Bev sat slumped at her desk, almost physically weighed down by the thought of the long afternoon that lay ahead.
It would be an afternoon devoid of snacks and breaks. She’d had her lunch at 11am. And now there was nothing to look forward to.
There was of course a single green apple that lay on the desk. But unless it was covered in chocolate, Bev didn’t want to know.
What had started out as an innocent gift, was now a curse.
Bev had been given a small block of Lindt “Milk Chocolate with a Delectably Smooth Centre” 100g the night before, and she’d taken this gift into the office with her.
She’d meant to have a small piece at elevenses, a little treat for having worked through the morning.
She had seven pieces.
After lunch, she thought she might have one piece to cleanse the palate and help her concentrate for the afternoon’s proceedings.
A further thirteen pieces later, she was in danger of gorging the lot.
With sticky fingers and chocolate stains about her mouth, she guiltily typed away at her report, all the while trying not to concentrate on the remaining tempting sweetmeats laying in the drawer.
The problem, Adrian mused, was that his manager was prone to giving unnecessary, and long, speeches at the slighest occasion. Nobody gave a fig about Ryan’s birthday, and they were equally disinterested in their boss’s dull exhortation about being a team player or some other such nonsense.
They all just wanted that blessed cake on the table, rich with chocolate and jellied orange slices, around which the salivating team had gathered for this hollow celebration.
Ryan, the bushy-tailed youth, shuffled with embarrassment from all the attention.
“T’urrah, off to the gym!”
Bev knew she was being a little too disruptive, but she wanted to let as many people know about this plan as possible.
Right, she had about 45 mins to sit in the disabled toilet: an enjoyable respite and an opportunity to eat chocolate and read gossip magazines, guilt free.
* * *
Splashing some water on her face, Bev emerged from the toilet and staggered back into the office.
“Gosh, you’re good doing that during the day, Bev,” commented a colleague.
But the small slip of torn toilet paper, stuck to the heel of Bev’s shoe, was a dead give-away.
“Oh, no thanks. I have an allergy.” And with that, Bev’s expensive Belgian chocolates were waved away by a colleague.
“A what? No, they’re only chocolates!” Bev reasoned, trying not to make a scene in the quiet office. Bev had spent a fortune on these sweets. It was important to look successful and affluent during a company merger.
“I have a gluten allergy,” explained the colleague with exagerated enunciation, her french manicured nails tapping on the desk with … was that impatience?!
“Oh dear … Your loss.” Bev swivelled on her heel and clacked away.
How excessively irritating! Bev fumed as she tapped the tea machine aggresively. Gluten-free-this and nut-allergy-that. Who were these people?? Bev longed for the days of obligation, when a proffered choc would be accepted and consumed out of politeness and decency, to hang with the crippling stomach cramps. Modern society had lost its moral compass.
Although…
It did sound exotic.
And all those people having to make a special fuss!
Perhaps she’d get an allergy in the morning.
It was 10am and literally hours after the depressing fruit and yoghurt meal Bev had consumed to break her fast. A little sweet pick-me-up was what she wanted, and she knew just the treat.
A few weeks ago, Bev had begrudgingly bought some Baileys flavoured chocolate at the Dublin airport, an offering for her colleagues after her weekend mini-break in Ireland. She wasn’t sure when the tradition of buying local treats had started but it was now a mandatory task to bring in sweetmeats following a trip. A glorious surprise when it was someone else sharing their holiday experience through the medium of chocolate, an irritating obligation when the task fell to her.
But she had taken a chance. Slinking into work early, Bev had sneakily placed the Bailey’s chocolate in her top drawer. Should anyone mention her trip she would bring out the chocolate and pass it around. But if the trip was to be forgotten, well … the chocolate would be hers and hers alone.
So a few weeks had safely passed.
Now, her desk mate, a Cambridge intern, offered her tea. “No, thanks” Bev politely refused. This would be the chance she would need.
The intern went to the kitchen.
Bev slid the drawer open and pulled out the chocolate. Muffling the sound of the wrapper as best she could she broke off a piece, 2 pieces and guiltily shoved them in her mouth. Eat, EAT, she thought, there wasn’t much time!
