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29th January 2019
12:52pm GMT
Congratulations, you are a certified sociopath. Respectfully, what the fuck are you playing at? Last night's leftovers are tonight's dinner. By having the leftovers for lunch, you're creating a temporary solution to a very long term problem. What are you going to have for dinner tonight? Probably nothing, because you'll be too busy sniffing the hair fibres you collected from your work colleagues throughout the day. You'll glue them all together to create a Super Colleague, then Instagram stalk your ex for the rest of the night.
Your life is in disarray, you've no routine or structure and it's slowly driving you to insanity. You can't just box up last night's pasta and reheat it, that's going to dry it out and create one giant pasta clump. Sure, you'll eat it because you're hungry, but this isn't doing your life any favours. It's only a matter of time before an unsuspecting jogger and his dog uncover the shallow graves you've fashioned in the front garden. Just hand yourself in, they'll offer a plea bargain and the sentence won't be as severe this way.
Meal deal
Your highness, good to have you reading some content from this fine establishment. Between various everyday engagements such as ruling the country and organising your bone China collection gifted from the Sultan of Brunei, you like to indulge in a spot of nourishment from time to time. You'll send an intern to fetch you some freshly made sushi, sparing no expense in asking for an extra helping of dipping soy sauce and genuine silver cutlery which you will dispose of after you eat the sushi with your hands, still insisting on having the table set to perfection.
You're a lover of the finer things in life. You top up your Oyster card by £100 at a time, you've got those £80 Adidas trainers everyone's wearing (but in four different colours), for sport you'll often light an old £5 note on fire and use it for the perfect selfie backlight. Money isn't an issue in your lavish lifestyle. When you go to a nightclub, it's absolutely mandatory that you buy an entire bottle of vodka and leave it on the table for show in the hopes that it will attract potential suitors. Sometimes it does, but it doesn't take long for them to work out that you are trash.
Homemade meal prep
Congratulations, you're a massive legend. You are truly so much better than the rest of us. You manage to set aside a couple of hours every Sunday to get your food in order for the week, meanwhile the rest of us are attending brunch gatherings with our mates because it's a very valid excuse to drink during the daytime. You take your lunch break at precisely 1pm every day, scurrying your way to the kitchen and standing uncomfortably close behind the person that's using the microwave before you. Nobody says hello because you are insufferable.
It must be tough, finding the time to meal prep in between your various social engagements. Someone like you undoubtedly has constant requests to hang out, but nutrition comes first. Eventually, the phone calls dry up, the messages stop being sent and you're left alone and sad. You're going to die in your flat and remain undiscovered for weeks, not even your colleagues will notice your absence. Still, at least you'll have shredded abs in the coffin and you've left a plethora of moody Instagram selfie options for the obituary photograph. Fail to prepare, etc.
Something from the deli next door
Your life lacks motivation at the moment, but you're constantly reassuring yourself that things are going to change. Next week you're going to join the gym, although you can't on Monday ad Tuesday is a ludicrous day to start anything so you're better off eating all the goodies in the house this week and then starting fresh the week after next. You're really going to get things in order, hit the gym 5 days a week, eat properly, maybe even address the bedwetting incidents that have been getting worse lately.
Your (unpaid) work lunch hour often spills over into an hour and a quarter territory, but your boss is chill and doesn't even notice. Although sometimes you worry that he actually does notice and is jotting down your indiscretions in a notebook titled 'Reasons To Fire This Goon', all of which will be presented to you at your next seemingly informal meeting. Whatever, this job is just a stepping stone for you anyway. Once you can track down an email address for Steven Spielberg, he's going to jump at the chance to direct your screenplay about vegan Minions.
Whatever's going free in the kitchen
To be frank, your lifestyle is complete chaos and something needs to change. You're going into work each day without a single regard for what you'll eat. Things are cool as a breeze in your mind, sometimes it gets to 4pm and you realise you haven't eaten yet. You are a freak of nature. What are you doing your job properly, is it? Loser. Too busy making sure things are in order rather than spending the entire morning chatting with your coworkers to see who's doing what for lunch and at what time? Saddo. Spending the afternoon making light work for tomorrow? Sap.
Your workplace often gets free food sent in, but that's entirely at the helm of some PR person who determines whether an entire Domino's pizza is going to sway you to spend thousands of pounds on your next campaign with their company. There's no guarantee that pizza is coming in today, or if it'll even be nice. Sure, you could have a donut for lunch, but they've been on the countertop for three days and someone has very clearly bitten the side of one and put it back because they are human scum. Sort your life out. Pay less attention to your goddamn work, square.
Takeaway
Oi oi, ring the banter siren because we've got An Absolute Fucking Legend here today. You've gone out last night, haven't you, sonny Jim? That's right, you went and drank approximately 75 pints with your mates and now you cannot function because you are, as evidenced by trying to get through the train station barrier using a Nando's loyalty card, still out of your bin drunk. Nobody in work has noticed yet, mostly because they're all preoccupied with their own bullshit along with doing some actual work, but as soon as that Uber Eats driver arrives at your desk, the jig is up.
You've ordered a big fat dirty burrito and it screams 'I Vomited Three Times On The Way To Work And Today Might Just Be The Day I Die'. Lucy from accounts has noticed and she's headed your way. "Oooh, what's that?", very fucking clearly it is a burrito, Lucy. They're unique looking food items. "Big night last night?" she bellows, ensuring the entire office and indeed residents of this particular postcode can hear. Just ignore her, you eat that burrito. That's yours and nobody can take it away from you. It's your reward for being a total sesh monster. Chow down, champ. Keep up the good work!
