This morning, while taking the elevator up to my fourth-floor office at a Very Big Corporation, I had an accident.
Let's back up. Every morning I stop in at the on-campus cafe and grab caffeine and sustenance (though, for me, caffeine often is sustenance), the latter in the form of a bagel. Over the last month or so I've actually started going half-caf, because I'm getting old, and I can't properly deal with the stimuli. At least when I have to deal with people.
So the drill goes: grab "grande" cup (known as "medium" in less frou-frou cultures), wrap cup in "don't-burn-the-crap-out-of-your-hand" sleeve, fill half decaf/half caf, slap a lid on, pick up a bagel, balance bagel on top of cup. The latest is the crux. I could grab a plate. They exist. But what a waste. So I balance the bagel on the coffee, I walk to the cashier (who frequently isn't there, and folks have learned to leave "exact change" or "make change" with the piles of money that have often accumulated on the counter - I used to use another cafe on campus, but I found the loose, Abbie Hoffman-inspired approach of my new preferred cafe endearing), pay my debt, walk around to the cream and sugar dispenser, lay bagel out on napkin on counter, doctor coffee (using raw sugar and, guiltily, half-n-half), carry bagel in napkin out of cafe, turn corner, walk to elevator. This is where it gets tricky.
Now I need two hands. Not immediately, really. Sometimes I'll put the bagel back on the coffee top when I press the "up" button to go up on the elevator (frequently the doors are open, so no pressing is necessary here). Sometimes I'll use a knuckle of a hand that is otherwise engaged. Once in the elevator, I obviously have to touch the button to go to my floor. Sadly, I cannot simply will the elevator upwards with the power of my mind (yet). So maybe I'll get the bagel-balance thing going again here. Maybe, maybe not. But what's coming up flatly demands that I get that bagel on top of the cup: I have to open the lock on the door of my office. I need a hand, it has to go in my pocket, grab the keys, turn the lock, open the door (helped along by a foot, usually). Usually I'll fish out the keys in the elevator, for I must be ready for a dash to my door, so no one has the chance to stop me on the way. I hate interaction sans caffeine. I'm lazy, but I'm in a hurry. I'm an impatient laze-ass.
This morning, while in the elevator alone, fiddling for my keys in preparation for my morning sprint, the bagel balanced on my coffee cup fell to the stainless steel floor of the elevator. In three months of this routine, this is the first dive my breakfast has taken.
I stared at the bagel in disbelief for about two seconds. Then I picked it up (yes, I am aware of the Three-Second Rule). Then I walked to my office, opened the door. I shut the door. I sat down. I turned on my computers. I rubbed the exterior of the bagel with a napkin. I couldn't decide whether to do more of a "brush" or a "scrub." I think I tended toward "brushing," because scrubbing would likely drive any debris into the bagel instead of away from it.
I ate the bagel and drank my coffee. It is a full four hours later, and I'm still alive.
I'm lazy, but I'm hungry.
Time for lunch. Wish me well.
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