I sat back and read his email a couple times. I could NOT believe boss man was ORDERING me to DISPOSE of his OLD LUNCH BITS.

Now, I'd wondered why there was a container of chicken salad on the kitchen counter when I came in this morning, but didn't want to touch it because: 1) Oooo, and 2) I didn't know who the owner was and if there was perhaps some grand plan involved with this (intentionally or unintentionally) abandoned lunch goo, so I decided wisely not to fuck with it. Not my problem, man.

I was so terribly naive.

So after reading bizarro request from my boss (I must've said "You have GOT to be fucking kidding me" four or five times), I wandered into the kitchen and stared at the container sitting by the sink.

I walked closer to it. Why didn't he toss this out himself? What the hell happened between him removing this from the fridge, and walking out the door yesterday that made him FORGET TO TAKE CARE OF HIS OWN GACK-INDUCING LUNCH REMNANTS? Is he going to make me wipe his ass on Monday too? What the FUCK?!

I stood there for a good couple minutes and kept staring at the oblong purple-lidded Ziploc disposable container. Does he want me to clean it out? Or can I just chuck the whole thing? Will he be mad if I do that? He's such a tightwad. Was he expecting this container back? How old IS this chicken salad? Why am I debating this so intensely?

Since we don't have a garbage disposal in the kitchen, I couldn't rightly shove pieces of chicken goonk through the small drain holes and hope for the best, and it didn't seem wise to dump out the contents in the trash where it would stink up the office until Monday.

I picked up the container and inspected the contents through the side. Ewww. Yep, this baby's going in the tra...Oh, wait a sec...there's a fork in there.

DAMMIT! (Can I catch a break, just once?)

Gingerly, I peeled the lid back (I squinted my eyes and squenched up my nose in anticipation of the smell, which, as it turns out, was absolutely the correct preemptive move) and moved my head to the left as I quickly dipped my fingers in to grab the boss-licked-ick-covered fork.

Geh. GEEEEEEEEEH.

Snapped the lid back on before the smell could fully assault my senses, washed the fork off with the scrubber dealy (for a moment my mind wandered: is this his fork? an office fork? WHY DO I FUCKING CARE?!!), and tossed it in the drying rack before my stomach could begin dry heaving.

Then I chunked the container of chunks in the trash, rushed back to my desk and wrote him the following email:

I tossed the container in the trash (took out the fork) because we don't have a garbage disposal. Hope that's ok!

I HAD to add the bit about the fork because I SWEAR TO GOD he would've asked me about it on Monday had I NOT said anything ("You didn't throw out the fork, did you?"), and I'm not sure he remembers we don't have a garbage disposal, so I wanted him to be FULLY AWARE of the reasons behind my decision.

Because he can be a REAL ASS sometimes.

As if I had to mention that.

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