The bakery that we get our donuts from make them huuuuuge. I mean we’re talking donuts with a 6-7" diameter. I don’t have a problem with people cutting these and sharing. My personal peeve is the person who uses half a sweetner packet then tosses it back into the pile so the next person to pick it up gets sweetener everywhere. Nobody else is going to use that half packet, even if they only want half a packet themselves. Just use what you need and throw the rest in the trash!
You know, somebody could just cut all the donuts in half from the beginning and solve that problem.
I think.
The half donut/bagel thing occurs in our hospital doctors’ lounge a lot. They’ve been touching, like, ew, patients and other glorpy stuff and I don’t want to mess with their leavings, whether sawed off or broken apart.
Plus it pisses me off if there’s something good like a Boston cream pastry and only half is left. It’s not enough for breakfast and too much if added on to another pastry.
Just throw out the remainder of whatever you don’t want. That half sitting there for hours should be a clue that no one else wants it either.
I like when people leave half-doughnuts. I’m a half-doughnut eater myself, so I’m happy to take the remainder.
I don’t even care if they touched it. I have an immune system.
I’m more annoyed at people who complain about the state of the free donuts. If you want a whole donut, untouched by human hands (excepting, of course, the fine people at the donut shop, who are doubtless paragons of cleanliness, unlike your skanky coworkers), get off your ass and go get one. All it’ll cost you is a few minutes, 70ish cents, and an opportunity to bitch about the downfall of civilization, or something.
At my job, people often cut a little eighth wedge out of round donuts and a similarly sized piece from bars. Yesterday both maple bars had about an inch cut off the ends. Why the second person couldn’t have cut an inch from the already fouled-by-cutting maple bar, I simply can’t imagine.
Meh, I’ve still eaten the donut. (After all, Buffy is a big time kisser and gets right up in your face). But from now on, we just put the donuts in the cupboard.
I usually just tear off a few tiny bites for Maggie.
I love frosting, too, but what the heck was going through his head when he was chopping up the cake? I would have said to just bring him a container of ready-made frosting and a spoon, but that would still leave the cake vulnerable.
I’ve seen baking sheets with very shallow, less than an inch deep, muffin cups.
One place I used to work would occasionally get chocolates in, the good kind. One coworker would pinch them in half, and if she didn’t like the filling, she’d pitch them, saying that of course nobody would want them after she’d handled them. She was right, but the boss finally said that we could each consume a certain number of chocolates each day, and consuming meant pitching them in the trash, too. This pissed my coworker off to no end. She couldn’t see that she was doing anything wrong.
I routinely take, and eat, halves of donuts, bagels, etc., as do many people in my office. Of course, having not been raised in a barn, we all use the knives instead of our hands.
If this annoys you, then I wish you luck sorting out your irrational peeves. "T’aint my problem.
The guy was an ass. He’s was bored during break so he played with the cake for 15 minutes. This happened multiple times.
I’m not believing some of the behavior I’m reading about here. Some of it I wouldn’t even be seen in the script of a bad sitcom.
All I can say is that there’s going to be one messy wall when comes the pastry revolution.
Sounds like he was also a pig-did he have poor hygiene as well?
When our kids still lived with us the rule was that the one who took the last of the juice would have to clean the pitcher and mix up more frozen concentrate.
I was constantly pissed at having nothing but the last stray ounce or two whenever I reached for the juice.
When factory-reconstituted juice from one of the local/regional dairies would go on sale, the juice would all go away, but the little buggers would leave the empties to fester in the sink
for someone else to rinse out and pitch into recycling.
Once, I took the lemonade pitcher, filled it with water mixed with lemon-lime Palmolive, and left it out on the counter. One of them drank it before the second said “eww”, having sniffed the glass that her tastebud-dead brother had brought her before drinking it. Her brother was on his 3rd glass!
Back in the days when the communal coffee pot at work was a metal percolator, we had a guy who always hefted the pot before pouring. If it felt to him like it would be his turn to make coffee next, he’d skip it til later.
Since he couldn’t behave himself in the break room, perhaps he shouldn’t have been allowed in there.
He eventually had his antics add up to where he was fired. It took years because of his position, but it happened.
No. We had somebody else with that problem. They prepared food and ate it directly on the break room table. They never washed their hands after going to the bathroom either. The guy was Polish and ate the messy greasy Polish foods. One of the owners who is very nice and tolerant would often be chewing him out for the messes he made and left.
Another break room news flash: leaving half an inch of coffee in the coffeemaker does not make you a good citizen.
It takes me about 40 seconds to dump out the old sub-drinkable coffee, wash out the container, add coffee to a filter, replace it in the machine and turn it on. You can do it too.
Perhaps you seek closure to your baked-good experience. An act of will symbolizing the exercise of willpower. “No more yummy baked goods for you, Lis.” Perhaps you may find it helpful in not indulging an urge to overconsume.
Then again, perhaps I’m full of it. I’m no willpower guru: absent any baked-good Diktat, I’d be stuffing 'em in my mouth and both ears.
Taking a half is fine, leaving more than one half in the box is not. If you don’t want to eat someone else’s half, you shouldn’t expect someone to eat yours.
I used to have this problem with an old roommate. The house rule was that the last person to finish off the juice had to make more, or the person who finished off the milk had to put a new bag in. She would “cleverly” get around this by leaving just the barest smidgen of juice in the bottom of the pitcher or just a swallow of milk in the bottom of the bag. When we confronted her about this, she said “But I really didn’t want that last bit!” What, you thought everyone else in the house came home and thought “Gee, I’m parched, I’d love to have a nice half-sip of juice with my lunch!”
Nice girl, but a little deficient on some basic roommate qualities.