My turkey sandwich, the one I had been eagerly anticipating to alleviate my pounding migraine, has vanished without a trace. Poof! Gone, like a magician’s trick, but there’s no applause, only simmering fury within me.
I can feel the rage coursing through my veins, threatening to erupt, but I’m trapped in this office, forced to maintain composure. It takes every ounce of self-control to keep my emotions in check.
SERIOUSLY, WHO DOES THAT?! What kind of twisted individual stoops so low as to pilfer someone else’s lunch?
At this point, it’s not just about the sandwich; it’s about the audacity, the utter disregard for basic human decency.
But make no mistake, this individual is a scourge to our workplace community and is going to get what’s coming to them.
The Disappearance
You know that feeling when you’re looking forward to something all morning, and then it just… vanishes? Poof, gone, like it was never there? Well, that’s exactly what happened to me, Dianne, on that fateful Monday.
Picture this: a bustling office, the hum of printers, the clatter of keyboards, and the aroma of coffee wafting through the air. It’s lunchtime, and everyone’s rushing to the kitchen, eager for a break from the grind.
Me? I’m practically skipping. Why? Because I’ve got a homemade turkey sandwich waiting for me in the fridge. It’s not just any sandwich, mind you. It’s my signature creation: whole wheat bread, sliced turkey, crisp lettuce, juicy tomatoes, and a secret spread that I whip up myself. It’s my little slice of heaven in the middle of a hectic workday.
So, I get to the kitchen, and I’m greeted by the usual lunchtime chaos. People are microwaving leftovers, chatting about their weekends, and rifling through the fridge. I make my way over, a smile on my face, anticipating that first glorious bite.
I open the fridge door, and my eyes dart to the spot where I left my sandwich. But wait… it’s not there. I blink, thinking maybe I’m just not seeing it. I move a few containers around, thinking it might have gotten pushed to the back. But no, it’s definitely not there.
My sandwich, my beautiful, perfect sandwich, has vanished.
At first, I’m just confused. I mean, I know I brought it. I distinctly remember putting it in the fridge this morning. I even remember the blue post-it note I stuck on it with “Dianne’s Lunch” written in my looping scrawl.
But it’s not there. It’s just… gone.
I stand there for a moment, staring into the fridge, as if my sandwich might materialize if I just look hard enough. But it doesn’t. The realization starts to sink in: someone has taken my lunch.
Now, you might be thinking, “So what? It’s just a sandwich.” But it’s not about the sandwich. It’s about the principle of the thing. It’s about the fact that someone, some entitled jerk, thought they could just take something that wasn’t theirs.
It’s not like it could have been a mistake, either. I mean, who accidentally takes a sandwich clearly marked with someone else’s name? No, this was deliberate. This was theft, plain and simple.
I can feel my confusion morphing into anger. I mean, who does that? Who just takes someone else’s lunch without a second thought? In what world is that okay?
I slam the fridge door shut, a bit harder than necessary. A few of my coworkers glance over, but I don’t care. I’m too busy fuming.
I stalk back to my desk, my appetite gone, replaced by a rising sense of injustice. I try to focus on my work, but my mind keeps drifting back to my missing sandwich. I keep picturing someone else eating it, enjoying the fruits of my labor, and it makes my blood boil.
As the afternoon wears on, my anger simmers down to a low hum of irritation. I mean, it’s not the end of the world, right? It’s just a sandwich. I can always make another one tomorrow.
But still, there’s a nagging thought at the back of my mind, a question I can’t quite shake. Who did it? Who stole my lunch? And more importantly, why? What kind of person does something like that?
Suspicions Arise
The next day, I’m on high alert. I bring my lunch, but this time, I don’t put it in the fridge. No way. That sandwich is staying with me, right by my desk, where I can keep an eye on it.
As I settle in for the morning, I can’t help but glance around the office. I find myself sizing up my coworkers, wondering if one of them could be the culprit.
My eyes land on Sarah, sitting across the room. She’s laughing at something on her phone, her feet propped up on her desk. I’ve never liked Sarah much. She’s always seemed a bit… entitled, like the rules don’t apply to her.
She must feel me staring, because she looks up. Our eyes meet, but she quickly looks away, her laughter dying down. Is that guilt I see on her face? Or am I just imagining things?
I try to push the thoughts aside and focus on my work. But as the morning drags on, I can’t shake the feeling that Sarah knows something about my missing lunch.
It’s not just a gut feeling, either. There are little things, things I’ve never really paid attention to before. Like the way Sarah always seems to have a different lunch, something fancier than the rest of us. Or the way she’s always the first one in the kitchen, even though I know for a fact that she arrives after me most mornings.
And then there’s the way she looks at other people’s food. It’s subtle, but now that I’m paying attention, I can’t unsee it. It’s like she’s sizing it up, calculating, planning.