Snacks Call My Name

   Everywhere I look, they’re staring at me. In front of me are bags of potato chips and pretzels sitting in boxes aligning the floor. On the shelves behind me are pretzel crisps, energy bars, crackers in all shapes and forms and tempting sweets lined up in categorical order. Popcorn and Cheetos form the Leaning Tower of Pisa on the once-empty chair on the side of my workspace. And to top it off, I am situated across the hall from the kitchen so aromas of tacos and leftover pizza travel into my corridor.

   It’s a wonder I haven’t turned into a munching maniac who walks around the office with Fritos in her hair balancing muffins on her head.

   For as long as I can remember, my “reason” behind fulfilling my guilty pleasures is that the snacks are calling my name. I know I’m not alone when I convince myself that it’s okay to eat the cheese puffs because the bag was talking to me. But now that I’m in charge of reporting on new products, I’m learning to look the other way when the Twinkie the Kid begins “calling my name.”

   Fortunately, the best cure for temptation and talking Twinkies is doing something nice for other people. So I begin sharing. I have become the Mother Teresa of snacks. To ensure that I don’t chow down on the oversized bag of peanut butter brittle before lunch, I make sure everybody gets a pack of treats. For instance, when Mr. I-T man fixes my laptop, have some Cracker Trax. An editor from another magazine passes along a lead, have a Tastykake. The mailroom guy delivers packages (of more snacks of course), grab an Uncle Wally’s muffin.

   But then it gets out of control when a stranger from the marketing department comes over and whispers, “Hey, I hear you have muffins?” That’s when you know word has spread that the “new girl” has lots of snacks.

   Any passerby would’ve assumed I was concocting some secret plan to hoard all of my snacks, but no, I’m just becoming the “workplace snack mom” where people happen to “stop by” to take mental inventory of my munchies.

   Even my husband loves my new job as the household snack queen. When I bring home a bag of baked barbeque chips or a snack bar filled with Omega-3s, you would’ve thought I invited the new Cubs sensation Koske Fukudome over to play video games. And with him being the healthier snacker than myself, it’s guaranteed that the chocolate is all mine.

   So I ask, is it me or the snacks? Are my co-workers inviting me out to lunch because they know I have a bag of Ruffles or do they really want to hear my input on the most-recently kicked off American Idol? Either way, it doesn’t seem to bother me. I know I’m definitely invited to the next party because I can bring snacks!