I went to the bathroom in my office yesterday and as I went to open the door, a woman walked out.

I wish I could tell you that I had an extremely funny yet bewildering conversation with her. I wish I could, but I didn’t.

Instead, I said “Thank you” for holding the bathroom door open for me like it was perfectly normal for a woman to walk out of the men’s room.

For all I know she got confused. Or she had a penis. I don’t know, I wasn’t looking for a bulge.

The oddest thing about the brief moment, other than the fact she had been in the men’s room, was that she didn’t act awkward. She smiled a little, paused for me to walk by her, and walked away at a gingerly pace.

And before you ask, yes, she was definitely a woman. Her hips, breasts, and skirt sort of gave her away.

I’ve seen women drunk out of their skulls go to the men’s bathroom in bars. Eager to drop trou and impatient at waiting for the women’s bathroom line to go, these blitzed chicks find it amusing and (in their own minds) charming to take a piss in the men’s room.

“Do you see what I just did?” I can imagine them telling their girlfriends over appletinis and mojitos, “I just went to the little boy’s bathroom. Ha ha! I’m so funny. I’m SUCH a Miranda!”

The office woman wasn’t the first female I have seen use the men’s room.

When I was 5, I walked past the bathroom and saw my 4-year-old sister with her pants down facing the toilet. As I realized what she was attempting to do, I raised my hand and yelled, “Nooooooo….!” at the exact same moment she started to pee straight down and onto the floor.

When I asked her afterward what she was thinking, she told me, “I wanted to pee like you do.”

For the sake of argument, could a woman truly pee like men do? More specifically, can they use the the urinal? Though I am not exactly privy to modern women’s bathroom behavior, I do know (from reading Gene Weingarten’s weekly WaPo chat) that many women consider bathrooms the last vestiges of decent human civilization. Many use rolls of TP to cover the toilet seat and will even perform the “hover” move, which is exactly what it sounds like.

But could a woman “hover” or crouch above the urinal in a pinch?

Now that I have written out that statement, I realize I don’t care. I just think it’s funny.

And the next time I see this crazy woman in my office who likes to use the men’s bathroom, I’ll just raise my hand.

And yell, “Nooooooo….!”.

PHOTO CREDIT

I was in the food court of the Ballston Common Mall yesterday on my lunch break, reading my new book and eating a McDonald’s Double Cheeseburger I had promised The Princess I would never eat, when suddenly the lights dimmed.

The darkening was instant yet obvious -– at least it was to me. I looked up from the pages of my book toward the ceiling as if trying to hear an inaudible song, absorbing the now-noticeably darker cafeteria, wondering if a system-wide power outage was imminent.

And I noticed something. No one else had seemed to notice a thing.

Everyone around me, sitting in their metals chairs, talking about the election or their dry cleaning or whatever it is white collar workers talk about during their lunch breaks, kept right on eating their lunches.

Had I been the only one who had noticed this change in our surroundings? I thought. After all, not a single person had looked up or around them. Not a single person had flinched or made a bad joke about the mall’s generators. For a minute, I considered the very real fact that it might have all been in my head.

After leaving Argentina when I was 10 for the U.S. (E.E.U.U., in Spanish), I went through a phase where I thought my friends and classmates back in Buenos Aires could see what I saw. I don’t mean figuratively. I mean literally see what I saw. I believed they spent much of their time convening in a large room to watch my life, just as I saw it, on a large movie screen. Like the WOPR in War Games, except theirs didn’t try to start World War III by playing Tic-Tac-Toe.

For a long time — since to me this possibility seemed just as likely as me running away with my beautiful teacher Señorita Clarita — I went about my life thinking they could see everything I saw, even going so far as to never look down when I took a piss out of fear they would see my penis.

I eventually realized that nascent technology that could tap into my brain wasn’t possible (probably). But this solipsistic view of how we see and interpret the world around us isn’t much different from the truth.

Think about the people you see everyday. Do they see what you see?

The shoe shiner who reads his Bible when he’s not busy polishing men’s dress shoes for five dollars a pop. The hot dog cart vendor who sells soda cans and cigarettes near the Metro. The tall homeless guy who asks for change or a cup of hot coffee by the Starbucks. The people I share a building with in the elevator, who stare at the floor number and pretend you’re not stuck in a small space.

They go about their business only interested in what they know, watching only their own lives. No one else is secretly watching the same thing they do on a large movie screen.

The lights in the food court eventually came back up after a minute of gray darkness. People kept on eating and talking, their lives resuming, and no one acknowledged the temporary change in their lives.

