17 Oct

I like many things iced — coffee, tea, cubes, etc.

But, sandwiches? No, my bowels couldn’t handle that; I’m sure of it. Nor my taste buds. And I don’t feel like testing the threshold of my gag reflex.

My lunch hour is a sacred 60 minutes of my life. It’s that one hour of my day where I can mentally escape from the vultures who hang low over my desk, picking at my patience and exhausting my being of every ounce of energy I possess. I just cannot waste this precious moment of my day. And bringing a delicious lunch to munch on as I watch reruns of the Office is my idea of a wonderful lunch break. (Thus is the life of a working gal, carless and never in the mood to walk across the street to sit in the heat and people watch as I eat.)

However, after I carefully placed my familiar chicken salad sandwich on the second shelf of the refrigerator, I engage in pleasantries and casual chit-chat with my officemate as I skim over emails … until one catches my eye.

The refrigerator in the break room does not appear to be cooling – I threw out some stuff that’s been in there for weeks and really smelled.
We’ll see what we can do to get it fixed.  (The freezer is working).

Are you serious? My sandwich is heavy with mayonnaise (gross, I know, but hey, it’s from Trader Joe’s, so you know it’s some of the healthiest-ish mayonnaise around) and chicken. Cooling is a must.

So, my genius self put the sandwich in the freezer.

For two hours.

Unintentionally, of course.

Needless to say, I was left with a frozen sandwich and the need to spend more money.

To top things off, I forget to ask for a half sandwich at the nearby deli … that I had to walk to … in the heat.

I will never see those two extra dollars again.

I feel fucking bloated.



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