There are lemon bars in the work lunchroom, leftovers from yesterday’s Birthday Celebration and Monthly Placation.
We’re a cared-for little group, those of us at Acme Grommets, Gravel and Industry (a world-wide Octopi). In the fall, there are apples every Wednesday. Once a month there are “treats”. And almost quarterly someone from the mailroom runs up and down the halls shouting “There are leftovers in the breakroom! Leftovers in the breakroom!” whereupon we lurch from our desks and stampede toward free food.
You have to be fast. Some of the departments here are frighteningly young but many are on the plump side. Disturbed middle-aged desk monkeys such as myself use guile and experience to edge them out. I find that cutting through the bathroom and throwing elbows when necessary to be a winning strategy.
Get away from that stale donut, you pup!
I’ve been working for an uncomfortably long time. I’ve gone from electric typewriters and, so help me, carbon paper, to a docked laptop that I can take home with me, should the urge to work come over me whilst cooking dinner. I’ve seen dress codes move from panty hose and enclosed-toed shoes to bare legs and flip flops. I’ve seen numerous people changing their pants in the obliviousness of their open-doored offices.
I once knew a woman who kept a tiny TV hidden at her desk and watched her “shows” during her lunch break in the bathroom.
I said all that to say this: There are lemon bars in the lunchroom. To my similarly experienced, randomly hungry coworkers, we will meet in the bathroom immediately.
As in all things, get it while you can.