Friday, January 31, 2014

Taffy Likes it Rare

(I walk over to coworker, Keith, to ask him a question.)

Me: Keith, I've merged all these income totals but don't have any of the invoices from--urgh, what is that smell?

Keith:  I don't know.  I'm trying not to breathe.

Me: It's so gamey. 

(I look around.  In nearby cubical I see Taffy, a new, gregarious, 20-something, ditzy girl in the office, eating something meaty off a juice-soaked paper plate, cutting into the protein with flimsy plastic ware that buckles and bends as she goes.  I poke my head into her office space.)

Taffy: (partially covering full mouth) I'm sorry, does this smell?

Me: Oh, wow, yes, that's the smell.  What are you eating?

Taffy: It's a sirloin steak wrapped around couscous and veggies and cheese I think.  So good, I got it at Safeway and microwaved it.  Who has steak at work?  Such a great idea, right? 

Me: That's not steak.

Taffy: Well, I knooooow that, but it's like steak.

Me: You microwaved it?   Like to cook?

Taffy: How else would you make it?

Me: At home.  In an oven.  Not in an enclosed office space.  Phew! 

Taffy: I don't have time to go home.  I just wanted steak.  No big.  What, no one has ever microwaved steak in this office?

Me: No one's microwaved sirloin in this office.  I think it's mostly salad people around here. 

Taffy: Whatever. 

Me: I'm not upset but this office has a way of trapping smells.

Taffy: I didn't burn it or anything.  I think it's just overcooked.  Maybe that's what you're smelling. I like it rare but what are you gonna do, right? 

Me: It smells like bloody air in here.  I think the microwave is more for heating-up than cooking.

Taffy: Okay, Mr. Serious.  Maybe I'll bring in a hotplate next time.

 Me: Even better.

BLACKOUT