Pizza. That was our codeword. I never ordered pizza, of course, but no one would've told you that. They'd have said "oh her?" as they snatched up their own box of the stuff in fear that I lurked near by, waiting for the opportune moment to steal their precious food, "she's always ordering pizza!" and "She eats so much pizza she might turn into one!!" Clever, I know. They never knew the truth, that I hated pizza, the food that is. Those sure were some good times. Good pizza too. Alas, nothing lasts forever, and as life goes, eventually we fell apart. When the new guy rolled around, things were, well, difficult. Although it would've been beneficial, I couldn't bring myself to use the same pseudonym. We decided on chinese, don't worry he wasn't Asian. It was strange, I found myself ordering pizza sometimes, and he would say "don't you mean Chinese?" and I would tell him yeah and get off the phone to have a quick cry. Eventually I adjusted, but I alwaysmissed my pizza. My coworkers on the other hand did the opposite of adjusting, they started to talk; started to notice that I was ordering Chinese and not pizza. One day one of the workaholic drones actually looked up from the computer screen and saw me leading a man to my office, leading to my demise. After a little chain of events, not needing to mentioned, I lost my job. Just after this, China man left me; he thought I was just in it for the food. Maybe I was, what's so wrong with that? I couldn't motivate myself to find a new job, so now I sit at home, ordering pizza. I always hope to find him behind the door, thirty minutes after speaking to some stranger on the phone. Its getting kind of expensive and I haven't seen him yet. He doesn't even work at a pizza place! I know I won't find him in the box, but I just can't stop. You probably think I'm crazy, don't you?
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