So, I know it’s been a while since my last post. I recently had a cyst removed from my palm which had rendered me basically useless for blogging. I still can’t type fully, so I’m going to keep this post short and entertaining.
I work in an office of about 100 people and from time to time, getting your lunch stolen like it’s elementary school is common. I mean, I’ve had my coffee mug kidnapped and taken to Mexico as part of an office prank (that’s another story that includes photos that I will eventually share), but never my lunch taken. So you can imagine the outrage when I discovered my pastrami sammich missing from the breakroom fridge.
In response, I decided to pen this little entertaining letter to post on the fridge. I never did post it, but I think you will find this at least mildly entertaining.
Thus, I give you “The Tale of a Pastrami Sammich Gone Missing…”
Hi All,
This is a friendly public service announcement for the employees of Design and Construction Management….WE HAVE A LUNCH THIEF ON OUR HANDS. I REPEAT WE HAVE A LUNCH THIEF IN THIS OFFICE. How do I know we have a lunch thief in the midst? Well, read carefully as I tell you a tale of a lost and scared Noah’s pastrami lunch box.
I adopted this Noah’s pastrami sammich lunch box at 8:45AM yesterday morning. I saw the email sent out and thought I would mosey over to the break room to see if there were any sammiches left unclaimed. To my excitement, there happened to be one lonely pastrami sammich just sitting there on the middle shelf. No name, no note, just sitting there. The sammich called out to me.
“Take me. Don’t waste a good sammich. There’s no name on me. Make me your’s”
Being the good person I am, I decided to rescue this pastrami sammich from a desolate and lonely life inside that grey fridge. I put my name on it, took ownership of it, and carefully tucked the sammich into its little bed inside the bottom crisper drawer. I promised my new found companion that I would be back for it later.
I took that promise seriously, so you can understand my dismay when I returned to pick up my little sammich and my sammich was nowhere to be found. I searched high and low, both fridges, all the shelves. Still no sammich to be found. Where o where could my little pastrami sammich go?
I found out today. I discovered my poor little pastrami sammich box was thrown away in the outside trashcan. My sammich had been kidnapped by someone in this office and consumed without my knowledge. I can’t imagine how it must’ve felt for my sammich to be scared and alone while having some random stranger sink its teeth into it bite after bite. And then to be tossed out after it’s been used and abused. Can a sammich get a little respect here?
As a responsible sammich owner, I think it is only right for me to avenge my sammich’s death.
So to the sandwhichnapper in this office, I hope you know that sammich comes with a high price. High price for a free sammich? Yes, there really is. The high price is called Karma. I hope Karma provides you with an abundance of stomach illnesses in your near future. I hope that you only consume horrible sammiches from now on because you clearly have no respect for the sacred bond between a sammich owner and sammich. I hope that one day you have the most amazing sammich placed in front of you, a sammich so good that it even brings the Texas Ranger to tears, but you won’t be able to consume it. You will only be able to look at it, breathe in its delicious scent, and then watch someone else enjoy it.
May the sammich odds forever not be in your favor.
MAK SWAG 