Yep... everyone knows what I did, even if they don't know who I am.

Sweet.

If I had any suspicions that my arrival at my new job would go unnoticed, they have been thoroughly dispelled. This story could easily lead to a discussion about the relative merits of infamy and obscurity, but I will leave that for another time. As for which is better, I'll let you decide.

-----------------------------

In my defense, I blame today's corporate predilection for closed windows and recirculated air. The building's ventilation system (which is either a) woefully inadequate, or b) too damn good at its job) also did its part. Plus, I had no idea it would smell that bad.

This morning, I decide to take a healthy lunch to work, in contrast with yesterday's meal -- specks of chicken, floating in a pool of oil like stunned waders. So I pour some mixed vegetables -- broccoli, carrots, and cauliflower -- into a tupperware thingy. Off I go, hi-ho, hi-ho, etc.

An uneventful morning passes, and all of a sudden it's lunchtime. It's cloudy and rainy outside, so I figure a hot meal is better than a cold one. What's this? A microwave! I add some water to the veggies, punch a few buttons, and get back to my desk to stare down at the complete lack of work to occupy me.

After a while, I hear faint beeps from the lunch room, so I go and get my food. It's overcooked, but whatever. It's going to be mushy cauliflower for lunch, or nothing at all. Mmmm.

About halfway through my meal, I hear a murmuring. Not from my stomach (I know what you were thinking, Ned) but from the offices nearby. I hear the occasional "mumble... mumble... cauliflower? ..." and one or two "what the crap is that stink?"

Let me take this opportunity to provide you with this rather dense bit of information, from "The World's Healthiest Foods" :

Cauliflower contains phytochemicals that release odorous sulfur compounds when heated. These odors become stronger with increased cooking time.

Yes, in one of those unappreciated miracles of chemistry, the knowledge of which I would have very much appreciated when planning today's lunch, cauliflower starts to smell like a wet fart after prolonged cooking. I've cooked cauliflower before, but never really noticed the smell. This could be a telling indictment of my cooking ability.

Once it dawns on me that the cauliflower in my food is stinking up the whole building, I'm at a loss. What I want to do is bust up laughing, and I give it a couple of false starts, but it's hard to work up a hearty guffaw when people are going, "Man, what's that smell?" and others are responding, "Someone made cauliflower," and still others are going, "Hey, it's good for you!" So I just end up sitting there with a stupid grin on my face.

A director comes by my cubicle, asking, "What the hell is that?"

I lean over apologetically. "Is it really that bad? I had no idea."

"Oh, it's you?" He peers thoughtfully at my bowl of vegetables, then shakes his head.

"No, no, it can't be. It's all the way at the front door now, it smells like a dead body or something!" He disappears past me, looking for the oozing corpse that must be ripening, like a fine cheese, in the next room.

After that, an interlude of absolute quiet. I cringe inwardly, imagining that the entire office has migrated en masse to the lobby, and are now pressing their mouths against the front door, sucking at the fresh air outside. I imagine the view this might present someone approaching from the street, and I am cheered slightly. I start to get back into my research, busily typing away on the keyboard.

Click-click.

Pause.

Click-click-click.

Psssht.

Oh, dear god.

Psssssssssssssssssssssht.

An administrator goes by with a can of air freshener held high, responding to the occasional query.

"It's food, folks. No, it's not the bathrooms. It's food."

On the plus side, I bet everyone knows who I am now.

But yeah. No more cauliflower at work.

As I prepare for a hasty return to Southern California -- with an irony that is not lost on me, by the way -- I come to realize that, almost more than I missed San Diego when I left, I will miss Davis and Sacramento. My time here has been marked by a languid, aimless energy (or lack thereof) that I will likely never find again, except for brief periods of pilfered leisure.

I have fond memories of my time spent in various coffee houses, developing what may now be an irreversible and lifelong addiction to caffeine. There is a rhythm to a crowded coffee shop that is hard to describe, but it is one that has shaped many of my days here.

Academics and laptop users hover over those packing up to leave, with a nervous, sidling energy that can edge into near-hysteria when a prime table is at stake. The occasional bitter glance or pursed set of lips is directed at the laptop user playing online games, or the blissfully ignorant newcomer who is -- gravest of all sins -- idly leafing through a newspaper while sitting at a prized corner table. Those corner tables are the jealously guarded realm of the elite, those that can spin out a single cup of coffee for hours upon hours, day after day.

I will miss the smaller rituals, too. The brief, intricate dance around the cream and sugar, steaming cups floating dangerously on currents of sparking, caffeinated nerves. The moment's hesitation when the sugar is found to be empty, weighing my distaste for the flavor of unsweetened coffee against the press of impatient eyes on the back of my neck. The battle between half-and-half and nonfat milk, inevitably resulting in a cup of coffee that could pass as a warmed-over milkshake.

I'll miss lots of other things too, but I'm too damn tired to write about them right now... I'll do it later.

There are a few quotations that I have recently learned, or decided, to take to heart.

One of them:

In failing circumstances, no-one can be relied on to keep their integrity.
-Ralph Waldo Emerson

It's a long story, and probably not one I should relate in a public space, considering there is a lawsuit pending. Suffice it to say, some people were dishonest with me, and now I have found no recourse but to take them to court over the matter.

There is money at stake, but in truth the money is not my primary concern. I dealt with these people in good faith, relying on the honor system to keep everything going smoothly. I suppose that's something of a laughable sentiment these days, but I didn't want to be one of those people that demand written affidavits for every agreement they make. I feel like it needs to be shown to these people that there are consequences for their actions, and that responsibilities should be dealt with honestly and fairly. A lesson, perhaps, that they should have learned in elementary school.

I have decided to go to court even though there is no definitive proof for my case, on the basis of the sentiment described by Sophocles: "Better to fail with honor than succeed by fraud."

I feel like even if I lose the case in court, I will at least have tried to right the situation. Additionally, if the expense and inconvenience of having to go to court makes these people think twice the next time they feel like reneging on a promise or contract, then it will have restored some small measure of the karmic balance.

I am, perversely, gaining no small amount of entertainment from the situation. These people feel they have been wronged by me, possibly by the simple expedient of recognising their duplicity for what it was. I find it not unamusing to observe them raging and storming against the perceived injustices I have done them. It brings to mind another quotation:

People who are brutally honest get more satisfaction out of the brutality than out of the honesty.
-Richard J Needham