I hate buying lunch, the hassle, the expense, the poor quality. I hate it even more than I hate the picture of me and Rodney that sits on my desk. I used the red eye remover to zap one of his eyes and accidentally made it bigger and darker. Now it looks like he’s got a cyborg eye and it stares at me while I do my work. I want to flip it over every time someone stops by my desk and says “oh, that’s your husband?” I feel the need to say that while yes it is, he doesn’t have a cyborg eye. You’d think that after 6 years I’d change it, but then again, something about my desk wouldn’t feel right.
The irony of my lunchtime situation is that it would take less time to pack up some good leftovers than it would to go through the whole process of leaving the building, standing in line, ordering, and returning to my desk. With horrible food, like this little getup that cost me nearly $10 from our local deli.
Tuna salad on limp lettuce that’s one microbe away from giving me a nasty case of dysentery. Not an exaggeration. My husband loves to get chicken and tuna salads from NYC delis, and I can count on two hands the number of times it’s made him sick. And stay away from those yogurt parfaits. And the fresh orange juice. Actually, in your average NYC deli, stay away from anything that’s not hermetically sealed. Most of the time you’ll be fine, but once in a while you’ll get nailed and you’ll only have yourself to blame.4 comments