the blame for the scallions. You're trying to make me the bad guy in a noodle transaction. And Feng's card machine being down since March? That's impossible, I just saw a poster last week. But fine, cash. I hope you have change because my wallet is a black hole of receipts and gum wrappers.
Wait, did I just agree to point at you? That sounds like I'm confessing to something. I'm not confessing. I'm just... complying with a request. This game logic is broken. You're impossible.