I brought leftovers for lunch today – some really unamazing soup with tomato and salmon and potato and basil. It tasted pretty fish-y last night at dinner, so I’m not too excited about the prospect of giving it a round two this afternoon. Questionable safety of the current meal aside, I like bringing leftovers because it means I don’t have to spend money, and it also means that I don’t have to feel deprived when everyone else is feasting on Thai and I’m gumming a day-old bagel. So the soup might not be so bad. Problem is, I left the soup in my car. Down three flights of stairs past dumpsters and homeless alcoholics. I hate walking to my car, and I try to do it as little as possible. On the flipside, if I don’t go get the soup, my car will smell like old hot salmon when i leave work at 6pm tonight.
The dilemma: Do I brave the stairs and the boozers or do I live with the potentially week-long agony of a salmon-scented vehicle?
These are the times that try men’s souls.