I Almost Puked In My Uber This Morning Because Of Psychology

I’d like to preface this by saying that I try to inject classical conditioning into everything I do, because I think it works. I’ve classically conditioned men I date, roommates, pets, and even myself. It’s weird, and I won’t deny that, but it honestly works. In a moment of complete dumbassery, I decided to classically condition myself into being excited about going out by picking a perfume and only wearing it when I go out. So, every time I put on the perfume, even when I wasn’t in the mood to go out, I would get excited. For those wondering, it’s Jo Malone Peony and Blush Suede, and it’s actually delightful.

Except.

This morning, I couldn’t get out of bed for some reason. I was lying in bed until 9:20am, when I usually leave at 9:45. Just one of those days where you can’t get going. So, I decided (and I cannot overstate how unbelievably dumb this was) to put on my going out perfume to Pavlov myself into being excited to go to work. But things went very, very wrong.

I didn’t notice at first. I put it on right before I ran out the door to catch my Uber (another way I convinced myself to get out of bed– not having to take the subway). I got into the Uber and settled in for the 15 minute ride to work. The windows were up and the heat was blasting, which I didn’t mind at first, because it’s very cold out. But then, I started to get hot, and I took off my coat. That’s when it happened.

I caught a singular whiff of my perfume and almost gagged. I screwed up. Instead of reminding me of good times, my expensive Jo Malone perfume was reminding me of drinking, and more than that– puking from drinking. It was like getting way too drunk the night before and deciding to take a giant whiff of Burnetts first thing in the morning.

Now, I’m sitting at my desk just absolutely suffering. My hands are shaking. I’m pale. Large moved a garbage can next to me because I look like death has come for me. I’ve been trying, unsuccessfully, to wash my perfume off of me, but it’s on my sweater and in my hair, so I’m fucked. Every minute or so I’ll catch a whiff and have to deeply breathe and concentrate on not losing my breakfast.

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Moral of the story is, don’t fuck with psychology. It’s not for beginners. I’m done doing these experiments. I got cocky… I laughed in the face of God, and he is punishing me for my arrogance. And if I throw up in a garbage can in front of the entire office, I deserve it.