By Jib-kun
At one desk in the office is a Frenchman. He is a bit peculiar. Of
course, he is noticeably different from the rest of the office. He is
different because, I never see him eat. At first, I will be honest, I
thought that maybe he doesn't eat but simply survives on sunlight and
water, which is really not so odd as I have a few other friends in the
office who do just that. The plants do without big greasy lunches
just fine, and you don't hear them complain. (But actually you don't
hear much worthwhile from plants anyway. On the whole they are
pretty boring conversationalists. The flowers, trees, shrubs, and
grass I have spoken with in my life rarely, if ever, have much in the
way of good anecdotes. I think maybe if they tried eating, they might
have something to make small talk about.)
At one desk in the office is a Frenchman. He is a bit peculiar. Of
course, he is noticeably different from the rest of the office. He is
different because, I never see him eat. At first, I will be honest, I
thought that maybe he doesn't eat but simply survives on sunlight and
water, which is really not so odd as I have a few other friends in the
office who do just that. The plants do without big greasy lunches
just fine, and you don't hear them complain. (But actually you don't
hear much worthwhile from plants anyway. On the whole they are
pretty boring conversationalists. The flowers, trees, shrubs, and
grass I have spoken with in my life rarely, if ever, have much in the
way of good anecdotes. I think maybe if they tried eating, they might
have something to make small talk about.)
But I digress. You see, this Frenchman who never eats, I was curious how he is able to stay alive, and well... not so... hmmm. How do I put this? Not skinny. Many of the other workers can be seen
eating these delectable little lunches they bring in little plastic
containers. It's one of the more exciting parts of my day around noon
when I see what daily wonders they bring out from their bags. Each of
their "Bentos" as they call them are packed with pickles, eggs, cooked
meats, salads, rice balls and more. They all look so complicated that
I'm sure this is what they are preparing during the night hours when
they are not in the office. It must take them quite a great amount of
effort to ready these daily delicious feasts. But the Frenchman only
has his water bottle.
I noticed one day as his eyes sharpened and watched as he licked his lips noticing the veritable feast being held at the
neighboring desk. He spirited himself out the door and I raced after
him to see where he was going. Following secretly behind, I trailed
him as he made his way across the street, into another building, down
a hall, and finally to his destination.
It was a magical revelation. I had followed him, like some industrious little honey bee all the way to his honey nest which was a cafeteria filled with all manner of food and drink. It had on offer
every food one could desire. Sushi, curry, noodles, salads,
sandwiches, grilled fish, baked meats and even adorable little bowls
of ice cream all temptingly beckoned.
Swiping some little plastic card through a large vending machine, he simply pushed a button and out came a ticket. The ticket soon was
traded in for a heaping pile of steaming rice and big, beautiful pieces
of fried tempura. He ate hurriedly, constantly looking up and around
like a bear at the riverbank crouched over a tasty fish. When he
finished and returned his plate, he made his way back to the office,
albeit noticeably slower than the pace at which he walked to the
cafeteria.
That is how the Frenchman survives. It's a good piece of
knowledge for me too. Now, whenever I get some rumbly tummy pangs, I know what to do. I slip over to his desk and take his plastic card. Then I make my way down to the cafeteria and get myself a snack. I always put his card back where I found it. Sometimes the card doesn't work. It just tells me "Balance Zero." I'm not sure what that means. Perhaps the ticket machine can check your nutritional balance and recommend that you don't eat. It's probably true since I have eaten
dozens of ice creams with his card. And I am well... hmmm. How do I
say this? Not skinny. But then, neither is he.
knowledge for me too. Now, whenever I get some rumbly tummy pangs, I know what to do. I slip over to his desk and take his plastic card. Then I make my way down to the cafeteria and get myself a snack. I always put his card back where I found it. Sometimes the card doesn't work. It just tells me "Balance Zero." I'm not sure what that means. Perhaps the ticket machine can check your nutritional balance and recommend that you don't eat. It's probably true since I have eaten
dozens of ice creams with his card. And I am well... hmmm. How do I
say this? Not skinny. But then, neither is he.
