Last Thursday at work, I went into the office break room to get a plastic knife for cutting an ice cream cake. After 15 minutes of struggling with a plastic knife, my supervisor suggested that I go retrieve a real knife from the drawer by the sink. So, I went back to the break room, to the drawer by sink. To my surprise, I found about 12 knives, all larger than my head, all sharp as fuck. Well, I don’t know how sharp the word 'fuck' is, but it always make things sound tough, and in this case, I am hoping the word will convey a sharpness, uncanny to any sharpness you have experienced. So anyway. I would like to express how disturbed I am by the amount of sharp knives that exist in a place I had associated as being generally sterile. Sterile in personality. Sterile in hygiene. Sterile in d├ęcor. In the end I shook it off, and told myself that I had been watching way too much Six Feet Under for fuck's sake.

Here is Tamara's joke about knives being in the kitchen:
Boss: You're fired.
Tamara: What? uh, wait a second, can we move this conversation to the kitchen?? Uh, I think I need a cup of coffee... I'll be right back.