I, too, continued to eat my cheeseburger and read my book, wondering about the next time the lights would dim.

During a staff lunch yesterday, a co-workers raised the idea of throwing a party for our pre-dominantly Indian office to celebrate Diwali. The following conversation ensued:

AJT: “What’s Diwali?”

Her: “It’s the ‘Festival of Lights’.”

AJT: “Cool! So it’s like an Indian Hanukkah?”

Her: “Man, Arjewtino, why do you have to Jewify everything?”

AJT: “It’s the way I filter the world.”

Fictional verbs aside, it sparked a thought. Why do I, as my co-worker so eloquently put it, Jewify everything?

Easter is nothing more to me than a reminder that Passover is coming up; a pinwheel hat reminds me of a yarmulke; and an essay by Chuck Klosterman in which he describes eating nothing but Chicken McNuggets for a week prompted me to ask The Princess if I should try the same thing: but with matzo balls.

One could argue that we all do the same thing, merely filtering the world through the lens of our personal identities and experiences.

One could also argue that, since Judaism has been described by Americans in a poll as the “most admired religion”, we all should Jewify everything.

Think about it:

• Christmas would finally be called the “Christian Hanukkah”.
• The calendar would list today as the 12th of Heshvan, 5768. Also, I could tell people I was born on the 15th of Tamuz, 5735. Just rolls off the tongue, right?
• Fast-food places would serve gefilte fish to go.
• A teenager’s act of rebellion against his parents would consist of getting a B in math class.
• Ann Coulter would finally shut the fuck up.
• Beards would be in style.
• We would read everything from right to left, which makes more sense if you’re right-handed, which most of us are anyway.
• Purim – a time to get drunk, have a festive meal, and give charity to the poor — would become the greatest holiday of the year.
• Every time people gave their spare change to a homeless guy, we would call it an act of Tzedaka.
• There would be more pigs.

So the response I wish I had given, when asked by my co-worker why I “Jewify everything”, is this:

“Why doesn’t everyone?”

I worked billed from home on Monday and decided that telecommuting might be one of the greatest scams ever devised. This was my actual day:

9:31 am: Phone rings. Verizon guy tells me he’ll be here in 20 minutes to fix my Internet connection problems. Decide now is as good as any to get my “work day” started.

9:36 am: Eat bowl of cereal while watching something called The Morning Show with Mike and Juliet.

9:42 am: Turn on computer. Insert thumb drive of work I brought home with me. Decide that Mike from The Morning Show with Mike and Juliet is a closet case.

9:44 am: Stare at work on computer screen.

9:45 am: Look over photos stored on Picasa. Eat second bowl of cereal.

9:50 am: Verizon guy shows up. Show him the piece-of-shit wireless router and watch as he tosses all my littered shoes that are in his way into my closet.

10:01 am: Turn the channel to Rachael Ray. Become hypnotized as she “interviews” Jenna Bush. Hope the Verizon guy doesn’t disapprove of my TV viewing choice.

10:03 am: Unable to turn off Rachael Ray, quip to the Verizon guy, “Man, I hate daytime TV, there’s nothing on.” Feel uncomfortable during the ensuing silence.

10:10 am: Start working on my documents. Edit here, cut-and-paste there. Feel productive.

10:15 am: Take a well-deserved break. Offer Verizon guy a glass of water. Verizon guy declines.

10:30 am: Decide to clean bedroom. Pick up dirty underwear off the floor and toss it into the hamper. Feel productive.

10:37 am: Go back to computer. Verizon guy tells me he needs to go outside and work on some techno-dork mumbo-jumbo.

10:40 am: Go outside to carry empty trash cans off the curb. Watch Verizon guy elevate himself in pneumatic bucket thing from his truck up to the electric lines. Wonder if he’s scared. Decide that I would totally make for a great Verizon guy myself if I knew anything about computers.

11 am — noon: Watch The Price is Right. Make fun of contestant who can’t spin the giant wheel all the way around.

12 pm: Verizon guy is still here. Decide to “shoot the shit” with him. Pretend like I know what he’s talking about when he explains why we couldn’t connect to the Internet.

12:30 pm: Make a sandwich. Wonder why Verizon guy is taking so long. Imagine if I could kill him while he has his back turned to me. Remember funny Seinfeld episodes.

12:33 pm: Verizon guy leaves with our Internet connection working. Do the Dance of Joy in my living room. Text The Princess the good news.

