Chewy Chicken

Eating lunch at my desk is dangerous. The catastrophe possibilities are endless. Today was one of the worse I've had in a while.

I sat down, took one bite of chicken, and a Senior Vice President walked up to me and asked if I could find someone for her.

Since I was chewing a rather large bite, with chipmunked cheeks and all, I could only nod and point to my computer with my finger. Why oh why did she have to come RIGHT THEN?

As I looked up the person's calendar, I kept chewing. And chewing. And chewing some MORE. So to fill time I looked up at the Sr VP and said, with my hand in front of my mouth, "Ihhh hahh!" You know, it's hot.

She looked at me like I'd lost my mind. So I just turned back to my computer and kept chewing. Wondering, is she insulted that I talked with food in my mouth? Or annoyed that I was telling her about my chicken? Was I not supposed to talk to her at all?

Finally, the calendar opened up and I was able to tell her where the person was.

Then she asked me to please call him on his cell.

Okay, that's easy enough. For someone not already flustered and STILL CHEWING! I messed up three times before I was able to dial correctly, then handed her the phone. She took it with two fingers and dangled it to her ear.

I guess if you're chewing food, then everything you touch is somehow contaminated.

After she left, I looked down and saw that I had ranch dressing in my hair. It had also dripped down onto my shirt. I sure know how to present myself.

I need to start eating my lunch in the cafe with my hair tied back and a bib around my neck. But I know I won't. I like to eat alone while surfing the net. Nothing is better than reading Perez Hilton than reading Perez Hilton while eating an eggroll.