The fridge and getting drunk at tea time.

The fridge at work has become a problem. Jesus, if it isn't the fucking tidy desks it's something else. The day before yesterday I heard shouting from the work's kitchen, naturally enough I join the crowd to see what's going on. Our education worker is bent double (legs upright, back at obtuse angle) brain clearly cooling given the length of time spent encased in deep white plastic box. To cut a long story short he was upset that someone had eaten the eclair he'd bought for his colleague. Now, ignoring the pregnant issue of buying cakes for a colleague his anger was out of proportion to the scale of the theft. The cake thief you see had neatly stolen most of the eclair except an inch at the end and in the fridge cupped within a fine sheath of grease proof paper lay mockingly the remaining 1 inch. Of course all hell broke loose, accusations were made tears were shed relationships were ended. For my part laughing at the absurdity was clearly a mistake because an echoing cry (from head still in fridge) of J'accuse rattled everyone's ears. Then to cap it all the little light went out and to be honest the consequent darkness wasn't confined to the fridge.