(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.
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
Taffy: (partially covering full mouth) I'm sorry, does this smell?
Me: Oh, wow, yes, that's the smell. What are you eating?
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.
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.