The Hunch on My Lunch

Approximately once a quarter I decide to give myself a break from the overpriced deli meat and pack my own lunch. Usually leftovers from the night before or a PB&J when I'm in a hurry. Packing my lunch makes me feel like I'm back in high school when my life was all ahead of me. Except unlike high school, I don't have to worry about some jock who lettered in three sports taking my lunch.

The building I work in doesn't employ the high-school jocks I once feared. It is filled with people who fit the suggested criteria of an ideal roomate; single, non-smoking, well-paid professionals with a weekend drinking problem. There is an inherent level of trust with these existing standards. Unfortunately, my belief system was destroyed this week when some jackbag stole my lunch out of the community refrigerator.

There are two refrigerators on each floor of our corporate office. Both are well-equipped with enough cubic space to handle the capacity of food imported daily by the employees. The late arrivals usually have to jam their bags into the vegetable drawer but there's always space if you make it. My lunch bag is marked not because I don't trust anyone but because it's easier to spot when I open the refrigerator to peruse a stunning assortment of dimly lit lunches waiting for their respective owners to pick them up.

This day was no different than others. My arrival was at a decent time in the morning so I got a nice piece of real estate in the refrigerator. I prefer the bottom shelf of the refrigerator door. This is strategically chosen because most people are 1) too lazy to bend over and 2) my lunch cannot be pushed deeper into the tundra of a regular shelf by late arrivals. Despite the tardiness of others, my food is only a knee-bend away. I know, genius.

This lunch was good too; a Walton's sized portion of chicken, green beans, and rice. The meal was accessorized with a 20-ounce Coca-Cola, grapes, and a bag of Cheeto's. By 11:00AM I was already salivating. No waiting in line at the deli, no visit to the ATM, just stroll down to the pantry, open the refrigerator door, and where the f*ck is my lunch.

Umm, what the f*ck?

Gone, conspicuously absent from its habitual nesting place. My disbelief was quickly replaced by rage. The normal default for my narrow-minded self would be that either cleaning services or maintenance was chowing down on my grub. But this was office hours, too risky an operation in broad daylight. No, this crime was willingly committed by a single, non-smoking, well-paid professional with a weekend drinking problem. Someone qualified enough to be my roommate.

Then my rage exited as an epiphany entered. I began maniacally rubbing my hands together and let out a shriek of laughter that would have made Dr. Shrinker proud. As the veins popped in my flushed face the pantry filled with another shriek that rivaled mine. This was from an intern who was staring at me in complete fear. She dropped her Lean Cuisine and headed straight back to college (note to self, internalize diabolical plans).

I realized my stolen lunch didn't deter me at all. In fact, I vow to pack my lunch every day with no intention of ever eating it. My next PB&J will be filled with an intolerable amount of Dave's Insanity Sauce containing capsaicin extract which makes habanero-pepper sauce taste like iced milk. I'll be able to find the at-large criminal by following the piercing screaming and the trail of scar tissue left from their tongue. Like they say, if you mess with the bull, you're going to get those two pointy things or something or other.

Excuse me, I think you have my lunch.

We'll shall soon meet, jock roomie. And this time, things will be different than in high school. Moooo-oooooh-ahhhhh-ahhhhh!