I Stole Lunch

I'm an ass.
Here's why:

Have you ever been in a situation that was so potentially embarrassing and awkward (and dangerous to your social status) that it was simply easier to do the wrong thing than the right thing?

No? Well I have.

It was about two years ago and I was working in a federal office, contracted on a government project (this sounds way, way, way, way, way more cool than it actually was). Basically, this meant that I was surrounded by government employees, and as a contractor, I was [pretty far] beneath them on the food chain. Also I got paid well for doing almost no work. It wasn't that I was lazy or anything... This was just the nature of the job.

Most of the federal employees were women, and most of them had been employees of the government for about 90 years. Also, most of them were pretty bitter about something, and I could only guess that it was the fact that they had spent 90 years working a building with no windows, poor ventilation and cockroaches in the restrooms. (Ever have a 3 inch cockroach run around your feet in the restroom? It's freaky, trust me.)

I'm not being judgmental or anything. On the contrary, I sympathize, as I too would be a bitter old woman, given such conditions to allow estrogen and vitriol to fester out of control, enhanced by a severe vitamin-D deficiency.

It wasn't all bad for them, however. The thing you learn about government employees is that they can do pretty much anything and not get fired. That's a topic for another time. I will say this: I witnessed many of them spend significant hours playing solitaire during the day. Also, they felt free to chew out their bosses whenever the desire arose (I found this intriguing on many levels).

I always eat my lunch early. I am, as a general state of being, hungry, and I often don't eat breakfast. Whenever people walk past my desk and see me tearing through my lunch bag at 10:00 am make a comment I always say, "Lay off me, I'm starving." Then I giggle as I eat my turkey and Swiss sandwich, Cool-Ranch Doritoes and cookies (I've been eating this standard-issue lunch for many years now, and it seems to never get boring).

One fateful day I went to get my lunch, which I had previously tucked away in the communal refrigerator on the bottom shelf, so that I would know which bag was mine. Hurriedly, I grabbed the lunch bag and headed back to my desk, eager to indulge in some cold-cut goodness.

I tore open the bag, eager to satify my voracious appetite, disappointed to find that my wife, who was kind enough to pack my lunch for me, apparently did not have time to put the sandwich together. The bread, meat and cheese were all packaged separately and thrown in the bag. "That's odd," I thought, as I proceeded to build a sandwich right there at my desk. I was also very disappointed that she didn't pack any cookies for me.

"What the?" I wondered, as I removed a cup of yogurt from the bag, "Do we even buy yogurt like this?" I was nearly offended that my wife of 5 years (at the time) packed yogurt in my lunch. What was she thinking? Surely she knew that I wouldn't eat this yogurt!

I was even more perplexed when I found that she packed pretzels instead of my usual Doritoes. I took it as some sort of hint that I needed to start losing weight or something (and at the time I really did).

Anyway, I was too hungry to be asking such silly questions, so I dug in. I ate everything except the yogurt, which, knowing I wouldn't eat, but unwilling to throw away, I placed back in the communal refrigerator, thinking maybe one of the bitter government employees would enjoy a tastey treat.

It was about an hour and a half later that I overheard some complaining from afar. A very angry woman was griping that someone had stolen her lunch. I remember, vividly, thinking to myself: "What kind of an asshead would do something like that?"

Soon enough an email was sent out to all employees in the dungeon-like building:

Attention: Whoever stole my lunch, I would like to thank you.

Sarcasm flourished in this government office. In fact, I don't think a genuine word was ever spoken. It wasn't uncommon to hear things like:

"I love working in this dungeon."

"The restrooms smell great today."

"I love my boss."

"Whoever stole my lunch, I would like to thank you."

"The cockroaches running around my feet when I take a dump make me feel close to nature."

Okay, I made that last one up, but you get the idea.

Again I wondered, "What kind of a jerk would steal somebody's lunch?" Given the atmosphere of the work environment, however, I didn't rule the possibility out. It was indeed very likely that some bastard had stolen a lunch from the refrigerator.

I heard more complaining, "Look at this! Whoever it was had the audacity to leave the yogurt in the refrigerator!"

That's when it hit me. I WAS THE BASTARD!

Panicked, I returned to the refrigerator and located my uneaten lunch, complete with cookies and deliciously fattening Cool-Ranch Doritoes. The only thought I could muster up was, "Oh crap!" That was it--the only two words that my college-educated brain could piece together: "Oh Crap!"

(Granted, I attended Ball State University, so this may or may not be a surprise.)

I had racing thoughts about what to do, and none of the thoughts, not a single one, involved any kind of confession. The damage was done, and based on that fact, I saw no value in confessing to the villagers. They were lookin' for a witch to burn...

The poor hungry woman whose lunch was stolen continued to complain, vocally and with growing vitriol the likes of which made me cower in fear. I buried my uneaten lunch deep in the trash, hoping to keep my dimwitted thieving ways unknown. The entire situation had now blown into such a drama among the gossiping women of the office that any admission of guilt would have resulted in rampage the likes of which has only been witnessed in the worst wars. It would have been Germany invading Poland, and I was Poland.

I had but one choice: shut up and lay low.

I read the email again, and this time it stung... So I deleted it. Then I emptied my trash folder, so I could never feel that sting again. It didn't help. Removing the email didn't clear my conscience, as I had hoped it would.

I remained undetected for the rest of the day, and, I am happy to report, for the rest of my stay in that office. To this day I don't think anyone knows, other than my wife and now the readers of this blog. I dodged a bullet, so to speak, unwittingly committing the perfect crime.

I remember telling my wife what happened later that night. After laughing and laughing she offered pretty good advice as to what I should have done. She said, "You should have said to the lady, 'I'm very sorry, this was a mistake, and I would like to go to Subway and buy you lunch.'"

Sure, maybe that was good advice, and maybe I should have done that. There are two reasons, however, why I could not have done what my wife suggested:

First of all, my wife is a better person than me, which is why she thought of this solution, whereas it never even crossed my mind.

Secondly, and unfortunately, in my dimwitted failure to realize my folly in any reasonable timeframe, the buildup of anger grew to levels beyond that which I was willing to deal with.

Yeah, yeah, yeah... You're sitting there, in your safety zone, saying that I should have come clean, no matter how much anger there was in the office, and remedied the situation. I tell you the truth, women like the ones in that office have made entire TV networks dedicated to the hatred of males (ever watch Lifetime?).

By taking the easy way out, I may have saved my job as well as my ability to walk upright. I don't know if there is a moral to this story. If so, it's a moral that I have yet to completely learn (or accept). On one hand, I actually do feel a little guilty. On the other, I escaped persecution. I guess doing the right thing isn't always cut-and-dry, eh?

Indeed I am an asshead.