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It's just me I guess
Oct. 20th, 2011 09:28 am(warning, this is a pointless rant and nobody will enjoy it)
I don't feel particularly(*) grouchy today but this is getting on my nerves.
We get some money every year for team food, and since our team is basically a collection of hermits, we never go out anywhere and never use the money until the last minute, and always wind up trying to blow it all on carry-out food in the last couple of months of the year.
So we get emailed a menu from some food joint or other. They've got burritos. Great. They give them some fancy hipster name but whatever. Gimme that. "Well, what do you want in it?" "food. the menu doesn't really go into specifics." I take another look and see that it's choice of meat. "OK, chicken." "What kind of beans?" Hell, I don't care. The menu doesn't say I have to pick that. Flip a coin. Black. I won't know the difference anyway, if you put one of each in front of me I'd guess that the darker one was a "black" bean but that's about my limit.
Why food has to be so damned complicated is beyond me. I guess it must be a game with some people, or something. People spend a lot of time thinking about it and go way out of their way to go to places that ask you about every little thing you want on your plate. I just want to have something I can digest so I can get on with what I was doing before. I was having fun before they demanded to know what kind of god-rotted friggin beans I wanted in my packet of calories. People can choose to be interested in almost anything, but everyone's expected to be highly interested in exactly what's in their food.
I swear I'm going to just skip the whole thing and go to Taco Bell for the rest of the year. At least there I can get the choices down to "hard or soft" - not that I care there either, but that's about as simple as it gets.
I think whenever I get a menu from a place that has cute names for their damned food, it's time to bail and look for someplace with a drive-through window.
Maybe I am grouchy today, despite thinking that I wasn't. Where's my Futurama-branded bachelor chow?
(*) beyond my usual level, that is.
I don't feel particularly(*) grouchy today but this is getting on my nerves.
We get some money every year for team food, and since our team is basically a collection of hermits, we never go out anywhere and never use the money until the last minute, and always wind up trying to blow it all on carry-out food in the last couple of months of the year.
So we get emailed a menu from some food joint or other. They've got burritos. Great. They give them some fancy hipster name but whatever. Gimme that. "Well, what do you want in it?" "food. the menu doesn't really go into specifics." I take another look and see that it's choice of meat. "OK, chicken." "What kind of beans?" Hell, I don't care. The menu doesn't say I have to pick that. Flip a coin. Black. I won't know the difference anyway, if you put one of each in front of me I'd guess that the darker one was a "black" bean but that's about my limit.
Why food has to be so damned complicated is beyond me. I guess it must be a game with some people, or something. People spend a lot of time thinking about it and go way out of their way to go to places that ask you about every little thing you want on your plate. I just want to have something I can digest so I can get on with what I was doing before. I was having fun before they demanded to know what kind of god-rotted friggin beans I wanted in my packet of calories. People can choose to be interested in almost anything, but everyone's expected to be highly interested in exactly what's in their food.
I swear I'm going to just skip the whole thing and go to Taco Bell for the rest of the year. At least there I can get the choices down to "hard or soft" - not that I care there either, but that's about as simple as it gets.
I think whenever I get a menu from a place that has cute names for their damned food, it's time to bail and look for someplace with a drive-through window.
Maybe I am grouchy today, despite thinking that I wasn't. Where's my Futurama-branded bachelor chow?
(*) beyond my usual level, that is.
