Saturday, March 29, 2008

Devil with a bag of chips.

Jessica came back from her noontime health club break to announce to me she had gained two pounds since last week. And it was my fault. Apparently, I’m turning my coworkers into fat-asses.

It started when I bought three bags of booze-flavored chips I wanted to try but couldn’t finish. Knowing how much my co-workers enjoy their alcohol, I ended up bringing the bags to work and abandoning them on an empty table in the middle of the department. They was gone in two days. (Except for the bloody mary ones. Those tasted too much like burned leather and armpit.)

After that I started bringing in all my leftover snacks that I bought just to try. Cinnamon Sweet Potato Pringles. Raspberry M&M’s. Cheddar Jalapeño Cheetos. The table became a venerable buffet of gimmicky snack treats.

Now, daily, I hear the pleas of my coworkers to stop bringing stuff in, that I’m giving their spare tires a spare tire of their own. But ten minutes after they complain, I hear a rustle behind me as one of them rummages through the snack bin for a Crispy Reese’s Bar. I have never felt so satisfied.

This must be how drug dealers feel.