My cubicle neighbor Jon had his last day at work on Thursday. In lieu of going out to a real restaurant for his going away lunch, we all went to the "Tenant Appreciation Lunch" put on by the property management. In order to make vegetarian lasagna, they replaced the meat with equal amounts of garlic. We all know how I feel about garlic (the food of the devil), so you can imagine how much I liked the lasagna.
Yes, I am complaining about free food.
Even better, when I went to get a cookie there was a crowd of at least fifteen people around the dessert table and the catering employee singles me out and says "Only one per person, please." Seriously. I was still five feet away from the table, so it's not like I was making a stack of desserts on my plate or anything. I can't even...
Jon actually ducked out of the Tenant Appreciation Lunch, so he didn't even make it to his going away lunch. (Okay, he had a good reason -- his daughter had just given birth a few hours before, so he was going to visit his new grandson. I'll give him a pass on that one.) But that was okay because part two of his going away was at a bar.
Yes. I went into a bar this week. A sports bar no less.
Full disclosure: I didn't actually drink any alcohol at the bar. Do I still get points for going? I did try to get alcohol, but they didn't have Blackthorn cider, so I stuck with Diet Coke. I ate a bunch of really, really greasy appetizers and I tried to ignore the surrounding televisions with pretty good success. If I were a dog, I'd have pancreatitis about now, but luckily I've trained my gall bladder well and I can eat a pound of oil without consequences. Other than feeling like I've eaten a pound of oil.
So there you have it. I went to a bar this week.
And people say that I never do anything...