Tuesday, April 29, 2008

Would you care for some Grey Poupon?

Almost every day when its not nicer than 75 degrees out, I sit at my desk and eat my lunch. I occasionally indulge in reading a trashy novel of some sort or a crime drama where eventually the two main characters end up in bed together to delude my day for at least an hour. These tedious distractions take me far far away from the constant banter I hear from down the hall in the oh-so-art deco open area kitchen and the unmentionable sounds that I am surrounded by. The banter is from ladies who will sit and complain about everyone, yet, they never will complain directly to their supervisor about anything, they want someone else to fight their battle. The same group sits at the same table at the same time, surrounding themselves with a bag of Lays potato chips, asking everyone who eats their lunch in there a series of questions. “What is that?” “Did you make that?” “Where did you find the recipe?” “Oh, I made one just like that”…typical irrelevant conversation. I occasionally sit in there to read when no one else is in there, because it’s a different atmosphere and I get to people watch to make these blogs a little bit more interesting. Did I mention the guy who had loafers on but no socks? Anyway, as lunch goes on, I don’t think people realize that their voice travels down the hall into the cubicle world we reside in about nine hours a day because if they did, I sure wouldn’t be writing this. I hear everything…and I have been able to block out the microwave sounding that lunch is ready, in similar fashion to a dinner bell. I can also tell who’s in there, and that serves its purpose when Creepy guy is in there, the alarm goes off to everyone else to ‘stay out of the kitchen’. And yes, the banter from the kitchen is like a flock of crows cawing, scaring others away who would normally sit in the kitchen and eat. You are probably wondering why I wouldn’t go out to eat, well, that gets expensive, but when the weather is nice, I do go outside to eat at the picnic table, where I can hear the soothing acoustic sounds of a one man band show on guitar, while working on my tan. Now, the unmentionable sounds that I have become accustomed to after sitting here for such a short time, besides people from three aisles over clearing their throats and nasal congestion, I get serenaded after lunch by a fart-while-I-walk and sit old man. I have to give him props for just freely letting one go every now and then, at times he sounds like a symphony without an accompanying trailing smell. Do you think he’d mind if I turned around and high five him “Hey, that was a good one!” Hum, I might just have to try that one day.

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