Stay out of the kitchen
One of the best and worst things about my job is that my desk is right outside the kitchen. On the plus side, I get to see what everyone eats and when they eat it. My close proximity also allows me to make tea and survey the cupboards whenever i please. In the minus column, I smell everything that is cooked, including delicious buttery popcorn, that leaves me hungry and resentful of the snackers.
Chris, the temp, has, hands down, the most disconcerting food habits. (Chris also has the wost job in the world, that being calling people and peddling books and outrageously expensive commemorative plaques. I feel a certain kinship with him because I suspect he also hates his life.) Shortly after he started here, I took note that he brought Chinese leftovers for lunch. I took note, as the refrigerator was broken and he was forced to leave the styrofoam container out on the kitchen table. I was jealous, and understandably so. I had only a peanut butter sandwich and a helping of baby carrots for lunch that day. My lust for fried rice grew every time I entered the kitchen. When finally, Chris sat down for lunch, a calm washed over me. At least the rice would be gone soon so that I could get back to pretending to work.
On my next trip into the kitchen, the savory smell of rice still lingering, I saw in the trashcan, the open styrofoam box, full of rice. It looked as if Chris had applied some soy sauce, raised his fork, then decided "No, fried rice is not for me." I was so so sad. Sad that no one got to enjoy the rice. Sad that it is disgusting to eat veritable strangers' leftovers out of the garbage. So sad.
I've come to accept that there will be days when popcorn is popped and soup is heated and I will be dissatisfied with my own meager lunch. But today, Chris took an early lunch around 11 am. This time he had a prepackaged frozen carton of chicken fried rice. Everyone who wandered into my kitchen-adjacent office during the 5 minutes or so that it was in the microwave commented on the delicious permeating smell.
As usual, I was angry. I didn't bring anything for lunch today, because I wasn't hungry when I left home at 8:15, so I couldn't imagine being hungry any time in the forseeable future. Chris probably saw me staring at the glowing microwave turntable and commented, "It's cool that they have soy sauce here." I paused before replying, "Yes. That is cool." I tried not to watch him eat, busying myself with "work," but when he finished and returned to his conference room, I went straight to the kitchen, and couldn't help but glance at the trash. And there it was. A paper plate, full of chicken friend rice and a few empty packets of soy sauce. I don't know why he does it, but I hate Chris. Because one of these days I'm going to be caught eating out of the trash and no one will see how it's all his fault.
Chris, the temp, has, hands down, the most disconcerting food habits. (Chris also has the wost job in the world, that being calling people and peddling books and outrageously expensive commemorative plaques. I feel a certain kinship with him because I suspect he also hates his life.) Shortly after he started here, I took note that he brought Chinese leftovers for lunch. I took note, as the refrigerator was broken and he was forced to leave the styrofoam container out on the kitchen table. I was jealous, and understandably so. I had only a peanut butter sandwich and a helping of baby carrots for lunch that day. My lust for fried rice grew every time I entered the kitchen. When finally, Chris sat down for lunch, a calm washed over me. At least the rice would be gone soon so that I could get back to pretending to work.
On my next trip into the kitchen, the savory smell of rice still lingering, I saw in the trashcan, the open styrofoam box, full of rice. It looked as if Chris had applied some soy sauce, raised his fork, then decided "No, fried rice is not for me." I was so so sad. Sad that no one got to enjoy the rice. Sad that it is disgusting to eat veritable strangers' leftovers out of the garbage. So sad.
I've come to accept that there will be days when popcorn is popped and soup is heated and I will be dissatisfied with my own meager lunch. But today, Chris took an early lunch around 11 am. This time he had a prepackaged frozen carton of chicken fried rice. Everyone who wandered into my kitchen-adjacent office during the 5 minutes or so that it was in the microwave commented on the delicious permeating smell.
As usual, I was angry. I didn't bring anything for lunch today, because I wasn't hungry when I left home at 8:15, so I couldn't imagine being hungry any time in the forseeable future. Chris probably saw me staring at the glowing microwave turntable and commented, "It's cool that they have soy sauce here." I paused before replying, "Yes. That is cool." I tried not to watch him eat, busying myself with "work," but when he finished and returned to his conference room, I went straight to the kitchen, and couldn't help but glance at the trash. And there it was. A paper plate, full of chicken friend rice and a few empty packets of soy sauce. I don't know why he does it, but I hate Chris. Because one of these days I'm going to be caught eating out of the trash and no one will see how it's all his fault.
posted by lady at 11:37 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home