(no, not the totally awesome line dance that everyone lucky enough to grow up in Park Ridge learned in second grade. though I am still really pissed at myself for not having the DJ play that at the wedding.)
Every afternoon at this time, I get really hungry. I keep a stash of popcorn in my desk drawer, and right around this time, enjoy a lovely, chemical-laden bag of popcorn. However, because we have a seriously broke-ass microwave, the bag starts scorching before it's even halfway done popping. For some reason, I refuse to walk twenty yards to the nurse's breakroom, and instead scorch popcorn every day. (this seems to be exacerbated by bags that only fold in half- bags folded in thirds aren't as bad. Knowledge of this fact has displaced something really important in my brain.)
Sometimes, the popcorn scorches so badly it burns a hole in the bag. Once, it was smoking so furiously, I frantically carried it into the bathroom and poured water over it. Why? Because two years ago, I had scorched my usual popcorn bag, and about half an hour later, there was a knock at the door. The engineering department had come to confiscate my popcorn. I had set off the smoke alarm. (We'll just ignore the fact that it took them that long to respond, because I'd rather not think about what would happen if it were a real fire.) When I told the man from engineering that I had already finished the popcorn, he angrily informed me he needed to confiscate my garbage.
"Um, my garbage?" I said.
"YES. Your garbage. Go get it. The fumes will continue to set off the smoke detector."
So I gave him my garbage. A few months ago, when I had the bad smoking, water-pouring incident? I actually called engineering to tell them, haha, just me again, no need to send out the troops! The man who answered talked to me like I was impossibly stupid and informed me that, had I set off the smoke detector, I would know, because they would have come running.
Um, ok. Sure.