1:45pm. Off-peak time for the breakroom microwave. There's only two, so people tend to line up if you go right at noon. I hate making small talk when I'm hungry and I'm pretty unpleasant company when my blood sugar is low. Usually, I'm too occupied with glaring at the timer dial for the person before me and willing the countdown to proceed faster. I'm famished and cranky, so I decide that I want to spare myself the aggravation and wait until a bit later.
Today, in the otherwise empty breakroom, three engineering types were huddled together, discussing something. Their conversation was indecipherable; they sounded almost like a fax machine making contact with the other party (that screeeeeeee bzeeeee shhhhhh screeeee noise). But as soon as one of them realized that an interloper was sharing airspace, conversation immediately halted. I was reminded of a spaghetti western when the the new sheriff pushes open the double pane door to the saloon, and the entire place drops what they are doing to stare at the stranger. The engineers look at each other, nod once, then disperse; Linux T-shirts fluttering in their wake.
One of them abruptly pops her head back into the breakroom, and glances furtively about. Before I can greet her, she makes a beeline to the microwave and retrieves her lunch. She casts a look sideways toward me, as if to make sure that I did not partake of any morsels in the few seconds that the food was left unattended.
I suddenly feel as though I lost my innocence. I now have this sneaking feeling that Marketing people aren't universally loved?