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- Story Listed as: True Life For Adults
- Theme: Drama / Human Interest
- Subject: Comedy / Humor
- Published: 01/17/2012
GO AHEAD, “EAT MY LUNCH!”
Born 1952, F, from Penrose, Colorado, United StatesGO AHEAD, “EAT MY LUNCH!”
This is dedicated to all of you out there who, literally, “ate my lunch.” Yep, that’s right. No, you weren’t over at my house spending the night, helping yourself to fridge leftovers. That I could have possibly understood, slightly forgiven, even. No, I’m talking about in the workplace, that’s right, the place where we spend the vast majority of our lives, almost more time than at home-sweet-home. But is that any excuse? Not on my clock! I don’t know if there’s ever an excuse to eat my lunch unless you’re a soldier home from the war and haven’t eaten in a month; or, if you’re Jesus, then, please, by all means, be my guest and here’s some wine and bread to swallow it all down. And while I’m at it, do I need to call a meeting of the Twelve Apostles for a second Last Supper? No? Don’t fall into either of those two categories? Then Houston, we have a problem!
I want to know what’s attractive about a stranger’s Tupperware or a Styrofoam carton inside a doggie-go-bag? Personally, that just totally grosses me out; I don’t even eat after my own husband and we supposedly love one another. I don’t think I love you, at least I don’t remember telling you I did unless it was at one of those ho-hum, goofy, open-bar employee office parties that no one remembers the next day, anyway. And the only time I swap spit (can you help it?) is when my husband and I kiss goodnight or when we see each other off in the morning on the way to work.
Also, what part of my name Susan written all over the Tupperware or doggie bag did you not see? Or, is it quite possible now, you’re name is Susan too and perhaps you got a little confused? Several things wrong with that picture:
a) You never told me your name is Susan. If it is, that must make you a pathological liar, then, right? And if you’re a man, well, then you have some real issues and may I suggest a Therapist who specializes in “Cross-Identity Personality Disorder.”
b) You cooked a Ground Meat Noodle Casserole exactly like I did, which I doubt seriously because I use special ingredients, and for the sake of argument, let’s say even if you did, the same night before? And brought it to work like I did, the very next day? That’s strange; then there should be two Susan lunches here if my mathematic calculations are correct; or
c) You went to the same Chinese Restaurant I did last night and ordered Moo Goo Gai Pan, but without the Soy sauce? Funny, I didn’t see you there during normal serving hours.
d) My favorite: I have skull and bones on the outside of my lunch container that I drew. That doesn’t scare you away? It would me. How do you know I didn’t “spit” in that food as a test, or better yet, (and yes, I have done this before) hid secret lumps of Chocolate Ex-lax between folds of Romaine lettuce and Artichoke. Now all I have to do to find out who the culprit is (this is fun): watch who runs to the bathroom five times in a thirty minute period. Bingo!
I don’t know about you, but my parents raised me not to take other children’s toys, food, items, anything not personally belonging solely (and soul-ly) to me. It was never hard to distinguish what’s mine from theirs. I always had the best, most expensive toys to tote around, so, I guess I was an easy target. There was always the neighborhood or school bully to take away our Barbie dolls and roller skates. What happens? The bullies grow up into Adults and wow ~ they look just like you except you don’t fit in those cute Osh-Kosh clothes, anymore. Grow up!
I just don’t get why you can’t eat a bigger breakfast, since you cannot afford or bother to fix your own lunch. All you had to do was tell one of us in the office and I’m sure none of us would mind taking turns springing for a sandwich for you, as long as you leave “our stuff” alone.
It kinda puts a damper on my day when I’ve been working hard all morning and I go into the lunchroom ordained as the Employee Lounge and I’m starving, right? And so I go into my Susan Styrofoam of left over Chinese Food from last night and I see that someone has gnawed precariously away at my one remaining Egg Roll. That’s right, you took a bite out of it, there’s the teeth marks, not mine (my teeth aren’t that big, looks more like fangs to me), and had the audacity to put it back . . .
However, it would have been better if you had eaten the whole darn thing instead of leaving me an ABC (already been chewed) Egg Roll. That doesn’t set well with my appetite. That, as a matter of fact, would be a great incentive to loose weight ~ to see your food half-eaten by God knows what or whom. For all I know, you could have snuck your dog in after hours and thinking perhaps that he was bored and hungry while you’re supposed to be doing billing, you give him half of my Egg Roll. What happened, guilt set in? Did you hear somebody coming, grab the Egg Roll out of Fido’s mouth and cram it back into the Styrofoam, and then back in the fridge? You must not think too much of me. As a matter of fact, you must think I’m a real idiot if you think I didn’t notice a half-eaten Egg Roll swimming around in my Moo Goo Gai Pan. God, give me more credit than that, please. If I were this stupid, would I be the Senior Partner of this law firm’s Secretary? I seriously doubt it and, may I add, so should you, just for the record.
