Folks, it was just me, my snack, and the rest of the office. It was my second day back at work, and as usual on such occasions, things quickly got ugly. I had been promising myself to save the snack for a few hours, you know, as a kind of treat. Well, this little transcription ought to show how that idea went:
SNACK sits on the desk, regarding TIM with a baleful eye.
TIM: (Loudly) What? (Looks around, seeing if anyone else in the office can hear him) What are you looking at?
SNACK: I know what you want.
TIM: (Leaning in) Nope. Not even thinking about it.
SNACK: Not even a little bit?
TIM: Stop it! Why do you always do this?
SNACK: Oh, but Tim (rolling its eyes). You're sooo hungry. I can just hear your stomach, rumbling.
TIM: Not. One. Bit.
SNACK: Feeeed me, Tim. Feeeeed meeeeee!
TIM: Please! I'm trying to concentrate on my work?
SNACK: Num num, Tim. Num num. Think of how good it would be...
TIM: ... to eat you? Is that what you want?
SNACK: I think that's what we both want, Tim.
Ten seconds later it was done. I think we both know who won that argument. It did taste good though.
Almost every day in the office it's the same thing. Why is it that you place four walls around me, and give me a set period of time, say, seven to eight hours, and a snack as something to help me get through the day, that I end up quarreling with the snack in the first hour, and eating it before the second hour is done? Is it despair at being stuck in the office? Is it the common lot of the office worker to gorge on their foods before the tea break is allowed? Would a hunter do the same thing, gorging on a feast before going out and slaughtering their prey, and thus proving their worth for society? What?
I don't know. I just know that if you place me in the proximity of anything sweet, in a familiar office, and leave me alone to do my work, within minutes, the crumbs will start flying.
Tim, your links stink, you fink!
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- Jazzy Hands
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- The briefs...
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