I can’t take my break in the cafeteria at work anymore. I have to sit in my car. I’d love to grab a plate of meatloaf and gossip with my colleagues, but it seems that my employers are not concerned with our waistlines. I noticed very quickly that spending 30 minutes in a warm room filled with the scent of melting cheese proved to be painful and it was already torture enough that the TV is glued to CNN.
I used to sit in there long enough to eat whatever would do the least damage, but really how many slices of over-ripe, GMO tomato can you eat before you start to turn into one? When your stomach is furiously growling, how long can you fight the temptation of mashed potatoes? So, I bring my own dinner to work and I eat it in my car.
Meal time has always been a time for community, but trying to better oneself can be isolating. I imagine the word around the water cooler is that I’m doing something much more racey than simply trying to stick to healthy eating habits. Really, I’d like to rejoin my friends at the table, but for now I have to do whatever it takes to get where I want to go, even if that means locking myself in a parked car.