There was an executive board meeting at my office last Friday. Around lunchtime, one of the meeting attendees came out of the conference room and walked the 50 feet it takes to get to my office door. He asked me to ask the receptionist (who sits 200 feet down the hall) to bring the group some forks. 

This man works in our office. He knows the kitchen where the forks are kept is located 40 feet from the conference room. Instead of getting them himself, he preferred to walk further to get to my door to ask me to ask somebody else to come from even farther away to bring him forks.

My surprise was plastered on my face as I echoed, “Forks?”

The man looked annoyed. “Forks. You know. Eating utensils?” He pantomimed eating.

Apparently I give off the impression of being a moron.

“They’re in the kitchen,” I replied pointedly. “Here, I’ll get them for you.” 

“Just have the receptionist do it,” he answered and then disappeared back into the conference room. I brought him the forks myself and struggled deeply to not lick each one first.

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