Things were a little uncomfortable at work today. Jim appeared to suspect a conspiracy between me, Mike, and Joy, as regards the pen incident, and was avoiding us all. As if that wasn't bad enough, the tension spread as the day wore on. By lunchtime, half the second floor was avoiding Jim. I saw a couple of guys going the long way around the quadrangle, presumably to avoid passing his office. I got pulled aside twice by people wanting details. I like working in a mid-sized office, but, oy, the gossip! It's like chairing a knitting convention. Somehow, everybody knew Jim was the thief, and that I had confronted him yesterday. So much for discretion.
In the break room, I removed a Post It reading DO NOT TOUCH (JIM!) from somebody's Tupperware container. I was tempted to remove the container, as well. That kind of ribbing isn't called for (at least, not so soon after the fact).
For breakfast, I tried another recipe for Gaiman cannoli. (Is it just me, or does everyone think "Leave the gun, take the cannoli," when enjoying that particular treat?) This time, instead of substituting paper for the crunchy shell, I glazed it onto an existing shell, between two layers of sticky icing. The result was messy and brittle, and maybe a little too sweet, but much improved over my initial attempt.
Lunch was a little less adventurous: egg, pickle, and American Gods on rye, with a side of batter-fried cranes. Mike came in while I was eating my sandwich, and stayed around till I was done. I don't think he noticed anything. He spent most of the time with his back to me, looking out the window.
"I don't like the way it went with Jim," he said.
"Sorry about that."
"Wasn't your fault. That man has a...has a...." He searched for a word. I waited. I hate it when people try to force-feed you the word you're looking for. They almost never get it right. I make a point of never doing it to anyone else.
"He has a belligerent streak," finished Mike.
"Yup."
"I almost invited him, last year. You know, for Sundays."
"I doubt he'd have come."
"Maybe an invitation now would smooth things over."
"But he might come."
Mike laughed. Jim did not get an invitation.
At home, I ate a giant hamburger (double pickles, double onions, tomato, lettuce, American Gods). It was a giant hamburger kind of day.
I wonder if Neil Gaiman ever has a giant hamburger day?
This is just brilliant. I have no idea if it's true, or if it's just a genius level of creation...or both, but it's just wonderful.
Posted by: spiderfarmer | March 29, 2006 at 12:56 AM
Oh man, you didn't post pictures!
Don't do this half-assed. If you're gonna eat all of Neil's work, I want to see the food and you eating it.
Nice job on the cookie house yesterday, though. See? You've spoiled me by posting that photo...
Posted by: Robin Slick | March 29, 2006 at 08:43 AM
Ack, I screwed up when I just left a comment. Let's see if I can remember what I said.
Okay.
What I said was: Oh man, where are the photos? If you are going to eat all of Neil's work, I want to see it all! Pics of the food, you eating it, etc. See, you spoiled me yesterday when you posted the cookie house...
A Gaiman burger. Not quite as clever as a salmon cake, but still good.
xo
Rob
Posted by: Robin Slick | March 29, 2006 at 08:50 AM
This blog reads like a work of fiction, but your plan is brilliant! It sounds like a very interesting approach to reading and I've enjoyed reading through your archives :D
Posted by: Michael Heroin | March 29, 2006 at 11:21 AM