12:34 pm: Check e-mail, read a couple of blogs, check sports scores while eating dried peaches.

12:44 pm: Nearly finish entire bag of dried peaches.

1:13 pm: Check work e-mail. Send e-mail to boss so she thinks I’ve been working all day. Decide to take a break.

1:15 pm-2:05 pm: Continue watching Lagaan, a nearly 4-hour Bollywood movie about cricket recommended to me by a co-worker. Decide I would totally kick ass at cricket.

2:05 pm: Completely fail to understand the game of cricket. Turn off DVD player to concentrate on work.

2:33 pm: Wash dishes. Clean bedroom. Consider taking a nap. Decide not to.

3:05 pm: Buckle down and do some work. Realize how hard it is when it’s away from the office.

4:30 pm: Get e-mail from The Princess telling me we’re having dinner with a couple of her friends. Remind her that Heroes is on tonight and will need to be back by 9pm.

5:01 pm: Take shower. Shave. Brush teeth.

5:41 pm: Finish watching Lagaan.

6 pm: Work day is over. Hope my boss doesn’t ask to see how much work I got done.

While coming back to our 8th-floor office from an early morning coffee break yesterday, six of my co-workers and I took the elevator.

As a practical joke at the expense of the four female co-workers, my friend Mamilad looked at me and our other male colleague and said, “Ok, ready? One, two, three…”, at which point the three of us instinctively jumped in the air and landed with a thud.

Which tilted the elevator.

Which stopped it from running.

Which shut it down. For good.

We pressed every button. Nothing. We used our security cards. Nothing. We smacked the doors. Nothing. We pointed fingers at each other.

The elevator was stuck on the 4th floor, halfway up our otherwise 20-second trip and stubbornly unable to operate.

I pressed the red button, which made the alarm sound. After a few seconds, security came on and asked what was going on.

“We’re stuck in here.”

“Is everyone ok?”

“Yeah, we’re fine.”

“We’ll get you out soon.”

Being stuck in an elevator can do weird things to you. You imagine how long you might be there. You wonder whether you’ll have to crawl through the doors and onto a landing like Keanu Reeves did in Speed. You blame the three guys who thought it’d be funny to jump up and down.

What you don’t do, though, is panic.

For the next 20 minutes of our “ordeal”, the seven of us sat on the floor of the elevator and talked about the following things:

• Other co-workers’ attitudes
• Other co-workers’ odors
• Possible drinking games we can play while waiting
• How many firefighters will break down the doors to rescue us
• Whether we can get the rest of the day off because we’re “just too shaken up to work”
• Who will be the first to hyperventilate
• Climbing through the elevator’s ceiling
• Using physics to determine how fast the elevator would go if it went into a free-fall
• Agreeing that if we jumped a second before impact we’d survive unscathed
• Who we’d eat first if we ended up stuck in there for weeks

This last item was met by a unanimous decision that Cam, a small Vietnamese chick, would be the first to be cannibalized.

“Why?” she asked, incredulous at our collective agreement of her fate.

“Because you’d probably be the tastiest.”

“No way, man, I have my period.”

“We’ll eat around that area.”

Luckily, 10 seconds after this last comment that completely grossed out me and the other two guys, the elevator moved. We pressed the first-floor button and started laughing with relief.

The doors opened at the ground level and we were met by no one.

No firefighters. No security. Just the lobby welcoming us anti-climactically.

“I can’t believe it took us less than 20 minutes to discuss who we’d eat first,” Mamilad said.

“I know,” I said, “even the Uruguayan ruby team that crashed into the Andes waited a few weeks before feasting on each other.”

Photo credit: templetonelliot

The first workday at your new job is behind you.

Maybe your co-workers didn’t notice you. Maybe you’re well on your way to becoming the office fridge thief. Chalk day one up to co-worker jealousy of your good looks and a particularly dry atmosphere.

Now it’s your second day. If it went anything like mine did yesterday, you’re still headed down the glorious path toward promotion, salary increases, and crushing your enemies.

Here are 10 more items from Day Two:

1. Get more comfortable using the Internet for personal use. Check Gmail and read a blog or two. When clicking on Web site you thought was “safe for work”, freak out when a page pops up angrily instructing you that the particular URL is restricted by company policy. Shut down your computer and take lunch.

2. Tell your boss you want to have a meeting. Wow him with lots of questions in which you drop words like “on-boarding”, “performance work statements”, and “tracking models”. Propose completely revamping the company’s operations by creating “awesome” flow charts.

