You may have heard or recalled an unusual story and someone says, "That could be an episode of Seinfeld". This phrase is part of the American lexicon, and I would translate it to mean what a surprisingly implausible yet entertaining situation. All you can hope is that you're someone other than George in the equation, because if you're George it can be more closely translated to:You just may be the only person that has ever happened to because it not's only implausible, it is funny how completely ridiculous it is. P.S. I'm sorry.
First let's explore the former usage. I was at a Starbucks a few months back and the woman at the front of the ever-growing line couldn't decide what she wanted; then used a word us regulars frown upon, a word such as "medium"; then she tried to pay with a gift card with insufficient funds so she reloaded it; then she decided she wanted to by ground coffee for a friend - but she didn't know what flavor and if it needed to be ground for an espresso or coffee machine- then she counted out exact change for her purchase.
The woman behind me leaned in and said "That could be an episode of Seinfeld". East-Coasters at the end of their lunch breaks at Starbucks know what they want, how to order it, and how many minutes they have to make the crosswalk.
Now to explore the latter translation. Today was episode of Seinfeld, and unfortunately I was George. I was wearing beautiful trousers: best-fitting in the closet, coworkers commented on how great they were, bought at full price at Banana Republic because they were so perfect for work, haven't been worn too many times, but a season past enough than I can't find another pair right now trousers. Someway or another in this blessed heat, I must not have noticed sitting on a fully exploded ballpoint pen. That's right, all over the back of my trousers so that as one colleague mildly put it 'it looked as though a child had scribbled all over my rear-end'.
So there I was, at my desk in a towel, as my pants, which I tried to clean hung soaking wet in the bathroom to no avail, and I was George in this Seinfeld of a story. Can't you just see him yelling, "My Pants" and Jerry shaking his head and saying "a ballpoint pen? You must have just sat in it? You didn't notice?" It feels so real I think this show may have happened. And then Elaine comes in and says, " a ballpoint pen. Really?! " and then Kramer comes in and asks for an unrelated kitchen utensil, before suggesting some ridiculous remedy that doesn't save the pants anyway...
I'm sure I was being too materialistic, but I was really upset. My office door was closed mainly because I was sitting at my desk in a towel, but partly because I was angry. I wanted to pout and to swear under my breath to myself (and to my husband when describing the situation via text message). I didn't want a cupcake or a latte or to take a breath or to let it go: I wanted to be angry and I had my whole lunch break ahead of me.
When it was time to get back to work I reluctantly refocused: I wasn't going to let one could have, should have, maybe was an incident from an episode of Seinfeld ruin my whole day. Now that I'm home for the evening and I'm going to choose to be thankful for the topic for my blog and curl up on the couch with a latte (easier said than done).