Author: Steve Cavers

Was it a moment of temporary insanity? It was a moment of decision in the morning in which I turned left instead of right and found myself at the counter ordering a McDonald’s(R) Sausage McMuffin(TM).

I want the world to know that I am not a breakfast person. And, hypocritical as it is, I scorn people who frequent McDonald’s, and I especially cast frowning glances at people who go there for breakfast. Yet there I was. To top that — oh, the flesh is weak — I found myself considering the “Two Breakfast Burrito Meal”. Believe me when I say that I don’t normally eat breakfast before work, or if I do, it’s something very light.

So I carried that evil little bag to the office with the grease creeping across the surface of the brown paper like a spreading stain of guilt upon my soul. In the bag was everything one shouldn’t have for breakfast — salt, grease, heavily processed animal product, cheese-like oil product, and other unidentified ingredients. It was also evidence of my support of one of the biggest multinational monstrosities in existence. It was a surrender to the dark temptations of Ronald, head chef of Satan’s corporate kitchen. (As I’ve mentioned before, the position of Satan’s sous-chef is occupied by BK.)

My guilt was hardly eased when the VP of operations passed me in the corridor and, spotting the greasy bag, said, “Hey, the breakfast of champions!” More like the breakfast of champignons.

(Heaving deep sigh.)

I suppose I’ve had worse breakfast indiscretions. There’s that one landmark breakfast I had back in ’96 that was truly evil. At that time I shared a house with a friend who appreciated Monty Python as much as I do. I’m not certain what prompted this, but for some reason we thought we should pay homage to the “Spam sketch” by preparing the ultimate Spam meal. It consisted of Spam, Spam, eggs, Spam, baked beans, Spam, sausage, Spam, and Spam. For those of you who weren’t counting, that’s six helpings of the dreaded salt-saturated meat-like product.

I shouldn’t need to say that we both felt quite ill after that.

Starting tomorrow, I’ll revert to my normal minimalist breakfast. And today I’ll have the usual salad for lunch. But in my heart (the bits that aren’t now clogged with various deposits) I know that no amount of pure, green lettuce can balance the sin of today’s breakfast. It’s simply a guilt that I will have to live with. Forever.

()

Tragedy struck at the cube farm this morning. I arrived at work just before 8:30, not suspecting that anything was amiss. I logged in at my workstation, and as is my morning routine, I trekked to the kitchen for my morning coffee.

That’s when I saw it. It was… horrifying. Simply a nightmare image that I can never erase from my memory. It was opened right up — it’s innards were all over the table. Vital fluids dripped into a spreading pool on the checkered linoleum. A repair man was working on the coffee vending machine.

I might have known this would happen. The day I saw them replacing our regular coffee urns with that mechanical monstrosity, I had a feeling that something awful would come of it.

I returned to my desk empty-handed and feeling helpless. Disoriented.

I’m a creature of routine. I depend on it to structure my life. Without structure — without my morning java — I’m lost.

As I mentioned earlier (August 10), I have, on rare occasions, wondered what penguin meat tastes like. Well, I may be a small step closer to sinking my teeth into an Opus steak today. I stumbled across the Penguin Recipe Page, where “the only good penguin is a digested penguin”.

But where does one acquire penguin? It’s a shame they closed the Stanley Park zoo — they had some tasty-looking specimens in that penguin pool.