A week or so ago, a coworker held a dark chocolate tasting fun event here at work. She bought 11 different kinds of dark chocolate, and we all tasted them and rated them. Lots of fun. And lots of chocolate left over. Lots.
And that has been both a good thing and a bad thing for me. It’s a good thing, because she still has all these different tiny tasting-sized chunks of chocolate available at her desk in nice little ziplock bags. It’s a bad thing because I’m now at the point where if I don’t go over and get some chocolate by 2:30 or so, I get a splitting headache. When the chocolate train leaves town, I don’t know what I’m going to do.
Today, I went over and grabbed a few pieces, including a few that were little more than chocolate dust (that particular sample was nearing the end of the bag), and for some reason, I figured that the laws of chocolate thermodynamics didn’t apply to me, so I just carried the chocolate back to my desk in my hand.
By the time I got to my desk, my hand was covered in melted chocolate. I put the chocolate onto a napkin, and after smearing the chocolate in my hand around a little bit I decided that the napkin just wasn’t going to cut it and I went to the washroom to wash my hands.
When I got there, the cleaning guy was in there filling up the paper towel dispenser and doing his usual grouchy and half-hearted wipe of the sink countertop, so I stood there patiently waiting for him to finish. This guy is the most surly cleaning person I’ve ever seen, and that’s saying something. I like to keep out of his way.
While waiting, a coworker came in with a mug he wanted to clean, and joined me waiting our turn at the sink. After the cleaning guy finished his duties, he looked at both of us, sighed, rolled his eyes, and left. I’m sure part of it is the thought that we’re about to mess up the counter he just cleaned and then use some of the paper towels he just refilled, but no, that’s not all… some of it is just pure crankiness.
Anyway, that’s not the point of the story. As I walked up to the sink, I started casually chatting with my coworker, and as I reached out to turn on the water and start washing my hands, I notice that he was staring at my left hand with a look of what can only be described as outright horror and revulsion. You must now at this point remember why I was in the washroom. You must also remember that I was in there before he came in. You must now do the mental 2+2=4 that he did.
And now I think you understand why I immediately started babbling along the lines of, “Oh! No no no no no no. It’s chocolate! It’s not what you’re thinking. It’s chocolate! From the chocolate tasting event. You know, leftovers!”
My coworker nervously laughed and said, “Oh yeah. That… uh… makes sense I guess,” and then walked out. I’m really not sure that he was convinced that was wasn’t covered in something entirely different. All I can tell myself to make me feel better is, at least I was washing my hands.