Why You Shouldn’t Eat What I Bring to the Potluck at Work


So, I was going to post this as a link from Medium because the contest I was in dictated that you put an unpublished draft in Medium. So I thought, well, I’ve never posted anything there, so I guess I will. I read that one guy made like .06 so it’s like throwing money away to not post there. And then Randy reminded me that I’m just adding a second step for no reason. I came around to his way of thinking. 

This is the story I chose to enter over the one I posted on Monday. It didn’t win anything and I’m totally cool with that. I still think it’s kind of funny. Here it is, why you shouldn’t eat what I bring to the potluck at work. 

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Potlucks happen.

Sooner or later, most of us find ourselves at a pitch-in at work and are faced with 7 layer salad, no bake cookies and dump cake.

I know what I’m supposed to say to my post-menopausal sisters when the subject of the office potluck comes up.

“I don’t know. You know? I mean, it didn’t used to bother me, but how do I know what other people’s hygiene habits are? We’ve established that Karen doesn’t wash her hands in the bathroom. Do you really want to eat her cheese ball?”

My office mates and I sit in an office across the hall from the bathrooms. They’re single bathrooms, which means one person at a time. A bank of windows separate our office from the rest of the world and we often see restroom activity.

When the toilet flushes, we feel a rush of water beneath our feet.

If we feel the flush and the door opens 8 seconds later,we know someone skipped the hand washing portion of their restroom activity.

Karen is a repeat offender.

But if I am honest?

Karen isn’t who you should worry about. It’s me.

I’m not disgusting. Plenty of people are worse than me. I mean, I don’t drop food on the floor and still use it.

Unless the food I dropped is going to be cooked, who cares if it was briefly on the floor? It’s going into a 400 degree oven for an hour.

Or if it is an intact hard boiled egg. I don’t think they are porous. Toast crumbs and cat hair rinses right off.

Whenever I peel hard boiled eggs, they end up looking like a gerbil gnawed off their shells. If I drop a perfectly intact egg, then it’s just wasteful or sinful or something to not wash it off.

Certainly, if I drop a completed deviled egg, I’m not serving it.

Unless, the egg drops egg side down. You can run a paper over the solid egg part, they’re only toast crumbs, for god’s sake. No harm no foul.

Besides, how do you think herd immunity works? Hmmm? My deviled eggs play a part.

Of course, if the deviled egg lands devil side down, I’ll do what any civilized person would do. Scrape off the top layer, check for cat hair and eat it.

I make bad ass deviled eggs

There’s also a slight issue with finger licking.

I understand this is an amazing activity when it comes to fried chicken sold in buckets, but in practice, it is considered poor form to lick your fingers when preparing food for the masses.

I still lick my fingers.

I don’t mean to lick my fingers. Finger licking just happens.

When I prepare food for my family, I don’t think goddamn twice about licking my fingers. I like my family way more than I like people I work with.

While I get it would be appropriate and even considerate to wash my hands before continuing with food prep if I lick my fingers, I have a hard time caring. Again, I like my family way more than I like my coworkers.

Before I admit to the next transgression, I would point out that I make other-worldly chocolate chip cookies.

So, I had to make chocolate chip cookies for a potluck at work, which was fine, but I forgot to bring the butter to room temperature.

I’ve learned many hard lessons in life. One is, when baking, you follow the fucking recipe, or your shit is going to suck. If the recipe calls for room temperature, that is not a suggestion.

So, I held the butter between my thighs while I mixed the dry ingredients.

The wrapper was on the butter. I’m not a heathen.

Look, I’m not trying to ruin potlucks for anyone. I’m saying perhaps the people you worry about aren’t the people you should be worrying about.

You just have to make a choice. Either, run away screaming or dive in. I think diving in is the best choice because the crab dip is to die for. And that shrimp is on ice. I’m sure it’s fine.

In case you’re wondering if I’m kidding about the “softening butter between my thighs thing”.

She didn’t really do that and then feed those cookies to other humans, right?

Let me assure you.

Yes. Yes I did.

Image courtesy of Pexels.

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