Ah, the sweet joy of lunch time, birds sing, eagles soar, and you are floating on air. A brief stop to waltz with the receptionists chair, and you are there, the kitchen, the last bastion of freedom in this wicked world of crushing, suffocating responsibility.
Plus, you have leftover Huli Huli chicken, wild rice and asparagus. So good, so tasty, so mush better the next day. How does that always happen? One day something is so delicious and the next day it is ambrosia. Who cares? Why analyze it? Just enjoy.
What?!??! Someone is using the microwave! and there are meals stacked up behind it, like a train wreck of tasteless food. Isn't there a faster way to warm up lunch? That microwave is so slow! Curse the fates.
No one is there. Should you just sneak that awful looking, cheese covered pile of awful, processed
food out and warm up your healthy, delicious celebration of nutritional joy?
Looking around, you notice there is nobody near the kitchen. Nobody would see. It would be simple, pop your meal in warm it up and be eating before anybody notices. What if you got caught, though? How would you explain this?
"My lunchtime is more important than yours." My meal is better than yours."
Damn these moral dilemmas. These are the great questions of our generation. We should really get a hobby.
On a more historical note, fifty years ago today Bob Dylan played an electric set at the Newport Folk Festival. He was booed, and criticized, and cursed. Being Bob Dylan he didn't care. Since then he has gained some acclaim as a singer songwriter. Here is one of my favorite Bob Dylan songs.