Every Monday morning our news director buys everyone bagels and donuts for breakfast. Yes, it's a lovely gesture, and yes I enjoy hoarding free bagels in my desk drawer like a squirrel storing nuts for winter, but before you start griping about how lucky I have it, keep in mind that I would gladly trade my bagels for a dental plan any day.
Anyway, this morning I was particularly excited about my bagel, having forgotten to eat dinner last night. I skipped, oblivious and joyfully, into the break room. I grabbed the only plain bagel in the bag, swiped a handful of mini cream cheese containers, and went on a short-lived search for a knife. We have a drawer full of plastic cutlery. I grabbed an innocuous-looking plastic butter knife and went to town on my bagel. No one could have predicted the tragedy about to befall me...
Anyway, this morning I was particularly excited about my bagel, having forgotten to eat dinner last night. I skipped, oblivious and joyfully, into the break room. I grabbed the only plain bagel in the bag, swiped a handful of mini cream cheese containers, and went on a short-lived search for a knife. We have a drawer full of plastic cutlery. I grabbed an innocuous-looking plastic butter knife and went to town on my bagel. No one could have predicted the tragedy about to befall me...
I flailed around the room for a few minutes, sucking desperately on my injured thumb until a coworker pointed out that a bandaid would be a much more effective solution.
Seriously, who cuts themselves with a piece of plastic notorious for not being sharp enough to cut through toast bread?
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