Re: lunch plans?

Dear fellow employees,

Good morning. Happy day of the week. I trust your weekends were gingham shorts having weather for golf club. I certainly hope you had the chance to boat that grill out and in-laws some lawn mower. Now that that’s out of the way … As some of you probably haven’t noticed, you can rarely find me in the office between the hours of 12:05 and 12:35 P.M., Monday through Friday. I know this for a fact because the last time anyone was curious enough to ask why I’m never in the break room for lunch was before Young Sheldon premiered.

The truth of the matter is that I hate each and every one of you, so I choose to eat lunch in the comfort and solitude of my Hyundai. And while nothing would make me happier than to finish out my time here on earth without speaking to or interacting with a single one of you, it’s been “suggested” by HR that I offer my colleagues some sort of “warm” gesture that doesn’t involve “accidentally” changing a number of your desktop backgrounds to a “low-resolution” “image” of my “butt,” or else I’ll be “let go.” So here it is: I’m extending a warm welcome to anyone who would like to join me in my car for lunch to do so today at 12:10.

There are just a couple of guidelines for car lunch, all of which, upon violation, are grounds for dismissal and an anonymous passive aggressive post-it note on your desk tomorrow morning. The rules are as follows:

  1. Please be very late.
  2. I sit in the driver’s seat, but you may sit in the passenger seat or the backseat depending on the severity of your inferiority complex.
  3. There will be no driving. Car lunch is a metaphor for — and result of—the stifling broom closet that is my encroaching mortality. You can make vroom-vroom sounds if you please. Just do it quietly.
  4. You must bring your own utensils and napkins. I only stop at a thruway Arby’s so many times in a week. I’m not made of napkins —though if I were, I still wouldn’t use them to clean up the puddles of tears I leave behind in the bathroom after my monthly Angry Cry because I’m secretly hoping one of you slips a little. I’m not pooping. I’m waiting.
  5. No tradesies. If tradesies have taken place unbeknownst to me, and a conflict arrises, the law of takesies backsies hitherto applies.
  6. Please inform me and your fellow passengers about any food allergies prior to entry, in the rare event of a tradesies situation.
  7. The stereo volume remains at level 10 at all times. Any louder and it must be at 12 because I don’t do numbers that aren’t divisible by two or five, and 12 is too loud. Any softer and it has to be at eight which is too quiet to hear the passages of Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring that don’t sound like someone having sex on a piano — and I only listen to Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring.
  8. I occasionally take my cat with me on unprompted joy rides around my cul-de-sac so if you don’t like cat hair in your pudding cup, this is not the lunchtime event for you.
  9. No grapes.

That’s it. If you feel like you can follow these rules, please reply to this email with, “I am a stupid idiot. Love, Fart Face.” That’s how I will know you are serious about eating lunch with me.

I’m “looking forward” to spending time with no more than three of you. Have a day.

“Best,”
Dan