While I'm On the Topic of Refrigerators

My office keeps us pretty well taken care of in the department of junk food.

The actual Junk Food Department, actually, is up on the first floor, Southwest Wing, B Sector - more commonly known as the kitchen. Somebody - not me - is all the time going to Sam's Club or some such and hauling in gargantuan 80-packs of Krunchers-brand potato chips, individually wrapped for personal scarfing.

Up there you will also find what cannot be described as "bags" of miniature chocolate bars. They would squarely qualify as Sacks of miniature chocolate bars.

Perhaps the office manager is skulking around during Halloween and Easter and assaulting children for their candy: that is how much candy is stored in the Junk Food Department.

If the candy sacks come from Sam's Club, you must need a special permit to buy them, and a clean bill of health cosigned by your dentist and cardiologist. Right there is proof it isn't me who's supplying all this candy - my dentist would never sign the certificate. In fact, I think she plans on personally decking our office manager if she ever spots her in public.

In addition to the sweets, there are the salties: not just the chips, but Ritz Bits, and pretzel nuggets, and, for the carnivorous staffers, Beef Jerky.

The real treasure trove, though, is the refrigerator. Heave open its gleaming metal door to behold delicious, toxic beverages of all kinds. There's a row of chilled Frappucinos in the door - tempting, but a little extravagant for daily consumption. I try to reserve those for clients. There are Sprites, and Sunkist Orange drinks, and Diet Dr. Peppers (we had a brief dalliance with Diet Cherry Vanilla Doctor Pepper, but it was unanimously agreed that this was way too many modifying adjectives - plus it tastes like hummingbird blood), along with Pepsi, Diet Pepsi, Mountain Dew and probably more stuff I'm forgetting.

The Pepsi is always the last to go - I think everybody likes everything but that. Me, I'm a Diet Dr. Pepper man, and you'll find me swigging a cylinder of DDP every chance I get. That is, of course, unless we're running low. That's when I realize that other people like it too, and then I usually switch to Pepsi. Pepsi's fine by me - not my favorite, but it does the trick, and I get a warm, fizzy feeling helping others benefit from my indiscriminate nature.

It's the same way with the chips. I like Barbecue - everybody likes Barbecue; it's the best. But I rarely eat the barbecue chips. When a pallet of Krunchers is first wheeled in, sure I'll probably snag a bag, but once supplies start dwindling I'll do my part and switch to Jalapeno.

Nobody likes Jalapeno.

My coworker Jake groans loudly at the sight of that green bag before I've even opened it - he hates the smell that much. "Ugh!" he'll say. "How can you like that flavor?"

"Smpl," I grunt between bites. [KRUNCH KRUNCH KRUNCH] "I don't. But somebody's gotta eat 'em, and I'm the guy."

I am a selfless snacker. It's my primary contribution to the company. Now if you'll excuse me, there are some neglected mini-3 Musketeers upstairs just calling my name.