breakfast disaster

Let me start by saying – don’t touch my oatmeal. Ever.

Maybe I should give some background for my opening statement. This morning I had to open at work, and normally I bring my breakfast with me when I open so that I can sleep in five minutes longer. (I love sleep!) Today, I brought one of those instant oatmeal packets (berry flavored) and a green ceramic bowl to prepare it in. In our lobby next to the coffee maker, we have a fancy water machine with a few different options to choose from. There is a regular cold water button, a hot water button, and a boil water button.

I had never used the boil option before, so I was following the instructions for it while discussing it with my co-worker. As we were trying to figure out how to get the water to boil, the phone rang and I went to answer it – foolishly leaving my oatmeal under the supervision of my co-worker. After I took the call, and also helped an early morning customer who pulled up in the drive thru, I walk back out to finish making my breakfast, only to stop when I saw my co-worker attempting to make it for me.

After I saw him fiddling around with the the water machine and my green bowl, I got a sinking feeling something was wrong. I asked, “Is everything ok?”

He replied, “Um, yeah. Stay over there though.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want to use the word ‘salvage,’ but…”

He used the word salvage. This was not looking good for me. Or my growling stomach. I don’t think my co-worker has ever been around me when I haven’t had my breakfast. I can get pretty cranky. Poor guy.

Soon after that, my manager came in and asked me how the morning had gone so far. I gave him a half glare and said, “Ask <co-worker>”

So now I had two men poking around with my soggy oatmeal, trying to “salvage” it. (At this point, I am still not allowed to go near it.)

After one of them took a couple of trips from the water dispenser/coffee area to the break room kitchen, I was finally given visiting rights to the contents of my green bowl. I say contents, because it no longer looked like the oatmeal I had poured in there ten minutes ago. I was greeted with a mushy mess that smelled of dried berries but didn’t look quite edible. I glanced up into the face of my co-worker and saw a plea of forgiveness that I was not willing to grant. Not in a thousand years. I didn’t notice an offer to go buy donuts in that look, or otherwise I might have considered opening my heart to the possibility of mercy. No chance of that now. He will suffer for this.

All in all, I was able to revive my oatmeal through the means of the break room microwave, and no one died at my hand.

I’d say that today was a pretty good day, considering I didn’t have to call the cops. Oh wait, I did have to call 911 this afternoon. But that's another story for another time.

the end.