“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.