3. Go to lunch alone again. This’ll show your cliquey co-workers that you don’t need them and would rather eat a jumbo cheeseburger and read Special Topics in Calamity Physics anyway. Decide to make your plan to become their leader a top priority.

4. Fail to recognize your boss in the hallway because he’s dyed the gray out of his hair. Do a double-take at the last second, thereby guaranteeing he’s noticed the ridicule in your eyes. He’ll mistake it for awe of his power and promote you.

5. Continue to forget everyone’s names. They’ll wonder what your “deal” is.

6. Take your first work dump. This marks your territory and cements your shameless reputation as the office dumper.

7. Overhear a co-worker talk about that night’s company event at the Kennedy Center. Curse your subcontractor status.

8. Think you broke the automated coffee machine until realizing YOU’RE the Luddite you joked about being the day before. This will humble you.

9. Daydream about the new Transformers movie. Consider the existential dilemma of Optimus Prime beating Voltron at backgammon. This will help you think “outside the box”. Punch yourself for saying “outside the box”.

10. Realize this was probably a bad time to quit smoking.

Photo credit: bangalrore_scs

I started my new job yesterday and I can’t believe I haven’t already been promoted. I’m pretty sure my boss went home yesterday testing out new nicknames on me like “Sport”, “Champ”, or “Golden Boy”.

If you, too, want to succeed on the first day of your new job like I did yesterday, follow my example and emulate my professional habits. You’ll be flying past the proverbial corporate ladder and taking non-proverbial liquid lunches in no time.

Here’s how I did it:

1. Ask your boss five minutes into the workday if he has an extra mouse for your laptop. Whine that you work slower with a touchpad. He will think you’re a go-getter.

2. When your new co-workers go to lunch together without asking you, eat your salami and cheese sandwich alone in your cubicle. Plan how you will one day become their leader.

3. Leave the building without an electronic ID badge and then spend 10 minutes in the lobby unable to take the security elevator. Ask each person who walks past, “Do YOU work for [Company Name]? Do YOU work for [Company Name]?” Your boss will think you’re on important business.

4. Forget your new co-workers’ names almost immediately after meeting them. They’ll think they’re not as important as you and you’ll create an instant air of superiority.

5. Stand in front of the automated coffee machine for eight minutes trying to figure out how the contraption works. Joke awkwardly with a fellow office drone about what a Luddite you are. Explain to him what a Luddite is. He’ll think you’re smart.

6. When given the choice, take the cubicle next to the window. People will think you deserve it.

7. Steal Dasani water from the fridge. Pretend it’s yours and make everyone think you’re a health nut.

8. Write down all your new user names and passwords on a Post-It so you don’t forget them. Ten minutes later, read the security training guide on how to protect your company’s system integrity. Shred the Post-It to show you can learn from your mistakes.

9. Wonder why no one is complimenting your first-day choice of outfit. Vow never to take GQ’s advice on skinny ties ever again.

10. Attend a one-and-a-half hour staff meeting at the end of the day. Take cryptic notes and nod your head a lot. When your manager tells you he’s going to need your help on something you don’t understand, reply confidently, “You got it!” This will delay the inevitable realization that he’s hired an idiot.

You’re welcome.

Photo credit: jtowns

Today is my last day at the Federal agency where I have been working the past 4 ½ years. Since there is no longer the risk of getting Dooced, I can reveal that my employer for nearly half a decade was the FAA, a top-notch agency that I will miss.

The FAA runs on the expertise and dedication of thousands of public servants who work hard (in varying degrees) everyday to ensure your flight from point A to point B is safe.

(FYI: For those of you scared to fly, I have some good news and bad news. Scroll down to the last paragraph to read more.)

But what about the unsung heroes of the FAA who have kept the agency afloat and made my experience here an interesting one? They deserve thanks, too.

Thank you, Rhonda the security guard, for thinking my name was Allan my entire time at the FAA. I never had the heart to correct you so I let you continue to call me Allan, which was weird since you looked at my ID badge every afternoon.

Thank you, Culito my Puerto Rican immigrant friend, for hugging me every morning even before I had my coffee and butchering the English language for the entertainment of us all. (“There are plenty of fish in the sink”; “Attention, ladies and vaginamen”; “I can’t go to softball tonight, I have the Ricky Martin concert”; and my favorite exchange:

Arjewtino: “I worked at the Journal Newspapers in 1999 and 2000.”

Culito: “Really? Did they pay you in Jew money?”

