|
|
|
I could easily live on salami and cheese. Stick me in a bunker somewhere with nothing but a refrigerator stocked with those two foods and maybe some crackers and water, and I’d be perfectly happy until the rations ran out.
Knowing this, picture me dragging my feet to another meeting with the Accounting Department to discuss such invigorating topics such as sales tax overrides and electronic invoicing. Now imagine my sudden change of attitude as I see that someone has thoughtfully supplied us with a snack for the meeting: salami, cheese, and crackers. My posture went from slouched to erect, my expression from glum to eager, and I took a quick detour to the vending machine for a Pepsi. I entered the conference room and took a seat nearest to the plate. “Let’s get this meeting started,” I announced, fixing myself a cracker and popping open my drink. I had no qualms about being the first one to dig in. As the meeting continued and we went through the action items from our last meeting, I only had one thought. It was not what the aging for Collections Department was, nor was it the question of how we could make adjust sales orders to allow for the Florida cap on sales tax for certain products. It was this: Why isn’t anyone else eating the salami and cheese? What is wrong with these people? I waited for what I considered to be an acceptable amount of time before I helped myself to seconds. It only made me hungrier. Somewhere in the distance I heard someone mumbling about accounts payable. How long must I wait before I take another bite? I wondered. You know what? I rationalized. No one else here is obviously interested in the plate of salami and cheese. So it’s only fitting that I should eat more. Why should I wait? Everyone else is probably so absorbed in the meeting that they won’t even notice what I’m doing. I reached toward the plate just when a manager from another department did the same. Our hands nearly touched the plate at the same time like with Judas and Jesus at The Last Supper. I withdrew my hand quickly. I was struck by an odd mixture of emotions. I was grateful that the manager had taken some food because that meant I would look like less of a pig. I was angry because he had taken what was rightfully MINE. It’s mine I tell you! Mine! Mine! It’s all mine! I took a deep breath. “Bruce, do you have the numbers for the credit memos and returns this month” somebody asked. “Huh?” I cleverly responded. “Oh. Sorry. Yes. Yes. I do. Here they are.” I flipped through my papers and rapidly read off the figures. “How many were left from the fourth quarter of last year again?” the person keeping minutes asked me. “Cheese.” I answered. “I mean three.” She gave me a funny look and then wrote down the number. Whew. I had contributed my part to the meeting. That only meant one thing: it was time for my reward. I reached for the plate when someone asked me to pass it down. I did. I can only hope that she didn’t notice the glare I gave her. Certainly, I had now earned another serving. I leaned to the side so that I was closer to the food, possibly invading a bit too much of one of my co-worker’s space. “Excuse me,” I said, my arms outstretched so that my fingers nearly touched the edge of the plate. Someone from Accounting was kind enough to push it in my direction. I grabbed another serving and wolfed it down. And then—at this point I could no longer control myself—another, leaving only enough for one more person. I couldn’t take that too, could I? The last ten minutes of the meeting were excruciating. My eyes kept straying back to the plate. How could anyone not notice that the last helping was sitting there like that and not eat it? Seasons passed—spring, summer, the changing leaves of fall—before the meeting came to an end. No one had claimed the prize. As people got up from their chairs, I pulled the plate closer to me and began to eat directly from it. “Hey Bruce,” one of the managers from our department said, “I’ll need that action item completed by end of business tomorrow.” Action item? I thought. What action item? Out loud I said, “Okay! I’ll get right on that.” I shoved the rest of the salami into my mouth. Maybe nobody noticed my slight obsession, I told myself. Maybe I had made it too much of a big deal in my own mind. “Hungry, Bruce?” One of the collectors asked. She winked, smiled and turned towards the door. I wiped some crumbs from my mouth and then looked down at the conference room table. It looked like Cookie Monster had been there. Oops. I blushed even though there was no one left in the conference room but me. I guess that, sometimes, the only person you fool is yourself. I filled the room with a loud burp and then went back to work. If, as a Christmas bonus, I receive a gift certificate for The Swiss Colony, I shouldn’t be surprised. |
 |