Pot Luck

Greg opened the car door, got in, turned on the AC and pummeled the steering wheel with his fist. He sat in his car fuming, he was so mad, if steam could actually escape from his ears, he was sure that would be happening right now. He turned the AC down to get the cooler air blowing right in his face to try and cool him off. This work place of his just piled on the last proverbial straw. How can you just keep adding work and changing assignments and shifts and expecting more and more for…what? Not a thank you, not a good job, certainly not a raise and now they wanted him to come in on Saturday, ‘are they fucking kidding me, right now?” he asked to no one, as he gunned the engine and skidded across the parking lot.

Greg rose early on Saturday and played their game. He redid several hours of work because his boss’s boss’s boss forgot to mention one minor detail of information that caused the entire fiasco and threw off all of their numbers and calculations…again! It wasn’t the first time and it surely wouldn’t be the last…but maybe it could be.

On Sunday, the one thing Greg didn’t mind doing, was shopping. He went from store to store and collected groceries that were on sale. He was known to go to three to five different stores for great savings and bargains. A few items here, a few items there whatever it took to save a penny. He was pretty sure today though was his personal record. Thirteen! Thirteen different stores for thirteen different items!

After shopping, he donned the white paint suit he picked up, complete with a hood and then the gloves and face mask. With a deft hand and microfiber cloth he washed and wiped the entire can of refried beans, matter of fact-he wiped washed and cleaned all of his ingredients. He mixed the sour cream and taco seasoning together, shredded a head of lettuce and diced tomatoes. Tossed in a blend of Mexican cheeses and his seriously tasty guacamole and garnished with a few ripe, sliced black olives. After layering this all in a disposable tin pan with his super-secret ingredient, he topped it with a lid and sealed it with saran wrap.

Monday morning, he arrived to work, and put his 7-layer dip simply marked with one word “potluck” and placed it inside the work refrigerator. Precisely at 10:45 a.m., Kimberly, the administrative assistant, unloaded the refrigerator and sat all the dishes designated as potluck on the tables lining the atrium. At 11:00 a.m., lunchtime for the seven o’clock workers, a lined formed at the tables for the monthly potluck luncheon.

As one of his co-workers passed by his desk, “let’s go buddy, food’s out!” 

Greg just smiled as he said, “go ahead, I’ll be out there as soon as I take this phone call.” One thing, after the potluck, Greg was pretty certain; he wouldn’t be working on anything for a long, long time.

super-secret ingredient