A man. A burrito. A problem.

For the first time since working for the newspaper -- including my time as an intern -- I brought my lunch to work. I had two stories to write and one to finish interviewing for, so there was no chance for a trip home today.

I arrived in the office at 9 a.m. and checked my messages. A mere 30 minutes later, this flashes across my screen.

"We will not have access to the break room in bldg. 1 after 11:30 today. Anything you may need from the refrigerator in the break room will need to be transferred to the refrigerator that is being placed at the top of the back stairs."

I work in building one. Where will I heat up my Patio chicken burrito?

Sweet relief came in the next e-mail, which encouraged us to walk across the street to building two to fulfill our midday sustenance needs.

After I got out of the mandatory training session for the new system -- which I already was working with because they started me with it -- I traversed Main Street. After popping my frozen Mexi-treat into the microwave, it came time to complete the meal with a bag of overpriced vendor chips.

What was this? No singles in my wallet? Of course.

Luckily, part of my burrito's charm was its girth. Unluckily, half of its mass now lay on the six-year-old chesse-crusted glass tray of building two's Sunbeam speed cooker. I now had an empty, startlingly crispy tortilla shell.

I bought a bag of Dorito's from the market down the street and ate my desk.