Colin Timothy Gagnon (sacredspud) wrote,
Colin Timothy Gagnon
sacredspud

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Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

Back when I started working here, I had a whole bunch of co-workers who were decade-or-longer veterans of the company. They're gone now. All but one. And she doesn't like to pick up lunch.

I've always had coworkers who were willing to pick up lunch. In a given week, I'd have multiple chances to place an order for food from Cool Beans or Noodles or Panera, and other people would ordering delivery from Glass Nickel, Pizza Hut, Milio's, Chang Jiang or Jimmy John's.

None of this happens anymore.

These days if anybody ever offers to make a food run, it's to Rocky Rococo, which is my least favorite pizza*. I can't really explain that; it's popular enough with everybody else, but there's something about their sauce and their crust which just doesn't work for me. Every once in awhile I fork over a few bucks to relearn that lesson.

Anyway, this required that I shuffle my day around somewhat. I get up earlier which allows me time to pack a lunch, and when I don't bring something, I have to make sure that my lunchtime excursions give me time to stop somewhere. I can't work through as many lunch-hours as I used to.

I'm not sure yet if I'm leaving the building during lunch or not. I'd like to get away from my desk, but I don't need to because I brought some heat-and-serve Indian food which I can nuke when I get hungry. And that's a big plus, because I just got today's "Does anybody want anything while I'm out?" e-mail. Apparently someone's picking up food from McDonald's. This is the first time in more than a year that anyone has offered to get food from somewhere other than Rocky Rococo. Seriously. People are actually kind of excited. They're looking at the menu on McDonald's website and discussing the possibility of an Arby's run next week and everything. People like me who are less excited are making quiet jokes about how this is what happens to people's standards when the corporate world destroys their souls. Ten years ago I'd fantasize about how what I was going to do after my fifteen minutes of fame. After a reality check, it sounds like the best I can hope for is that someone else will fetch my Quarter Pounder. I still have to pay for it, of course, and I won't get my change back.

Far be it from me to disparage McDonald's (because let's face it, the bar for disparaging McDonald's was set unrealistically high before I was born), but honestly, McDonald's? There must be ten equally plebeian fast-food restaurants within closer or equal driving distance with comparable prices and menus where the line of cars doesn't stretch around the building and almost into the street. I could get to Wendy's or Subway or hey, even Denny's and back before she's even through the line.

Uh, that's a moot point, though, because I really like this stuff.



* Actually, the absolute worst pizza ever is served at the Pizza Ranch restaurant in Decorah, Iowa, but it's unlikely that I'll get a chance to eat there again.
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