Today I was heading to a seminar. I got on the elevator to the 15th floor, and two important-looking gentlemen got on behind me. ILG1 is discussing where they're going and how to get there, while ILG2, with his Hilton brochures in hand, shuffles through his maps. They exit on the 10th floor. As ILG2 exits and shuffles his maps some more, ILG1 picks up his breif case, turns to me, and says, "Thank you."
I smiled and nodded because words escaped me.
I went to Caribou Coffee to get a snack, because my stomach is informing me that it cannot wait 4 more hours to get more food. As I am entering the line, here reads my inner monologue: "OK. I'll get the Dulce de Leche coffe as a treat but I'll have something healthier to eat. What do they have? Muffins...biscotti...cookies...Oh! Yogurt. I'll have banana strawberry yogurt." I then advanced to the counter and immediately said, with no interruptions from my inner monologue, "I'll have a medium Dulce de Leche and a chocolate chunk muffin." To which my inner monologue replied, "The Hell? We wanted yogurt! Stupid bitch."
Things Heard from the Kitchen
Lucky Bastard was in the kitchen preparing himself a snack.
From the dining room I heard, "Fuck you, spatula!"
I daren't ask.