I am enjoying my temporary job at a large office complex in Chesterfield. I have never worked amongst so many people before. The place is a labyrinth. There is a beverage kitchen where, instead of a kettle, they have a hot water geyser – boiling water on tap – so you don’t have to wait around for a kettle. How modern!
Also in the kitchen is a fridge where the 20 or so workers in this corner of the rabbit warren keep their lunches, and milk for tea and coffee. Now, I drink black tea and cuppa soup, so I don’t need a milk supply. But sometimes in the mornings, if I’ve arrived especially early, I need the sort of caffeine shot you only get from a nice cup of milky coffee. There is an abandoned jar of powdered coffee creamer which I am welcome to use. But it’s not the same as proper milk, as we all know.
So I have become furtive. The fridge door is stuffed full of all kinds of milk, one pint, two pints, semi-skimmed, red top, blue top. All carefully marked with initials. I have no idea what the initials mean: a person? a department? But I nip into the kitchen when the coast is clear, open the fridge, scan the milk cartons, grab one that’s fairly full, and pour a drop into my cup.
Fingers crossed I don’t get caught in the act. The embarrassment would be huge.
Till next time,