Okay, The Readers, I need your help on this one. I have to stay very, very late at work tonight (I know!) and I brought an extra meal for dinner. Cheese and roast beef and an apple and animal cookies and a cherry Coke. So really healthy.

And we got an email from the office manager announcing that she was going to clean out the break room refrigerator, which I give her mad props for, as some of that shit has started to colonize and form its own federal systems. General office protocol dictates that whenever the refrigerator is cleaned, we are sent a warning, and those of us who have food in there we want to protect mark it with our names and a "do not throw away" label. Which I did. Well. Guess what was not in the fridge when I went to check on it a couple of hours ago, along with the bottle of my own mayo I use when I concoct my elaborate 45-cent meals. (My extreme rage over this situation shall not be discussed here; know only that it exists, far larger than myself.) Guess what was in the trash can instead, buried with the penicillin-in-Rubbermaid, the green and runny pizza, the sub sandwiches with extreme attitudes. So I rescued it, placed it back in the fridge, and went about my stupid, stupid job (because I am not in any way bitter about the fact that I work here) and there it sits. De-trashed. Now: What do I do? Should I still eat this stuff? It was all in plastic Ziplock bags, including the apple, so it's not like it was touching the nasty stuff directly, and not for any serious length of time. So it's not exactly George Costanza eating the eclair out of the garbage can. But.

My. Dinner. Was. In. The. Trash. Can. Comments? Questions? Suggestions? Offers of marriage into health insurance so that I may leave this damnable place?

November 20, 2003

Mary Beth is an introvert.

She is eager to communicate but prefers doing so via email, a giant stage, or intense conversation about Important Things.

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