Hey there,
I was ambling through the cafeteria yesterday, as I often do with my coworkers around the senior citizens hour of 11:30, because by then all that coffee has aggravated our gaping stress-induced ulcers, when I came upon it. Yesterday’s Tofu Curry from the “Indian Station”, reincarnated as a Mexican dish with some beans and tortilla chips. You didn’t fool me by moving it next to the tossed salad station; those signature tasteless cubes with tomato and curry clinging to their surfaces were unmistakable.
This wasn’t a one off occurrence. Yesterday’s stir-fry was today’s Asian chicken salad. Monday’s Buffalo wings were minced and put on toast to evoke some nausea-inducing American Bruschetta. I even saw that chocolate cake that my colleague was treating herself to on Tuesday, reborn as a chocolate mousse cup with graham crackers and whipped cream.
Do you think I don’t get what you’re trying to do here?
Ok, I sort of understand where you are coming from. I’m not exactly entitled to picked-off-the-vine freshness if I’m only paying 10 cents a pound for my salad. And I appreciate that you aren’t just giving it to people in need but saving it for me, to eat again, day in and day out. But just try to mask it a little better (make a tofu curry smoothie?), and I’ll pretend a little harder that I’m not disgusted by the whole thing and continue suggesting the venue for lunch with my cronies.
It’s a win-win for both of us.
Yours truly,
Girl
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