Once upon a time, the big entertainment company we work for used to keep our kitchens stocked with chips, cookies, granola bars, coffee, and milk. The cabinets were always well stocked, snacks sometimes varied (Doritos Baked Lays or Baked Cheetos, 100 Calorie Oreos or 100 Cal Chips Ahoy!), and this office distraction quickly became a frequent topic of conversation, and soon... an obsession.
Our kitchen stock lady (every floor had one) was on the ball. She got new shipments before we ran out. There were so many snacks, we had to eat some of the supplies just so the order would fit in the cabinets. We would have tasting parties, where we'd sit around the kitchen counter and taste the different flavors of granola bars (almond? or honey nut?) to determine which one was the office favorite. We sent around email reviews of the different coffees- there was a "jungle blend" that seemed to appease even the most picky of coffee connoisseurs.
We remember this period as the golden age. The time before people from other floors realized our abundance and began stealing entire boxes of our snacks. But once this started happening, it was as though the floodgates had opened. People started studying what our office hours were, and would come by to steal our food after hours. A few times, they were caught: once a man from a different floor came and took an entire carton of milk, and walked away with it; another time a girl came by and walked away with as many boxes of coffee pods as she could carry. Our 4th floor, west-elevator bank area became known, generally as, "the kitchen."
Our stock lady responded by having locks put on the all cabinets. Then the editors from the 5th floor learned how to pick them with safety pins. We began hiding boxes of snacks under our desks, but they found those too. They sought the crumbs like rats.
Our kitchen started going through snacks so quickly, the company began putting restrictions on how much we could order. And then the recession hit. And our big lovely company decided against spending thousands of dollars a shipment on its employees. In the end, we were only left with coffee pods and coffee cups.
The bad economy distracted us quite a bit from our snack drama. Although, the empty cabinets made us feel even more like modern-day Tiny Tims during the holiday season.
Immediately after the storm (December 2008 was the season of layoffs), we were left in the deserted office with only our lonely thoughts and our paper coffee cups. Signs went up around the kitchens to "conserve supplies, bring your own cups." Whenever I read that sign, I pondered the rude, frustrated tone of the office assistant that had to create it.
Over time we began to obsess over our supplies yet again.
By chance, I visited another floor's kitchen. I took a paper coffee cup from the plastic sleeve, filled it with water, and walked back to my desk. As I walked, I felt something different about what I held in my hand. The cup felt bigger. I looked down, into the depths of the cup-- my reflection seemed deeper, farther away. And then it hit me:
The cup from the other kitchen was bigger.
We were clearly no longer the company favorite. Our cabinets were empty, and our cups were smaller. I raced back to our half-empty office and made the announcement. My co-workers vaguely looked up from their seasonal-depression slumber, they roused. I repeated my announcement. Someone ran into our kitchen, grabbed a cup and placed it next to the one I held. We were astonished. We took a picture. We forgot, for a moment, our sadness and our insecurities.
Today the "days of the snacks" sound like local folklore when we speak of it now. But there it is, part of our personal/corporate history. I wonder when those times will return? And what will our future "golden eras" look like?