Now, this has crossed my mind. Perhaps you’re jealous that I didn’t have to work late and you did. Or, let’s see, groping here, oh, I type faster than you and so you think eating my lunch will get back at me. I don’t know. YOU tell me. Because you do something totally I would never do, and I know what they say ~ never say never, right? But I’m telling you, I would never eat a stranger’s food and the mere thought has me gagging. I swear I may not eat for the next couple of days after that visual, thank you very much!
My fear runs cold. Suppose you are one of the attorneys working on a brief. It is the wee hours of the morning; your hunger takes over. You’re worn out from the work that is due in court in two days, and then bam! It hits you, the employee lounge fridge is within your grasp. Mind you, you make over $150,000 a year, but you don’t have a problem stealing from your poor Secretary or Paralegal who make a pittance of $10 an hour slaving for you sixty hours a week and not getting paid overtime. Huh! I have a problem with that worse than if it’s one of my co-workers because you can afford to go out there and order from a Five-Star Restaurant and have it delivered to the office. But you’d rather walk a few paces to the Employee Lounge and eat my lunch, who will miss it, right? Nobody died over this, and the world is not coming to an end because of your actions. That’s your legal analogy of the entire situation, what’s the big deal? Who was it that said, “Kill all Lawyers?” Oh, Shakespeare, that’s right. We might really want to look into that ...
You know who you are and I beg you please – STOP! It’s a nasty habit and you don’t want to really go any further with this. What’s to stop you from eating food that falls on the floor, or if someone sneezed around it and didn’t cover their nose? Are you one of those who sneak a taste of Purina Chow Cookie Treats? Better yet, twice as scary ~ when you ran out of tuna at your New Year’s Party, did you substitute canned Friskies Cat Food, thinking your guests wouldn’t tell the difference between that, or say, Salmon Pate’? How do you know the food isn’t spoiled and has microscopic mold sprouting juicy tentacles indistinguishable to human taste buds other than what might be accepted as Tofu? Just asking. Where does it stop? We know where it starts.
But wherever it ends, I guess I will stop bringing my lunch to work. No bringy, no takee, right? No lunchee, nothing there for you to stealee.
Remind me to never tell you where I put dinner(ee). And we’ll all live happily ever after(ly).
If that makes sense. Don’t look at me like that. Augh-oh, there’s hunger in your eyes. I can just taste it.
© Susan Joyner-Stumpf
GO AHEAD, “EAT MY LUNCH!”(Susan Joyner-Stumpf)
GO AHEAD, “EAT MY LUNCH!”
This is dedicated to all of you out there who, literally, “ate my lunch.” Yep, that’s right. No, you weren’t over at my house spending the night, helping yourself to fridge leftovers. That I could have possibly understood, slightly forgiven, even. No, I’m talking about in the workplace, that’s right, the place where we spend the vast majority of our lives, almost more time than at home-sweet-home. But is that any excuse? Not on my clock! I don’t know if there’s ever an excuse to eat my lunch unless you’re a soldier home from the war and haven’t eaten in a month; or, if you’re Jesus, then, please, by all means, be my guest and here’s some wine and bread to swallow it all down. And while I’m at it, do I need to call a meeting of the Twelve Apostles for a second Last Supper? No? Don’t fall into either of those two categories? Then Houston, we have a problem!
I want to know what’s attractive about a stranger’s Tupperware or a Styrofoam carton inside a doggie-go-bag? Personally, that just totally grosses me out; I don’t even eat after my own husband and we supposedly love one another. I don’t think I love you, at least I don’t remember telling you I did unless it was at one of those ho-hum, goofy, open-bar employee office parties that no one remembers the next day, anyway. And the only time I swap spit (can you help it?) is when my husband and I kiss goodnight or when we see each other off in the morning on the way to work.
Also, what part of my name Susan written all over the Tupperware or doggie bag did you not see? Or, is it quite possible now, you’re name is Susan too and perhaps you got a little confused? Several things wrong with that picture:
a) You never told me your name is Susan. If it is, that must make you a pathological liar, then, right? And if you’re a man, well, then you have some real issues and may I suggest a Therapist who specializes in “Cross-Identity Personality Disorder.”
b) You cooked a Ground Meat Noodle Casserole exactly like I did, which I doubt seriously because I use special ingredients, and for the sake of argument, let’s say even if you did, the same night before? And brought it to work like I did, the very next day? That’s strange; then there should be two Susan lunches here if my mathematic calculations are correct; or
c) You went to the same Chinese Restaurant I did last night and ordered Moo Goo Gai Pan, but without the Soy sauce? Funny, I didn’t see you there during normal serving hours.
d) My favorite: I have skull and bones on the outside of my lunch container that I drew. That doesn’t scare you away? It would me. How do you know I didn’t “spit” in that food as a test, or better yet, (and yes, I have done this before) hid secret lumps of Chocolate Ex-lax between folds of Romaine lettuce and Artichoke. Now all I have to do to find out who the culprit is (this is fun): watch who runs to the bathroom five times in a thirty minute period. Bingo!
