The day I lost my faith in humanity
OK, so this week has been totally crazy at work. Crazy, I tell you! I left work at like 7:30 tonight and I was really, really tired. I was out late last night, I was busy all day, and on top of it, we had these mandatory computer training classes all morning. Computer classes IN THE DARK! I was sitting there for three hours, trying not to fall asleep. (I brought candy for everyone so it would be more fun and help keep us awake. It did help. For about three minutes.)
Tangent! The point is, I worked late and I was tired. So I get in my car, pull out of the parking lot and try to think of what I want to eat for dinner. OK, deciding what to eat for dinner is easily my second-least favorite part of the day (behind actually, you know, getting out of my comfy bed). I HATE it! I just want to eat--I don't want to think about it! I am way too decisioned out by that point. I will seriously call my friends sometimes and tell them to tell me what to eat, just so someone else has to decide. I am NOT a fan of making decisions after 6 p.m.
So I'm driving off, thinking, "What the hell should I eat ... I'm too tired to think of anything ... I hate deciding what to eat ... Maybe I just won't eat anything ... I should have eaten more at lunch ... Don't I have tortillas in the fridge? .... Whatever, I don't want to make anything ... I could go to the store ... Yeah, right. I don't want to go to the store ... I could pick something up ... Yeah, but WHAT? ... DAMMIT, I HATE deciding what to eat! ... Hey! I have leftovers in the fridge at work! And they're good ones! That will take like two minutes to heat up!"
It's a massive light bulb moment. And I pulled out of the parking lot less than a minute ago. So I turn around and go back to the office. I leave the car up front, race upstairs, throw open the fridge, and ...
You see where this is going, don't you? Well, a big gold star for you, because I sure didn't. I looked. And I looked. And I looked some more. I took everything out of the fridge and put it back in again. I even opened the freezer and checked in THERE.
My leftovers? Gone.
OK, there's a guy in the office who cleans out the fridge every Sunday. I put my stuff in the fridge yesterday. Yesterday was not Sunday. Yesterday was Tuesday. Which leaves the only logical assumption: SOMEONE STOLE MY FOOD!
Granted, I did not grab a little Sharpie off my desk and put "SWISHY" in big letters all over my box. I can see why initialing your food would be necessary if there are 20 identical brown paper bags in the fridge. (Which, by the way, there's not.) But my little white box was the ONLY little white box in the fridge. And most people would think--most REASONABLE people would think--that if it's not yours, whether your initials are on it or not, YOU DON'T EAT IT! I mean, right? If you didn't put it in the fridge, you shouldn't take it out. Right?!?
It was a rather soul-crushing moment, I'm not going to lie. They were GOOD LEFTOVERS!
So what did I eat for dinner? A bowl of watermelon and a bean burrito from Taco Bell. Minus the cheese and onions and red sauce.