My first job was working in a warehouse and I took it way too seriously. My boss knew this and he couldn’t increase my pay, but he did throw me a bone every once in a while. When the bigwigs came for a lunch meeting, he sent me to get the pizzas which involved me walking out into the mall, ordering the pizzas, waiting for them by wandering around for an hour, then bringing the pizzas to the meeting room. They had me hand them the pizzas right there at the door and they never did let me in. Then I went back upstairs and sat around with my coworkers and we told stories about what we imagined they did with the pizzas. We had more than a few versions, but this is my favorite: they spread the pizzas out on the floor, took off their three piece suits (all adults wore three-piece suits back then), then they rolled around naked on the pizzas. It’s been thirty years since I first made a pizza run, and even now, I can’t order a slice without being reminded of it. And you think that would ruin it for me.
