Lunch: Party of One

Each day on my break, I head across the street to Central Park to sit, read, and eat in the sun. What should be the most relaxing part of my day is often the most stressful. The park is pretty empty except for me, homeless people, and squirrels, all of whom are looking to eat my food. (Also, I once watched a couple engage in some not-too-discreet handjob activity. Well, not watched watched, but you know. Unlike everyone else, they didn't seem too interested in my food.) I'm constantly on my guard, making sure each bite of my sandwich winds up in my own mouth.

It's not that I don't like sharing. I'm a sharer; I share things: crayons, cell phone minutes, herpes, etc. I would share, but then I'd earn a reputation as the food provider. I might as well ring a dinner bell, wear an apron, and shout "Come and get it!" each time I arrive at the park. Actually, sometimes I do wear an apron, but that's just for fun.

Even at my most alert, the more intelligent of my foes, the squirrels, have managed to rob me. They slowly creep up, while their heads are turned in the opposite direction as if they're looking at something else and not interested in my food. Sometimes, multiple squirrels will circle me simultaneously, making it impossible to keep track of them all at once. The homeless are at a disadvantage: I can smell them coming when they try to sneak up behind me. Plus, they lack those endearingly bushy tales. As soon as I find a homeless person who looks cuddle-able, I'll gladly bestow a pretzel.

As many of you know, I have a strict policy: If you want to be able to eat, go out and get a job. That applies to the squirrels, as well. I'm not some charity... I'm not the Red Cross... though I do accept blood donations.