My boss caught me eating almonds out of a baggie at my desk and asked to have some. On the one hand it's only a few almonds, and okay, she gave me a job. On the other hand, my boss smokes like it cures cancer and I don't want the fist that blocks phlegm to rub against food which I specifically purchased for its non-tar properties.

I don't think I'm being unreasonable when I say that coworkers should never be allowed to look at my food. If I hear footsteps approaching my office, I will put a piece of paper over my sandwich. If I have to eat with my hands instead of venturing into the office kitchen to get utensils, so be it. I will do whatever it takes, as long as the food that I purchased remains for my eyes only.

"Whatcha got there,” a coworker asked. “Pasta?"

No. What I've got is a flaming hatred for people who cheapen my wife's brilliant baked ziti with a tone of voice reserved for a five-year-old who combined noodles and ketchup.