I don’t know about you, but my parents raised me not to take other children’s toys, food, items, anything not personally belonging solely (and soul-ly) to me. It was never hard to distinguish what’s mine from theirs. I always had the best, most expensive toys to tote around, so, I guess I was an easy target. There was always the neighborhood or school bully to take away our Barbie dolls and roller skates. What happens? The bullies grow up into Adults and wow ~ they look just like you except you don’t fit in those cute Osh-Kosh clothes, anymore. Grow up!
I just don’t get why you can’t eat a bigger breakfast, since you cannot afford or bother to fix your own lunch. All you had to do was tell one of us in the office and I’m sure none of us would mind taking turns springing for a sandwich for you, as long as you leave “our stuff” alone.
It kinda puts a damper on my day when I’ve been working hard all morning and I go into the lunchroom ordained as the Employee Lounge and I’m starving, right? And so I go into my Susan Styrofoam of left over Chinese Food from last night and I see that someone has gnawed precariously away at my one remaining Egg Roll. That’s right, you took a bite out of it, there’s the teeth marks, not mine (my teeth aren’t that big, looks more like fangs to me), and had the audacity to put it back . . .
However, it would have been better if you had eaten the whole darn thing instead of leaving me an ABC (already been chewed) Egg Roll. That doesn’t set well with my appetite. That, as a matter of fact, would be a great incentive to loose weight ~ to see your food half-eaten by God knows what or whom. For all I know, you could have snuck your dog in after hours and thinking perhaps that he was bored and hungry while you’re supposed to be doing billing, you give him half of my Egg Roll. What happened, guilt set in? Did you hear somebody coming, grab the Egg Roll out of Fido’s mouth and cram it back into the Styrofoam, and then back in the fridge? You must not think too much of me. As a matter of fact, you must think I’m a real idiot if you think I didn’t notice a half-eaten Egg Roll swimming around in my Moo Goo Gai Pan. God, give me more credit than that, please. If I were this stupid, would I be the Senior Partner of this law firm’s Secretary? I seriously doubt it and, may I add, so should you, just for the record.
Now, this has crossed my mind. Perhaps you’re jealous that I didn’t have to work late and you did. Or, let’s see, groping here, oh, I type faster than you and so you think eating my lunch will get back at me. I don’t know. YOU tell me. Because you do something totally I would never do, and I know what they say ~ never say never, right? But I’m telling you, I would never eat a stranger’s food and the mere thought has me gagging. I swear I may not eat for the next couple of days after that visual, thank you very much!
My fear runs cold. Suppose you are one of the attorneys working on a brief. It is the wee hours of the morning; your hunger takes over. You’re worn out from the work that is due in court in two days, and then bam! It hits you, the employee lounge fridge is within your grasp. Mind you, you make over $150,000 a year, but you don’t have a problem stealing from your poor Secretary or Paralegal who make a pittance of $10 an hour slaving for you sixty hours a week and not getting paid overtime. Huh! I have a problem with that worse than if it’s one of my co-workers because you can afford to go out there and order from a Five-Star Restaurant and have it delivered to the office. But you’d rather walk a few paces to the Employee Lounge and eat my lunch, who will miss it, right? Nobody died over this, and the world is not coming to an end because of your actions. That’s your legal analogy of the entire situation, what’s the big deal? Who was it that said, “Kill all Lawyers?” Oh, Shakespeare, that’s right. We might really want to look into that ...
You know who you are and I beg you please – STOP! It’s a nasty habit and you don’t want to really go any further with this. What’s to stop you from eating food that falls on the floor, or if someone sneezed around it and didn’t cover their nose? Are you one of those who sneak a taste of Purina Chow Cookie Treats? Better yet, twice as scary ~ when you ran out of tuna at your New Year’s Party, did you substitute canned Friskies Cat Food, thinking your guests wouldn’t tell the difference between that, or say, Salmon Pate’? How do you know the food isn’t spoiled and has microscopic mold sprouting juicy tentacles indistinguishable to human taste buds other than what might be accepted as Tofu? Just asking. Where does it stop? We know where it starts.
But wherever it ends, I guess I will stop bringing my lunch to work. No bringy, no takee, right? No lunchee, nothing there for you to stealee.
Remind me to never tell you where I put dinner(ee). And we’ll all live happily ever after(ly).
If that makes sense. Don’t look at me like that. Augh-oh, there’s hunger in your eyes. I can just taste it.
© Susan Joyner-Stumpf
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