Sometimes I kind of wish I lived in a restaurant, so that there would always, always be fresh vegetables on hand. I would never have to go buying them, and monitoring them and planning out my menu according to what I needed to use up, and they would always be plentiful, fresh and delicious. Because the crack team of kitchen wizards that kept the tables turning in the busy restaurant where I live would just churn through so much delicious fresh produce in the course of the preparations of all those meals, it would never become a question of "oh, we better use up the rest of that onion pretty soon."
I'd just saunter in yawning in the morning and start puttering around back behind the grill, cutting stuff up, fixing myself something indeterminate. Just putting it all together as I go. Man, I always wanted a big restaurant-style grill! Oh, the luxury of that. And people would be like "'scuze," "whoops - hey, can you...?" or "hey man I can make you whatever you want, you want to just tell me what to make and wait over there?" And I'd be like, "thanks, I'm good! I'm just deciding what I want as I cook it." "C'mon man - it's the breakfast rush." "Too bad pal, I live here! What's your excuse?"
I'm not sure under this scenario, what my whole detailed situation might be. I know I don't own the place. I don't work there, either, in a managerial capacity or otherwise. I just live there for some reason, and so the staff pretty much recognizes and respects the "man's home is his castle" exemption. But I'm not sure exactly why it is that I live there.
Oh yeah! DUH. It was for the vegetables.