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.