By Jamie Bailey
It’s about that time of day again. I leisurely walk to my favorite (and only) market near my workplace, Trader Joe’s.The time leading up to my walk is fantastic. No one needs me for that half hour leading up to that mythical period of time called “lunch.”
I return to my desk, open up the goods, hold a piece of mediocre sushi up to my lips, and…
In strolls Horny Old Guy.* He waltzes into the office like a resurrected Jesus Christ. He wants needs everyone in the office to know he’s there. He approaches my desk and begins to rummage through my shopping bag filled with items unappetizing to him. You see, he criticizes my food every single day. Obviously because my lunch is everyone else’s business. But today he did something he has never done before. He saw past the dark chocolate-covered shortbread cookies (thank God), and asks in his obnoxious, nasally voice, “Spare a banana for your ol’ pal, will ya?” In my head I say, “Spare me your bullshit, asshole.” But I let him have the banana. In reality, it was like sixteen cents at Trader Joe’s. Not a huge loss. But it’s just the idea that thinks he can invite himself to my groceries that bothers me. The market is literally a block away!
He finally leaves with the banana, and I am back to my sushi. Then Typical Computer Illiterate Baby Boomer** frantically runs to me. My mouth is full. My face is bitchy. “Please, Jesus, do not let this be technical. I swear to You, Jesus, if I have to teach someone else how to copy and paste I’ll—”
TCIBB: I hate to bother you while you’re eating, but…
Me (in my mind): Do you? DO YOU? BECAUSE YOU DO IT EVERY FUCKING DAY.
TCIBB: I need an envelope. Where do you keep those?
What’s odd about this behavior is that the rest of the day, most of my co-workers treat me like a speck of dust on the wall. But as soon as there is food within a 15-foot radius of my body, they know. Lord do they know. Then I become a hot commodity.
Jamie can’t eat! There is mail to be sent, copies to be made! Documents to be faxed! Those really difficult tasks that only Jamie can do!
By now you’re probably thinking, “Wow, you dumb ass. Just go somewhere else to eat.” Here is my response to that: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA YEAH RIGHT.
I do try to eat in other places. I mostly buy fresh food from the market to save money. So that leaves me trying to find a place within the office to eat. Sometimes I eat in the conference room (that does not stop people from interrupting me though), but when that is being used by meetings I usually stay at my desk. Yesterday I did try something new and sneaky though. There is a secret office adjacent to the conference room, visible from my normal desk. No one ever looks in there. I took my “lunch” in there yesterday, and saw several people looking for me. One person in particular, my Nemesis,*** paced around the area near my desk, panicking because my ass was not in that chair. I could see it from my hiding spot. I shrank into the wall, watching my Nemesis as he circled the office like a hawk, looking for me. I was laughing such an evil laugh inside. Muahaha. Fuck you. Send your own goddamn fax!
I fantasize about the day that I can experience this thing called lunch. I dream about a time when I can eat possibly good sushi (not mediocre) without having to start someone’s Task Manager or without simply getting up from my seat and leaving my food.**** But I don’t think that day will ever come. I don’t consider my job to be that important now, yet people cling to me. I can’t imagine what my lunch break will be like when I am—dare I say—important.
I can’t fathom a time when I will be able to eat lunch in peace; when I can eat a real meal in the middle of the day. Maybe that will be part of my special heaven. To me heaven would be an uninterrupted lunch break.
*There. I said it. I’m not sorry.
**Typical Computer Illiterate Baby Boomer is married to Horny Old Guy. It’s a match made in hell.
***A real tried-and-true asshole
****Now you’re probably thinking, “My God, stop bitching and get a better job.” I’m working on it! For the sake of my career AND blood pressure.
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