Flirting with the pork skins

Several times in the past two weeks, I've watched co-workers fighting with the vending machine in the company lounge.

"It got me again!" one exclaimed Monday, giving it a frustrated smack. He headed off to find the unfortunate person who many years ago was handed the keys to our snack, soda and juice machines and hasn't been able to shed the responsibility for them.

But, despite the unfortunate financial losses that have befallen my friends here at the office, things aren't like that between the vending machine and me. We understand and respect each other. We know the nature of our relationship.

It starts first thing in the morning, when I go to the lounge to fill my giant water bottle for the long day ahead. The vending machine flirts with me, the bulbs inside illuminating all manner of tasty treats to make up for the breakfast I've inevitably skipped.

"Come. Have some pork skins," it seems to say.

I look back coyly. "Me? Pork skins? I couldn't," I reply, returning to my desk.

But an hour later, the siren song lures me back to those empty fat grams. I enter the lounge with my dollar bill -- 50 cents for the Diet Coke and another 45 cents for the pork skins.

It always vends them quickly and easily. Never once have I lost a dime in that machine.

The call comes again around 4 p.m., when my lunch is a distant memory and dinner is still hours off.

"Heidi! Heeeiiiiddddiiii! I've got Rice Krispies squares in heeerrreee!" it beckons.

I dig through my desk. Pennies, pennies, pennies ... ah! Finally! A quarter, a dime and two nickels. Cha-ching!

Every day, as I leave for home, I tell myself that it's over between the machine and me. We're history. Tomorrow I'm bringing an apple and some carrot sticks.

But who am I fooling? I know I'll be back, dollar bill in hand, looking the selection up and down with a glimmer in my eye.

And the machine will be there, as cooperative as ever.

Of course, the vending machine isn't my only office-related enemy in the war on weight. There is constant access to free food here too.

Take Monday, for instance. No time for breakfast, out of granola bars, no cash on hand, I just assumed that something would turn up to eat. Sure enough, just around 11 a.m., someone from a local pizza parlor showed up downtown selling large pies for $5 each.

And the fact that I was unencumbered by cash didn't stop me from having two slices with sausage, thanks to the generosity of a co-worker.

"Do you want another?" she asked.

"No," I replied. "I'll spoil my lunch."

Around 5 p.m., homemade chocolate and lemon cream puffs showed up at the back of the newsroom, leftovers from a birthday party in another department. Who can say no to free cream puffs? First, turning down free food is a sin. If it isn't, it should be. And second, you don't want to insult the chef.

Next thing I knew, chocolate filling was dribbling down my white blouse. It was well worth it.

Today I arrived to a pan of fresh-baked brownies. Free brownies, just sitting there for the taking!

All the baked goods are in addition to the never-empty candy jars on three desks in here. One even has a sign on it: "Help yourself!" Who can say no to that?

Obviously, if I'm to lose weight, something is going to have to change about my office eating habits, and there's only one thing I can think of.

Co-workers: If you see me eating anything other than fruits, vegetables, pretzels or yogurt, take me down with a tranquilizer dart. I'll thank you for it later.

Heidi Hall is managing editor of the Southeast Missourian.