I Suddenly Have The Munchies

My employer ended our relationship with our cafeteria provider and closed down the cafeteria in our building. Since the building will be closing soon, this came as no surprise but it was sad, nonetheless, as many of us had become friends with the great cafeteria staff.

Now that we no longer have a café, they’ve installed a “grab and go market” which is basically a kiosk with coolers full of sodas, sandwiches and salads and a rack of chips. There’s an electonic keypad where you pay with your credit card.

It’s done on the honor system and the six security cameras are going to make sure we stay honorable. (I say that with sarcasm, but really, over the years so many things have gone missing from refrigerators and desks that this little market would be completely bare in two hours if not for the cameras).

For a discount of 7%, you can sign up for an account and pre-load as much money as you want into it. They have a really handy way of identifying you when you go to pay at the kiosk: fingerprints.

Ummm…my bank card AND my fingerprint are going to be stored on a server together somewhere in outerspace? What could possibly go wrong with that?

I’m not sure how much the food and drinks cost, either, because nothing is marked and you don’t find out the cost until you pay.

Wow. That doesn’t feel shady at all.

Several of us have resisted providing our fingerprints. We all pass each other in the hallway like:

Not really.  That’s just me.

Needless to say, I found myself at our local QuikTrip convenience store on my lunch break, stocking up on snacks and drinks for myself and my cubicle mates.

I prefer to be the one to go because I’m one of those annoying divas that can’t just order a soda or an iced tea. I’ve got to have a special “mix” on my drink and it’s kind of embarrassing when you’re telling your friend or workmate for the first time:

“Can you get me a Raspberry iced tea, with half sweet, half unsweet in a 32 oz plastic cup, not Styrofoam?”

Or, “Can you get me a Dr. Pepper in a 32 oz plastic cup, not Styrofoam, but please layer vanilla and cherry flavoring in it? You just hold the soda for five seconds, then the cherry for two seconds and vanilla for two seconds and then you repeat? And not too much ice?”

And people look at you like:

But in my defense, I did this to my friend, Melanie (the friend, whose name graces one of the mugs in my shop!), and when she tried it for herself, she told me that it made the absolute perfect mix of soda and flavor and she continued to do it herself after that. At least, she did when I still worked with her.

Anyway, back to QuikTrip. After I gathered up an armful of snacks and three drinks, I dropped my loot on the counter to pay for it and was met with this look from the cashier:

And I was like, “I swear, I’m not stoned.”

And he was like:

It’s kind of like the time I went through the drive thru at Taco Bueno and ordered a number three with crispy tacos, a Big Freakin’ Nachos with Steak, and a combo platter with beef, and then I only ordered one drink because the other two in my family already had drinks. The guy handing me my order took note of all the food and only one drink and I’m in the car by myself and he’s looking at me like:

“My husband and son already have drinks.”

“Whatever you say,” he snickered, and then to add insult to injury, he finished with, “ma’am”.

Ouch. He left me no choice but to do this…

But I digress…

I suggested to my boss that I could bring in a brand new Keurig that I still have in the box because I bought it as a Christmas gift for someone who got one for her birthday. We could set it up in the empty cubicle across from my desk. Then we could go to Sam’s or Costco and buy those giant barrels of cheese balls, a gallon vat of peanut butter and a twenty pack of crackers and have our own snack bar.

We could bring twelve packs of canned soda and Solo cups and people could use the ice machine down the hall. I could make tamales and sell them and Cousin Judy (remember him?) offered to bring his slow cooker and make gumbo or chili and we can all just bring our own bowls.

In a move that surprised nobody, my boss said no.

The weird thing is, when the cafeteria and the vending machines were there, I didn’t use them that much. I mostly bring my lunch, due to trying to save money and eat a little healthier. I would only hit the vending machines occasionally when a crunch attack or chocolate craving would hit. Sometimes I would run down to the café for soup or a fresh made sandwich or burger when I just didn’t feel like eating what I brought.

Now that they’re gone, it’s like I want everything I can’t have. I don’t want that tiny salad in a cup or a microwaveable breakfast sandwich. I want one of Sylvia’s cheeseburgers or Fidela’s BLT or Kelly’s Mac n Cheese.

I don’t want to give my credit card to a machine that has a voice like Alexa. I want to give my credit card to a machine that sounds like Matthew McConaughey and tells me he “likes those redheads”.

Just kidding, Gary. I want to give my credit card to you while listening to your 80s Pandora station on the giant speaker. And thank you for telling me I’m funny. I appreciate my fans. All two of you.

Speaking of fine dining, The Husband Dude and I went out for a fancy meal on Valentine’s Day. We don’t typically do much for this Hallmark holiday. We’ll usually go out to eat the weekend before or the weekend after because I’m an old lady in a middle-aged lady’s body and I don’t like dealing with crowds. That’s why you’ll often find me at dinner at 4:30 in the afternoon.

I’m only slightly exaggerating.

This year, though, we decided to try something different. One of our favorite restaurants presents a special menu on Valentine’s Day. It’s a four course meal, comprised of a shared appetizer, one of two salads, one of three entrees, and a shared dessert.

The appetizer was fried calamari with marinara sauce and we both had a charred Ceasar salad. THD had the lamb chops with mint chirichurri sauce and a herbed potato cake and I had the seared scallops, mushroom risotto, and asparagus. Dessert was a red velvet cake.

It’s amazing how a fine dining experience can transform you from the couple next door into judges on Master Chef. Like, five minutes ago, The Husband Dude was talking about taking the test to get his spraying license for the City, but now that he has taken a bite of my risotto, he’s all, “I can’t quite put my finger on it, but the flavor is really fragrant, almost like a perfume.”

“They got a really good sear on the scallops but it’s not seared evenly across all the scallops on the plate,” I add, daintily dabbing the corner of my mouth with my napkin. “The color is slightly different on each one, though it doesn’t detract from the flavor at all.”

“They cooked the lamb to the perfect temperature, just slightly pink in the center,” THD tells me as his knife slices through it like it’s butter. “The mint sauce really plays on the palette. The herb on the potato cake pairs well with the protein but the potato itself is a little bland and needs a bit of salt.”

“The char on that romaine in the salad was really unique, and the dressing was light and tangy,” I say before sipping my water with my pinky finger extended. “The presentation on this risotto was gorgeous. Too pretty to eat.”

THD takes a spoonful of the red velvet cake and examines it closely, holding it up slightly above eye level. “Just the right amount of height on this cake.”

I nod in agreement. “The cream cheese layers are a bit uneven but the cake itself is so light and airy that I hardly noticed the frosting, which has a wonderful flavor, nonetheless.”

Only some of this conversation was exaggerated.

Oh, and we give the menu five stars.

The next morning as we were getting ready for work, I walked into the kitchen and saw The Husband Dude eating his usual breakfast, which is a couple of slices of turkey deli meat with some cheese rolled up in it and he looked like this:

I think it was a little too pedestrian for him.

Oh well…we’ll just look forward to the next special occasion.

Stay weird, my friends. Normal is boring.

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