At work today I noticed trays of delish pastries that were being prepared for the consumption of big wig types in an upcoming meeting.
I admired them, for they looked eminently edible, and yeah didst I want them in my tum.
So I happened to say ‘hey if there are any leftovers, let me know’.
At about 2 pm the phone rang from 30 metres down the corridor.
‘HM, it’s me. The pastries are here if you want them,’ whispered the EA.
Down HM went, stealing a glance from around the partition. I got half a Danish and a melting moment. The moment was so crumbly I was forced to eat it with the bin balanced on the edge of my chair and wedged between my legs. It looked like I was going to be sick.
Ah workplace dining. Is there anything finer than a free pastry item?