In case I die this evening from food poisoning…

I’m feeling okay now, but I’ve been warned I might want to make sure my last will and testament is in order.

You see, I ate a vending machine tuna salad sandwich. What choice did I have? I was stranded. Everyone I’d been introduced to was in meetings, and when I asked the receptionist how far to hoof-it to food, she replied, “Well… maybe the catering truck will stop back by later. ”

It looked fine. The date was spot on for tasty-goodness. The price was right. Thus, I took the boat, er the mystery box… er.. ate the thing. It was nummy and easily finished in the 10 minutes I had left before my afternoon array of meetings with customer service.

They are the ones who had gaping looks of horror on their faces when I explained what I had done, just prior to showing up for the meeting with them. We all instantly bonded over the issue, in a “we’ve only ever heard stories of people who ate one of those vending machine sandwiches and survived” sort of ways. They didn’t really seem to think I was going to survive, and thus I was treated with a newfound respect, as if I had a terminal illness.

Oh well. Enough babble. I must be off for two more hours of meetings at the other office location by the hotel, then hopefully I can talk my (jailer) into dropping me at the hotel early and letting me finish working from there instead of treking back up to this office. That would be especially good since I have to be here an hour early tomorrow since they just realized how early I’m leaving tomorrow…. ugh.