Normally I have scant problem with coworkers. The more the merrier, I say. Since they all were, at one point in their lives, born, it's a safe bet that they'll have birthdays. Birthdays equal cake, equals happy George. It's simple math.
There is one source of contention, however: Whenever I bring in a lunch, it has to get commented on by no less than the entire department, and at least one member of HR. It's not like I'm bringing exotic cuisine, seasoned with spices fresh from ships arriving on the trade winds. Salt and pepper is usually as adventurous as I get.
To my coworkers, it's like they've never seen food before. They stare in through my window, and make wild gestures, like I'm eating the last known Dodo egg. Relax, I want to tell them, it's just a cheese sandwich. Life doesn't hang in the balance, here. Then, when I try to offer them something, they'll all deny wanting it.
When did they become so lecherous? I know approximately what they get paid, and while gas prices have gone up some, it's not enough to render them incapable of buying their own Chicken of the Sea. One of these days I'll bring in a blender, start mixing drinks, and really give them a show.
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