Crunch Time

I'm slowly adjusting to life in the private sector, but I need to get to work earlier. How is it that I used to leave home at 6.30AM for the train and be in the office by 7.30 (mmm, flexi time), but now the office is a mere eleven minute walk away, I'm sprinting up the street at 8.55 every bloody morning?

This phenomenon can be expressed by the following formula, wherein likelihood of timely arrival at workplace is inversely proportional to distance from workplace:

I found a box of Special K in my bottom drawer the other day. My colleagues said it belonged to the web monkey before last. Would you believe she used to eat her breakfast at her desk? they said, She had a bowl and spoon and everything!

I hope my expression of outrage was convincing, but inside I was cringing at the memory of hundreds of desktop brekkies at my old job. I'd make porridge, even chopping up bits of apple to sprinkle on top. I had two kinds of sugar in my desk. Sometimes I'd have toast; my favourite topping was avocado. I'd even squeeze on fresh lime juice with black pepper and poncy sea salt. BLOODY HELL, I wanted to retrospectively curl up and die, thinking of my dear boss dropping a letter into my in-tray as I gnashed away on multigrains. "Whenever you're ready, Shauna."

Not really, it's Brooklyn.