“When do you usually take lunch?” Judy asked me as she stopped at the printer just outside the door of my office at around noon to pick up a batch of documents. It’s been a long time since I’ve known anybody named Judy. I’m pretty sure I haven’t run into any Judies since high school. It’s good to know there are still some around.

“Oh, sometimes I go to lunch at eleven-thirty, sometimes at twelve, and sometimes –” and here I waved a hand at the half-eaten baloney sandwich on my desk, “– when I’ve got a lot to catch up on, I work through lunch.”

She frowned at me. “Nobody should have to work through lunch,” she scolded.

I smiled as she wandered away and kept pecking at my keyboard for about sixty seconds after she was gone, just long enough for her last comment to sink in, take root and make my fingers stop almost of their own volition.

What the heck do you think you’re doing? my brain asked my fingers, and my fingers answered, Didn’t you hear the lady? It’s not time to work!

I wolfed down the rest of my baloney sandwich, pushed back from my desk, grabed my jacket from the hook over my door, pulled it on and headed for the door. Came to a dead stop about ten steps from it when I saw drizzling rain coming down, soaking everything. Went back to my office to get a folding brolly out of my tote bag, then hit the street to take a long walk. A long walk in the rain, sure, but nobody should work through lunch.

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