THE LAST FIVE ...

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Wednesday, Sept. 18, 2002 - 6:20 p.m.

Keep the fish in the sea

I can handle the smell of food when I'm not eating. I can tolerate the wonderful aroma of french fries and other lunchables at the desk behind me, with no offer to participate in the lunch order. I wasn't ready to eat at noon anyway.

But please, keep the stinky food in the cafeteria. And, by God, it's 5 p.m., why are you eating now? You're going home in an hour.

OK, I can understand eating at 5 p.m. -- I did it myself yesterday since Casey and I went into the city after work. But here's my problem:

It was tuna fish.

Somebody who works for one of our other magazines, someone I've known now for two days (if I've known her -- and yes, it's a she; guys are outnumbered here like 10 to 1 -- because I've yet to meet all those around me) fired up some tuna fish and brought it back to her desk this evening. It nearly made me sick and I had to get a bag of Skittles from the vending machine and wander over to Casey's desk to get away from it for a little while.

The smell of tuna has to be one of the raunchiest stenches in the world, and I can't believe people eat the shit. I'd prefer to spend an afternoon stranded along the New Jersey Turnpike, opening cans of cat food with a cloud of sulfur hanging in the air.

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