Offices are Hell!

No job is full of more intrigue then a desk job.

I have to have special food.  Does that surprise you?  It shouldn't, because it's pretty darn obvious that I have a trap for a jaw!  You would also think it was obvious to the people I work next to, day in, and day out, at the accountants office.

Does it seem like I might need special food, Debbie two cubicles down?  Or Frank, across the hallway, or George with the office?  Do any of you have a trap for a jaw?  No, no you don't.  Frank, your slight limp from playing tennis last week does not count.

My food needs to be run through a blender multiple times.  It needs to be strained through 3 different types of meshes, and let me make this part very clear, it's sealed up tight in a plastic container of which "THIS BELONGS TRAPJAW" is written in 48 point bold comic sans.

That's right, comic sans.  Don't tell me you didn't notice it.

When I find out who's eating my food, human resources or not, my hook arm is going right up their butt.