For all that is holy this Friday-Before-All-Hollows-Eve, please scrape my tongue off with a razor blade. As is the corporate atmosphere custom, treats are in various locations of the three floors of the company I work at. As an IT geek, I have reason to wander all three floors. The added benefit which is, I get to sample said treats. Only one treat should have been a trick. At first glance, it looks like all of the other variations of Chex Mix seen in bowls located in strategic locations throughout the office. So I walked by and did my customary ChexMixGrabAndStuff[sup]TM[/sup] where I grab a handfull and jam it into my mouth while barely slowing down. Sure, sometimes a couple Chex might miss my mouth and hit the floor. What’s it to ya? I’m a slob. Get over it.
I knew I was in trouble when the first bite was halfway through the mystery wafer. The overwhelming taste of fish hit my mouth with a freakish delayed reaction. So there I was. On the wrong side of the building from the bathrooms. With my mouth FULL. Unwillng to bite down the rest of the way, and in fact trying to open my mouth to reverse the bite, only unable to dislocate my jaw. Luckily I knew that an empty office was just steps away. But it’s the lactation room! And I could hear the unmistakable hum of one of those infernal nipple bursting machines churning away before I even hit the door. Gaaahhh! My gag reflex was beginning to kick in, and I could feel sweat forming on my forehead and the back of my neck.
I cursed the hallway stragglers, for they knew not the pain that their presence caused. Had they all ducked into their offices, a moist pile of Fishy Chex would have mysteriously appeared in the middle of the 23rd floor hallway. And a computer geek would have been witnessed happilly gargling chocolate syrup in the Men’s room. But I was denied my dreams by their unbeknownst vindictive presence. I cursed them under my breath. Then I stopped breathing.
I made it to the men’s room just as the puce walls and gray carpet began switching positions faster than anything seen in a non-election type year. I had made it my dear friends. And as I flushed away the remnants of the Vile-Tasty-Snack-Treat[sup]TM[/sup], I swore I could hear Ellen DeGeneres’ voice. Just keep swimming, just keep swimming, just keep swimming swimming swimming…"
I’ve had a good 2 minute kleenex tounge scraping, two twenty ounce sprites, and a 1/4 trash can full of spit (I’m a slob. Get over it) and I can’t shake that taste. To make it worse, I had to go to that side of the building and I saw the occupant of the treat offering office in question shoveling the concoction into his pie hole. I hope they clog his gills. I just 'bout puked on the wall when I saw that.
It’s not that I don’t like fish, really. I can take it or leave it. It’s just that this stuff was flavored with BlueGill-On-The-Beach-For-A-Week brand flavoring. And when one is expecting the salty goodness of the Chex Mix line, but instead gets BlueGill, it’s an assault on the senses that should be punishible by law. I’m not going up to the 23rd floor today. Not anymore. I don’t care if a computer catches fire. They’re just not going to get me that far away from my spittin’ can. And that close to the evil.
