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Posts Tagged ‘lunch’

Me: I think I’d like a sandwich. 
Dog: Can I have one, too? 
Me: No. You have dog food. Why don’t you eat that like a normal dog. 
Cat: Yo, what up, beotches? Can a kitteh get some vittles up in here? 
Me: Dammit, I just fed you an hour ago. 
Cat: Yo, calm down, whiteboy. I just want a slice of that turkey. Is that turkey? That’s turkey, right? Can I get a slice? 
Me: Get off the counter! 
Dog: Hey, cat! Grab me a slice of that turkey! 
Me: Dammit! Get out of here, both of you! 
Cat: Oh, snap! That shit ain’t turkey! Homeboy got some thinly sliced chicken breast up in here! Holla! 
Dog: This is soooo not fair. I have to eat processed chunks of cornmeal and beef-flavored horse meat. I demand a decent meal – or at least a snack – every once in a while. You know how I like chicken, too. This is preposterous. 
Cat: So… I’m just gonna take this here piece of chicken and… 
Me: NO! GET DOWN! [picks up cat and throws him in the other room]. 
Cat: DAAAAMMMMMNNNNNN! 
Dog: You’re a real asshole, you know that? 
Me: This is MY food. I paid for it. With MY money. That I made. What the hell have you ever done to earn your keep around here? 
Dog: Oh, I don’t know. How ’bout not let burglars and murderers in the house? Ever think of that? 
Me: … 
Dog: That’s right. Remember that kid selling magazines the other day? Total burglar! I scared him away. 
Me: You just barked a lot because he’s black and you’re a flaming racist. 
Dog: Well… whatever. He might have been a burglar and you weren’t going to buy Golf Fancy Monthly anyway. Just give me some frickin’ turkey! 
Me: It’s chicken. 
Dog: WhatEVERRR. Damn. You’re a dick. 
Me: [Goes to the fridge to get the mayonnaise. Yes, I eat mayo.] EAT YOUR OWN DAMN FOOD. 
Cat: [secretly climbs his way back onto the counter and starts licking the chicken breast] Guess who’s back up in this mofo! Dayuummmm! This is some good-ass chicken! What is this, Boar’s Head? What, What! Hey, Dog, catch! [nudges a side of the sandwich into the gaping mouth of Dog.] 
Me: SONOFABITCH! Get out. NOW! [opens the back door. Cat & Dog laughing hysterically race outside. Dog is doing the moonwalk and the cat is thrusting his pelvis like he’s violently humping the air.] 
Cat: Yeah, booooyyyyyy! [singing] We gots the chicken. It be nice and tasty. I ate that chicken. Whiteboy be crazy. 
Dog: I’m gonna go pee on the lawn mower.

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You know what I miss most about my old job?

Lunch.

My former place of employment is located downtown, walking distance to any of the city’s finest midday eateries. Feel like a Reuben? There’s a spot for that. Bowl of chili? Spot for that. Burrito? Yup, spot for that. Beer? Yes. A couple of spots for that, too.

It was a great way to break up the day and get some socializing done while stuffing my face full of whatever can be served in a breadbowl. Just relaxing. Eating. Talking. Laughing.

There is no work to be done in a café, unless you’re toiling away at a tuna on rye. Don’t bring that report with you, Mr. Manager, you’re just going to spill that cup of clam chowder all over it. This isn’t a coffee shop, Trendy Office Hipster, put your laptop or book of ironic poems away and knuckle down on a vegan cheeseburger or some kind of $12 salad. Hey, Depressed Guy with the loosened tie and wrinkled shirt! I feel your pain, buddy. All of our jobs are in jeopardy. Let’s share this plate of extra cheesy nachos while we can still afford it.

Most of the patrons are dressed in their business-casual attire, the occasional executive with gaudy bow-tie, HR ladies with their power-suits and sensible walkin’ shoes. Office Hipster in a tight jacket even though it’s mid-July (as ironically) and messenger bag. Everyone’s just eating and drinking. Trying hard to talk about anything other than the serious bidnizz that awaits them when they get back to the office.

I miss lunch.

This is Day 90, folks. If any of my former coworkers want to get together for lunch, gimmie a call. I’m down for a Chicken Salad from Tony’s or a burger & beer from Cap. Ale.

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