Glorious Food

My mom sent me an email congratulating me on “reaching wisdom” a little while ago. So what I want to know is: Why is it that I can be all smart and junk about social issues and other people and world problems, but when it comes to food I turn into a toddler?

Seriously, the first thing I think when I see someone with food is “I WANT THAT.” It’s gotten to the point where, in my office, I am always on the lookout for free sandwiches or bagels or vegetables, whether I am hungry or not. Yesterday, this was what went on during the last hour of work:

1. A team had a pizza party that looked like it was going to result in leftover pizza

2. There were leftover sandwiches in our big old executive conference room

So it’s 5pm and I’m starting to get hungry, but I don’t want to interrupt anything if there are people in the conference room and the doors are partially closed. I start to keep tabs on the progress of the pizza party (did they finish the pizza? Are they moving the boxes toward the “this food is free” spot in the kitchen?) and to check every few minutes on the status of the conference room. My team leader tells me to just go poke my head in the meeting room–it’s after 5, probably no one is there. I do it, and of course there are people there, so I apologize and duck out.

I’m getting hungrier. The conference room door is not moving. The people blatantly enjoying pizza are laughing and going back for seconds. Then they’re picking up the pizza box. Then they’re moving–it’s my time! But wait! They pass the “free zone” and leave the kitchen–where are they going–they’re coming this way!

The pizza makes its way to the row directly next to me, and a coworker who is not on my team starts offering a slice to each person in the row. Here’s the rub: They are not my department. So there’s this pizza, that COULD have been for anyone, that’s now being offered to Dev and I don’t know if it’s because they did some fantastic job at something or it’s just because they’re all still working and my row is almost vacant and I can smell this pizza and people are taking slices reluctantly while at this point I would probably punch someone out for some pizza–

And the door to the conference room is still closed–

And it’s almost time to leave and I have a 45-minute commute–

At this point I’m in an emotional state that is near despondent. Forrealz. Because I thought I could MAYBE have some pizza and now I can’t.

As I get up to leave, I happen to glance over to the big glass-windowed conference room, and my heart stops. There’s a platter of something in there, left over from training.

I approach, hardly daring to hope.

Is it–

Could it be–

It is. Greek. Pita. Wraps.

GLORIOUS DAY.

The bad news is, we’re going to be moving to a floor without free food within the month.

The good news is, it’ll probably do wonders for my waistline, my moral…and my adulthood.

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