Potluck

“Where is the sign-up sheet?”  I asked looking around the small break room.  I had never actually been into the break room before as I was a little uncomfortable about eating in front of other people.  It was a problem I had had since childhood when my parents made me eat all the foods I hated.  I was constantly gagging on food at the dinner table and had developed a phobia of eating in front of others.  Growing up, I couldn’t have fruit or vegetables until I had eaten a serving of liver and onions or other such disgusting meal.   

  While I knew many of my coworkers were vegetarians, many who loved barbeque because of how they smelled after lunch.  I was tired of listening to their lies and excuses about why they were vegetarians and why we couldn’t and shouldn’t eat what we wanted.  I hated being told what to eat and how all of my food should be cooked.  Now, I was being forced into a potluck at work.  I knew exactly what to make so I would never be invited back. 

They did not know what kind of cooking I was capable of.  I knew all of my mom’s favorite (and worst) recipes and knew which ones smelled like sour milk.  I was going to make sure no one ever bothered me on my lunch break again.  I didn’t survive long at the last job when I was forced to attend a potluck.  Too much poison.