Then I was downstairs getting coffee and somebody was looking at the sandwiches in the vending machine.
"Polish on a bun with kraut," she read aloud.
Another guy who was inspecting the candy selection said "Sounds pretty kinky."
This inspired a chuckle from her, and admittedly, I was mildly amused. Then she said "Not that kinky. If it's a Pole and a Kraut, they probably wouldn't be able to figure it out."
"Insert tab 'A' into slot 'B,'" he said. More laughter. "No! Slot 'B!' 'B!'" By this time I was glancing through yesterday's newspaper (Madonna has a new children's book out, and one of Stoughton's community leaders just died, by the way). The conversation turned into a string of risque ethnic jokes. Somebody else walked into the break room, and the conversation abruptly stopped. He bought a soda, left, and the woman whispered what I'm pretty sure was "I think that guy's a faggot."
I don't know who either of these people are and I'm not sure what about my appearance made them think it would be okay to act like that in my presence. It's not okay in an office setting. Period.
Upstairs things were more pleasant. Since I've taken tomorrow off, we're celebrating my birthday at work today. "Celebrating" simply means that the AEG baked me a cake, but that's plenty. I'm worried, though, that I'll come in on Monday to a huge mess at my desk, as has happened the last two years. I do not like having the things at my desk screwed with, and my birthday is not a good enough reason to have to put up with it. I'll be quite angry if I find that my work has been hidden somewhere else in the department. In the back of my mind I have a secret wish that someday they'll hide something important, I won't realize it, and the subsequent $14,000 write-off puts a damper on pranks like that.
My fortune cookie from lunch:
The cleanest bed is
the one never slept in.
Can't really add "in bed" to that one. Sorry.