Making pancakes can be tricky. It seems simple. You take some flour and baking powder and sugar, and then you add the wet ingredients—the milk and the butter and the egg. But there’s always a bit too much, so the batter is thinner than a supermodel but not nearly as easy to fry. So you add a bit of flour to thicken it up, but you always go a bit too far with that, and you have to some more milk, but then that goes too far. (It’s not supposed to be a milk-cake, duh!) So then you add some more sugar, and some baking powder, and the whole thing starts growing, and you have to transfer it into a bigger bowl, and add another egg to try to knock it down, and so on and so on. You finally get it right, but by that time, you’ve got a full tierce of the stuff.
That’s what happened to Malcolm today, because even though he works in IT, he’s really really really really really bad at math. As a result, he made one hundred and seventy-one extra pancakes this morning, so he kindly brought them in to share.
The loosely attached layer of plastic wrap did a pretty good job of protecting it against bird droppings and rodents, so the flapjacks should remain well-flapped and minimally jacked. If you have any concerns about their cleanliness, please feel free to rinse them in the sink or squirt them with some Windex.
The tub of I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter in the break room fridge is clearly labeled for official office use only, so you’re on your own for toppings like butter, syrup, whipped cream, peanut butter, or ranch dressing. There might still be some cocktail sauce, though.