Sometimes people leave little treats in the office kitchens. This morning I saw a box of interesting cake with “Please Eat Me” written on the box in Sharpie, and just now, hours later, there was three-fourths of a loaf of banana bread in another kitchen, just sitting there with a plastic knife by it, ready for me to take a slice. And eat it. With my mouth. Chewing it up. Getting all the flavors. Swallowing it down into mah belly.
It’s not always baked goods or pastries randomly in these kitchens, either. Sometimes there are whole meals, various fruits — all sorts of food. And I’m tempted. I’m always tempted, but… where did this food come from? Who put it there and, just as importantly, why?
There are some coworkers that, well, I’m not sure I want to eat what they are making. (If you are a coworker and reading this, c’mon! Don’t be silly — I don’t mean you. You probably know who I talking about… Yep. That’s the one. … I know, right?)
Not eating is no problem of mine. I tend to eat most of what is offered to me, and, even if slightly worried in my paranoid brain, I often do partake in the random foods left in kitchens. I then also often run down the hall like the work crier, letting everyone know of the free delights, far more excited than my mostly better-paid coworkers about free scraps of food, but my excitement is such that no silly sense of pride is going to waver me from at least attempting to spread what little joy I occasionally feel.
Be that as it may, there is always a pause. It’s not just mysterious work foods. I feel this way sometimes at pot lucks. Even as a kid at church, with all these great roasts and hams and seventeen varieties of macaroni salad… I’d look around and wonder who made what. It was usually fine, but there were some folks that, to be honest, scared me. That shouldn’t be past tense. Some folks scare me, either because of the potential for inasanity we all have (me included — me ESPECIALLY), but also just general hygiene concerns and whatnot.
I don’t mean to sound like a dick here, but I’m obviously not trying to not sound like a dick, too. My thoughts aren’t particularly deep, but there are a lot of them in my big head, and they kind of roam freely. I don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, but I usually question it. I wonder why that horse mouth (or, in these cases, tasty food treats) are staring me in the face. Why weren’t they eaten by their creators? (The treats, not the mouth of a horse — that’s a terrible phrase.) Sure, most people are nice, but… is there an ulterior motive? What is the potential for poison? Or, worse, random hairs in food prepared by unwashed hands? I mean, I don’t know! There’s just no way for me to know, especially when I have no idea who left the food in the kitchen or brought it to the potluck or put it on the sidewalk or — um… uh…
Screw it. That piece of pie looks mighty yummy, and it’s cheaper than going out for lunch.