At an open staff forum today, the topic of staff unity was discussed.
As you can imagine, everyone wants to have social gatherings and receptions where we can mix and mingle, but no one wants to pay for them. So, a solution was provided: Potluck.
My stomach turned to knots.
I started to get hives.
Visions of filthy food crept into my mind.
Maybe I was being judgmental, so I threw it out to my friends on Twitter and for three out of four responses, the answer was pretty consistent:
As much as I love my Twitter friends, I have to disagree. My mind still wanders to weird, negative places:
- Don’t you own a long-haired cat? How do I know there isn’t cat hair in your Great Grandmother’s Secret Chili?
- How the hell am I going to get a crockpot through seven train stops?
- Is your Top Secret Mac & Cheese really just Velveeta Shells & Cheese?
- There is certainly mayo in your unrefrigerated potato salad and I think I smell salmonella in it.
- I’m allergic to shellfish. How do I know you didn’t rub oysters all over this pan of stale brownies?
- I’ve seen your four year old. He’s filthy. How do I know you didn’t let him help prepare your iceberg lettuce salad?
- You don’t understand what Gluten-Free means and this finger sandwich is certainly made of bread.
Seriously. We require our students to adhere to strict food distribution policies in fear of food borne illness, allergic reactions and sanitation concerns. And there’s no way you can be #SAFit when you don’t know what ingredients went into Marge in Accounting’s Butter Grease Crisco Salad. Time to model the way, folks.
In the meantime, you won’t catch me near your potluck.