Allow me a bit of self-indulgence ass-whinery. Long-time readers first time followers might know that one of the things I'm most proud of is bringing home the bacon, literally, and without spillage. Our semi-subsidized cafeteria provides lunch for me and dinner for two at night, but that requires the delicate feat of balance, dexterity and even memory.
Daily I task myself to carry one 20-oz beverage, three styrfoam cartons full of food and sometimes a dessert. I carry it to the elevator and then down to my cube. And after over 1,000 trips I've never dropped anything or ran into anybody.
But there's a definite chink in my food acquisition armor and that is gravy. The styrofoam containers are not leak proof and it was some time before I realized today that there was more gravy on my pants and shirt than in the carton. Drenched with the sticky liquid, I headed home for lunch and a change of pants. One of the downsides of modern day hunter/gathering.
I say that memory is also required because yesterday I trundled the food to the workout room where I made the fatal calculation to separate workout bag from food. It's possible to forget food since it's not always with me when I workout, but never possible to forget the workout bag. To separate them is to court mini-disaster; it's to rely on a memory that dulls as the sheen of sweat grows.
I'd put the food under the staircase, where many others store their bags, but took my workout bag with me to the stairclimber so that I could have easy access to books. Needless to say, the food remained stationary, obedient to the laws of physics, and did not levitate towards my car when I remembered I'd forgotten them. Sometimes it's hard bringing home the bacon even if you don't fry it up in a pan.