The Joy of Snacks
"You really don't want to eat any of the stuff out of there."
Agent Palmer, newly transferred into the CBI, pauses in his quest.
"Yeah? Why's that?"
"Because it's the SCU fridge." The other man says, as if it should be obvious.
"Ah. Someone didn't send you the memo..." Props against the counter, "Now, you have a choice of containers, all labelled according to their owners. But," raised finger, "there are certain hazards involved. For example, Agent Cho. Always a chance of unexpected kimchee. Or worse, his mother's meatloaf. Ballistics have been known to use it for test-firing. Then, we have Agent Rigsby. Well, we have a whole shelf for Agent Rigsby. Big guy, big appetite. The possibility of reciprocal violence is very, very high here. You wouldn't go bothering a hungry grizzly, you don't touch Rigsby's meatball sub. Simple survival. Now, Agent Van Pelt...lovely girl, she would probably be happy to share. But...health-food. Carrot sticks, wheatgerm and hummus."
"That saying that good things come in small packages? So does C-4. You don't want to take Senior Agent Lisbon's lunch. On a good day, she might just throw you into a wall. On a bad day, there's always...Jane."
Palmer freezes, gingerly removes his hand from the lid of the tupperware box. Unofficial CBI briefing has obviously been very, very clear on certain matters. But the man continues anyway,
"Rigbsy would simply pull your arm off and hit you with it. Patrick Jane...well, do you want to end up in the parking lot in your underwear, having serenaded the lobby with a Broadway medley?"
"Oh, it could happen. Master hypnotist. He's utterly devoted to her, you know. And I'm sure you've heard the rumours about how...unstable he is." Judging by Palmer's expression, he has. "Nobody knows exactly what she does to him to keep him under control, though I've heard some pretty wild stories..." Shakes his head, leans in, "But whatever it is, it works. So I wouldn't risk it. Even for home-made lasagne."
Palmer, thoroughly demoralized, shuts the door and steps away from the fridge. Confronts the coffee-machine.
"Can I drink the coffee?"
"Sure." Magnanimous wave. "Though why you'd want to...caffeine is very bad for you."
"Which pot is the decaf?"
"Meh...mix 'em half and half, and drink twice as much." The man takes a sip from his tea-cup. "Who pointed you at the SCU fridge, anyway?"
"Kolinsky in Serial said there was usually some good stuff..." Shame-faced grin, "He didn't say it belonged to people."
"He wouldn't." The man's thoughtful expression brightens into a sudden wide smile. "I'm sure that someone will enlighten him."
A low, unearthly wailing, as of a creature in deep distress, echoes through the hallway. Lisbon pauses, forkful of lasagne halfway to her mouth.
"Jane, is there any particular reason why Kolinsky is belting out show-tunes today?"