Lunch in the Parking Lot

Today's luncheon of Falafel King shawarma and chips was so loud I had to eat it in the car while listening to NPR and watching my billboard friend stare me down. Why did I resort to dining in the parking lot? Because I'm too anti-social to eat at the restaurant and I'm too self-conscious to crunch my lunch in that egg-carton of an office they have us working in. Another reason is that I have the worst eating habits of all my colleagues and I don't want people to know the details of my daily diet. People talk, and I refuse to give them fodder for gossiping about me. (You may think I'm paranoid, but you never know. Someone may overhear an innocent detail about my life and repeat it to the wrong person who might later use it against me. Believe me, it happens!)

I digress.

I eat in my car a lot. I know it sounds sad, but it gives me an "oasis" in which to retreat. We're packed in that office like sardines and I sometimes need to escape from what feels like one big cubicle divided into twelve. One of my co-workers teases me because I walk on my toes whenever I wear noisy shoes. I do it to avoid announcing my arrival every single time I enter the room. The dividers between the cubicles are really high, so I don't know who all is in the room. But, because of those noisy shoes, everyone else knows my whereabouts (and thus how much I work), and I hate that!

Whenever I make a phone call, I walk all the way outside of the building so I can have privacy. I work in a loud urban environment next to a major boulevard, yet I feel more privacy outside of the building than inside.

I don't want people to know when I arrive. I don't want people to know when I leave. I don't want people to know what I eat. I don't want people to know what I say on the phone. I'm sure no one cares. But will they listen anyway? Yes. How do I know? Because I listen to them. I have no choice in a room like that. No matter who is talking, I can effortlessly hear the entire conversation. Even when they're on the phone, I can make out the gist of the entire conversation. I can hear everything and everyone, and I hate it! I sit near the printer, so every time someone gets up to retrieve a printout, it irritates the bejesus out of me! These little things add up to the overall frustration of working in an office like that. Every once in a while, I need to get away from it all. And so, I eat in the parking lot.

The thing of it is, I love the actual work that I do and I wouldn't trade it for the world, especially during economic times like these. I don't even hate my colleagues necessarily. It's just that the office makes them the most irritating people in the world. I'd be on the brink of lashing out at Mr. Rodgers, Mother Theresa, and Gandhi if they were in there with me.

In spite of all the annoyances though, I love my job, I'm grateful for it, and I know when to hold on to good thing when I have it. So I quietly endure the cramped conditions, and every once in a while I dine in my car under the mocking gaze of that masonic voodoo magician.

C'est la vie, je suppose. N'est-ce pas, Dr. Facilier?