A Toast to the New Building, If Only I Could

My workplace moved buildings over the last thirty days. For me, this is largely insignificant, as I've moved from cubicle to cubicle in the old building. Yes, my new space has a floor-to-ceiling window, but after 11+ years of casino lighting, I expect I'll stare wistfully outside when the weather becomes nice again. Until then, I'll merely close my shades so I'm not distracted by every car and pedestrian passing. (Why must my attention be so easily diverted?)

There are benefits of the new space, of course. The lobby is immense and contains a piano, just in case I'm suddenly overpowered by the spirit of Billy Joel. With no tip jar (and no musical aptitude), the odds of that happening are unlikely. Even so, why place a piano in an office building? It's not like the security guards have a minibar stashed behind the counter? (Or do they?)

The shower room was poorly planned by architects, but if people choose to look inside a bathroom as they pass down the hallway, they deserve whatever burns their retinas.

The oddest aspect for me is the lack of a toaster. The firm employs over 300 people, and we're not allowed to heat our pop tarts? Sure, we have a bank of microwaves with which we can nuke the tart, but I discovered yesterday that (1) a microwave makes the crust crack to the point it's un-pick-up-able, and (2) strawberry filling is one of the quickest-heating substances on the planet. It takes only 25 seconds of spinning under radiated lights to achieve a temperature comparable with molten lava.

Today's mission: deduce whether strawberry is the only filling to reach nuclear hot, or if blueberry will follow the same path. If you run into me on the street tomorrow and my lips have somehow melted together, you'll understand why.