Thank you, MJ, for once mishearing what Culito said and screaming in a crowded lunch room, “YOU WANT ME TO BRING YOU A HOOKER??”

Thank you, Brewies Chewies, for sitting on the toilet next to me last year, reaching underneath my stall and grabbing my FAA ID badge. You ruined “crossword time” for me forever.

Thank you, Sammy, the Muslim Egyptian hot dog vendor, who let me circumvent the line to buy Camel Lights, yet lectured me on the evils of smoking. I’m sorry I spoiled the result of the Liverpool-AC Milan match for you last month.

Thank you, Fausto Hilario, my Cuban cubicle-mate my first week on the job, for providing me my favorite name of all time, one which I hope to use for a character in a novel someday.

Thank you, Sgt. Barnaby, my favorite squirrel, for stashing away those nuts in the large planter outside the FAA and giving me a pseudo-Animal Planet episode. Haven’t seen you in a while, hope you’re not dead.

Thank you, all of you who walked past the escalator and instead used the elevator to go to the second floor, thereby delaying me by 10 seconds.

Thank you, Kwest, for not banishing me from the coffee club even when I didn’t wash the coffee pot.

Thank you, K-Mac, for banishing me from the coffee club just because I didn’t wash the coffee pot.

Thank you, Kirchner, for taking me for my first and, so far, only liquid lunch.

Thank you, D, for playing the role of big brother and guiding me through life. You can stop molesting me now.

Thanks to everyone at the FAA, my co-workers who never knew I had a blog, all the employees I repeatedly saw on the Metro and pretended not to see, and my friends — Patricio, Chosang, Mexican Liz, HC, KD, and everyone else.

One last special thank you to Train Wreck Secretary who once told me if I didn’t accept Jesus as my personal Lord and Savior that I was the anti-Christ. I hope God’s son got you that raise you wanted.

From above: The good news about aviation safety is that there has never been a safer time in history to fly. The chances of crashing are so slim that only the strangest series of blunders could make your aircraft hurtle out of the sky. The bad news is that you’ve been worrying about the wrong thing. Once an airplane is airborne, you are all but 100% safe from an accident. It’s when the plane is taxiing on the runway that you should be concerned.

* That heart-felt sentiment was written on my goodbye card from my co-workers.

HC, Arjewtino, MJ, Mexican Liz

Arjewtino, Chosang
Photo credit (via Treo): Chosang

Thanks for a fun last night out, people!

“He’s not a Nazi, Elaine. He just happens to be a little eccentric. Most geniuses are.” — Cosmo Kramer, in Seinfeld.

“Better to reign in hell, than serve in heav’n.” — Satan, in Paradise Lost.

Everyone knows the Seinfeld episode that introduced the Soup Nazi to popular culture. It had such a widespread impact, in fact, that the term continues to be wildly parodied at dinner parties, criticized by the Anti-Defamation League, and imitated by frat boys who think Jackass: The Movie qualifies as high art.

But only Federal employees who work near L’Enfant Plaza know about the real-life version of the man who made “No soup for you!” a popular catchphrase. This woman is a short-order cook who resides in her dark Cafeteria of Evil, located in the General Services Administration building.

Known affectionately as the GSA Cafeteria Nazi or the Burger Nazi by her victims/customers, this woman has instilled fear in the hearts of every soul and has been known to bring tears to Feds light years above her pay grade. Much like her pop culture counterpart, the GSA Cafeteria Nazi regulates her grill with draconian precision. Ordering a meal as simple as a hamburger is like entering a Kafkaesque world where you’re not sure what you’ve done wrong and the slightest misstep can prove costly.

But she does make damn good burgers.

This is why last week, I headed to this highest Circle of Hell for lunch with Brewies Chewies and Culito. I failed to mention they would meet the Queen of Darkness herself and that they better be ready to follow her arbitrary rules when they got to the grill.

After Culito succeeded in ordering a chicken sandwich without getting tossed to the demons, he made the foolish mistake of speaking without being first spoken to. His sin? He asked for Cheddar cheese on his sandwich.

“Am I talking to you?” the GSA Cafeteria Nazi asked.

“Oh, I thought you were asking me,” he replied.

“I wasn’t talking to you.”

“You were looking at me.”

Oh, Culito, I thought, let it go, let it go, please let it go…

“Boy!” the embodiment of Lucifer said, “Don’t put words in my mouth!”

I put my hand on Culito’s shoulder and told him to be quiet. He calmed down and waited for his “turn” to come up.

