I had a dream a couple of nights ago that I got into work, and instead of wearing my usual shirt/tie/trousers/shoes, I found myself wearing shirt/tie/jeans/runners, which looked very odd, to say the least. A somewhat incongruous mix of clothing styles.
Mind you, one office I used to work in had a bloke who regularly wore runners to work with his trousers/shirt/tie. I know it’s common for some women to wear runners on their commutes, to minimise the effect of their painful high-heeled PowerShoes, but for blokes to wear runners — let alone in the office — just doesn’t seem right.
This guy had another quirk. For the sake of argument and anonimity, I’ll call him Geoff, though his real name is… oh, wait, shouldn’t say that.
He kept his own special milk in the fridge. I’m not sure why the varieties supplied (full cream 4% fat, Rev 2% fat, Skinny 1% fat) were inadequate, but perhaps he had a particular taste or dietary need. Perhaps 1.5% or something, though I suppose you could get that by mixing Skinny and Rev. Might taste horrible though.
All this became apparent one time when he came into the kitchen and asked somebody to pass the milk.
Somebody replied. “Which milk?”
“Geoff’s Brekky Milk”, he replied, in the kind of voice which made it sound like we should be impressed. And yes, he referred to himself (or at least, his milk) in the third person. (Or should that be third carton?)
The somebody looked in the fridge door, and sure enough found a cartoon with a big label which said “Geoff’s Brekky Milk”.
And yea, the milk was passed.