As I made Dilf's lunch this morning, lovingly drawing a depiction of a stubbly-faced underworld figure on it and writing, "You touch this bag, and Fat Tony breaks your face" on it, I was reminded of my days in the working world.

I wonder if I shall ever see those days again. It seems the working world is acting like a pissy ex-boyfriend right now, feeling all hurt and petulant just because I broke up with it about 10 years ago. Listen, baby, wasn't it good for you before? It could be that way again... wait, maybe it wasn't so good. For either of us.

The truth is, I wasn't the best employee. Scratch that. Sometimes, I WAS the best employee. If I respected my manager, and was given tasks toward an objective I believed in, I was phenomenal.

But sometimes, I bucked against authority. I know that shocks and amazes you.

This week, I will regale you with tales from the workplace. My former workplaces. And why I came to get stomach cramps just thinking about re-joining the fetid cesspool of the working world. I will have to change names to protect the not-so-innocent, but those former colleagues of mine who read this blog will know of whom I speak.

For instance, the whole lunch thing made me think of the time someone was stealing lunches from the fridge in the break room. We all assumed it was probably one of the high school interns who forgot to bring lunch, and who maybe thought the box of frozen pizza was community property. Instead, it turned out to be one of the most highly-compensated attorneys on staff who just was too lazy to see to his own lunch.

He was stealing from a lowly accounting clerk, who didn't earn enough money to rent her own apartment. And trust me, this was a non-profit organization, so I'm not exaggerating.

Don't worry; the stories will not be as mundane as lunch-stealing. There will be sex and violence later.