On My Business Card: All Food, All the Time

Well hello there, lovers. I know, I missed you yesterday, too. But absence makes the heart grow fonder, right?

Today, in my Midtown Holding Pattern…When Boredom Eating Attacks!

It started as innocently as ever: At 8:30 I went downstairs and got my daily bowl of Raisin Bran with a sliced banana. Then, in my infinite klutziness, I tried to answer my portable phone while walking up the stairs with my full bowl of cereal...enough said. So when I was making my second bowl of cereal, I poured in one little box of Raisin Bran, and then another little box of Total before adding the banana on top. Then I grabbed a cinnamon raisin bagel. And a corn muffin.

For lunch I ordered a chicken quesadilla. C, a full-fledged quesadilla junkie, orders one every day, but I’m only using once, maybe twice a week. I could quit any time, really. It’s cool, guys. In addition to her quesadilla she ordered a huge tuna melt on rye, and traded me half for half of my delicious fruit tart. We’re an awesome eating team, C and me. We’re also easily the two tallest females here at Nice Hedge Fund, and she’s got a good three inches on me. We’re a force to be reckoned with in heels (watch out, Loud Guy).

I just got an email from R inviting me to dinner with his cousin at this fantastic Harlem BBQ place. Count me in, especially because the last time I was there it was for the Governor of New York’s primary party with ARM and this is one of those memories that I’d like to replace. I was going to take the day off from running to give my ragged legs a rest before tomorrow’s 5-mile team championship race, but no more. I’ve got about 5,000 calories to burn off just to make room for dinner!

So, the aforementioned Nice Hedge Fund Funk has shifted away from C’s cubicle and has settled stinkily in the pantry a few feet away. It’s bad. Less unwashed-urinal today and more dead-animal-covered-in-spoiled-milk. Clearly, this is the work of something far more evil than Loud Guy, and requires more correction than simply chucking my shoes in the vicinity. We called the office manager; she is apparently smell-deaf. Or whatever. She thinks it’s just the trashcan and had one of the building elves empty the garbage. Oh, but the smell lingers. I’m employing the “close your nose and only breathe through your mouth” skill that I learned during childhood summers at Girl Scout camp without indoor plumbing. Nice Hedge Fund Funk is giving those Camp Tweedale latrines a run for their money, though it’s possible that my olfactory memory has stricken that particular brand of stench from my records.

LOUD GUY UPDATE: It sounds like he’s on a phone interview. (Fingers crossed!) The conversation started off with him saying, “So-and-so told me there are two positions available,” and he’s been using his best suck-up voice since, schmoozing about his retail market knowledge and planning a lunch meeting. Do you not see us sitting right behind you, Loud Guy? Do you think we’re too deaf to hear your conversations or too stupid to comprehend them? Man, at least take your call in an open conference room like the rest of us.

C: Good riddance.
Me: Should we put in a good word for him??
C: Totally.