“What kind of cheese do you want?” the GSA Cafeteria Nazi finally asked.

“Cheddar. And I’d like some grilled onions on top,” he said, pointing to the basket of grilled onions next to him.

“What’s the matter, can’t you grab them? Your arm broke?”

“I didn’t know I was allowed.”

The GSA Nazi mumbled something to herself as the rest of those waiting in line to order reconsidered their collective lunch choice and began to back away from Culito.

The GSA Nazi finished making Culito’s chicken sandwich and handed it to him. Culito, who still hadn’t learned his lesson, was angry.

“Thanks,” he said, a hint of sarcasm dripping off his words. “I’m sure it’s good.”

“I’m going to pull you over here and grill your ass,” the GSA Nazi retorted as steam whistled out of her ears.

Culito never heard this last comment. I was already pushing him away from Satan’s Kitchen and to the exit.

When I was unemployed several years ago for a stretch of 10 months, I had to minimize many of my expenses. I cut out buying new CDs, going out drinking with friends, and exotic trips to Tryst Cafe.

But one thing I couldn’t eliminate was eating. Since my body stubbornly continued to demand a certain amount of sustenance without any regard for my financial portfolio, I came up with some creative methods to eat for less and, sometimes, for free.

If you are unemployed, cheap, or are tired of eating Top Ramen, here are 10 cost-saving ways to eat frugally:

1. Attend luncheons at the Hilton. The Hinkley Hilton often hosts business conferences. It also feeds the businessmen who have paid tax-deductible money to attend them. While unemployed, I used to dress up in my suit, pretend to be part of whatever conference was going on, and attend these luncheons. Once, a conference attendee asked me what I thought about that morning’s session on biotechnology. I told him I thought we had a long way to go in “our” field and escaped with my free ham sandwich.

2. Visit the IKEA cafeteria. Since The Princess and I are really into Swedish furniture and carpentry, I visit this retail behemoth as often as I can to take advantage of its cheap cafeteria menu. Swedish meatballs, gravlax, and hot dogs for less than $3! I recommend staying away from the macaroni and cheese, though.

3. Go to Lauriol Plaza on busy evenings. My friend B-Fo and I used to go to the now-overrated LP all the time. Once, when the wait was particularly long, we went to the bar, ordered a free basket of tortilla chips and salsa, and ate outside. When we were finished with our “meal”, we returned the buzzer and left with full stomachs and heavy wallets.

4. Search for samples at Whole Foods. This popular, specialized supermarket loves to give out free samples of breads, cheeses, and Jewish apple cake. GoPats and I used to walk around the store like a couple of panicked search-and-rescue EMTs, scavenging for free morsels and devouring anything in our paths.

5. Get a girlfriend who likes to bake cupcakes — a lot. The Princess is a cupcake queen. She’s made margarita cupcakes, Boston cream cupcakes, Kahlua chocolate cupcakes, and many more, all for the bargain price of free back rubs.

6. Go to Dunkin Donuts at closing. I used to work at a pizza place when I was in college as a delivery boy. Next to our store was a Dunkin Donuts, where we would trade food items at closing. They throw out all their same-day donuts at the end of the night anyway, so if you ask nicely they’ll give them to you.

7. Work in an Argentinean restaurant. I waited tables at an Argentinean restaurant where we were given a free meal of chicken and a 20% discount off the entire menu. The best part, though, was that you could take home all the bread you want. Once, I filled up a garbage bag with bread and took it home to my best friend Blue. When he quizzically asked me why I had a garbage bag full of bread, I reminded him it was free.

8. Look forward to Yom Kippur. An entire day dedicated to atoning AND saving money on food? Awesome. Too bad it only comes once a year, which at least narrows down your search for food to 364 days a year.

9. Eat Steal from Target. My friend Scotty works in loss prevention. According to his interpretation of the law (at least in California), you can open a bag of chips or bottle of water inside Target and, as long as you consume it on store property, they can’t bust you for shoplifting. He proved this once by drinking a Snapple while at Target and leaving the empty bottle on a shelf in Electronics.

10. Live like Charles Bukowski. The man, who some consider a genius while others deride as a misogynist, used to subsist on beer and hard-boiled eggs. I tried this while unemployed and found the meal surprisingly satisfying, if not completely unhealthy. Sure, you might end up devolving into a disgusting, dirty old man, but that’s a small price to pay for eating like a literary giant.

Photo credit: switchkid

There is cheap or free food out there; you just have to have some imagination.

Thanks Wonkette, for today’s mention.