Monday, October 1, 2007

Why Are They Called 'Quaker' Oats Anyway?

Here's the problem: I don't have a microwave to use at work. Number of times this annoys me in any given week: 4,567.5. My other problem is that I share an office with Crazy Talkative Anti-American French Lady, but thankfully she is only here about twice a week. So to delve into the foundation of my absent microwave problem we must first visit my dieting habits. I admittedly have terrible diet and exercising habits. It's embarrassing actually. The longest I've gone recently sticking to a healthy diet is a whopping two weeks, look out. And the longest exercising spree lasted one week. Count it, one. However, today happens to be a day that I am trying to diet, and as if I didn't have enough obstacles in my way to doing it, the microwave is adding fuel to the bushfire.

My *potential* first dieting day was supposed to start with a bowl of nutritious, somewhat lacking in deliciousness, oatmeal. I brought my Giant Mr. Quaker Cylinder to work with me today with it's own little measuring cup, intent on my goal. After morning rounds, I retrieved/stole a paper bowl from the cafe and returned to my office to make breakfast. Appropriate measurements were made, water was added and I struck off in search of a nearby nuker. First stop, my girlfriend's office down the hall: no one there. Maybe I'll wait a bit and try again... 30 minutes later, knock knock: still no one there. Shit. Take elevator 12 floors to lobby to use microwave in Cafe, this would have worked perfectly if the cafe EVEN HAD A MICROWAVE. Cafes without microwaves should be shot. Destination Three: Cafeteria. Surely, you think, the cafe-freaking-teria would have a public microwave. No? Holy Sweet Mother of Mercy.

I'm running out of ideas at this point and have been carrying my mushy cold oatmeal water around the entire freaking hospital. I return to my floor and try the girlfriend's office one final time: no one home. I'm about to break into tears when I glance into another office filled with busy-looking people and spot it.

Hallelujah on the highest, a microwave. I gingerly step into the flow of office traffic and beg the first person I see to use their joy-machine. I'm now 1 minute and 30 seconds to heaven and I can't even think straight. I scurry back to my desk to eat my treasure only to realize I want nothing more than to celebrate my victory with a giant piece of chocolate cheesecake. This diet isn't going so well.

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