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You wouldn’t peg me for a particularly nefarious character upon first glance. I keep to myself for the most part but am generally friendly when interacting with my colleagues in the day to day happenings of cube life. I’ll talk about weekend plans and shoot the shit if I feel so inclined as I eat lunch at the table across from you. You’d never suspect that the salad I am scarfing down is drenched in stolen dressing.
Like every bad habit, it all started with one little decision, one minor lapse in judgment and all of a sudden, my entire moral code is getting re-written. I’d forgotten my Italian dressing for my salad at home a couple of weeks ago. As everyone knows, you don’t simply consume a Tupperware full of roughage without putting something smooth or creamy on it to ease the pain. This particular day, I had brought nothing else with me for lunch except for this container of rabbit food. I had also been trying to cut back on eating out, so I didn’t want to go get food. There was no way in hell I was getting through the bowl of vegetables without something to wash it down, so it was either steal or starve. I chose to steal. Peaking around the corner, I checked for any witnesses, cracked the fridge open, and grabbed the first bottle of dressing I could see – Bolthouse Farms Classic Balsamic. What a find. A couple of quick dabs into the container and I resealed and repositioned the bottle exactly as I had found it on the refrigerator door. “No one will even notice,” I thought to myself as got to eating.
It’s been 3 weeks since that day. That bottle is almost gone. I’ve eaten a lot of salad. That first time, I knew I was doing something wrong. It was like the first time I ate an entire box of Pillsbury Toaster Strudels so my little brothers couldn’t have any. It felt good, but I knew I did something wrong, so guilt set in. Now? I won’t even blink as I pillage the office refrigerator for other people’s shit. There is a certain high that comes with sneaking a couple squirts of hijacked mustard on your sandwich. John has the spicy brown and all I have at home is classic yellow. Obviously, I need some of that. The anticipation of wondering when exactly someone is going to fire off a company-wide email explaining that they label their food so that no one takes it is what gets me going. I’m like a condiment phantom, Janice, you won’t catch me.
To be honest, it is kind of getting out of control. I will purposefully forget something when packing my lunch. Why would I exert effort to pack everything I need early in the morning when there is a fully stocked fridge at my disposal at work? Normally, I drink black coffee, but every now and then I’ll sneak someone’s flavored cream in there. It’s not the French Vanilla Coffee Mate I’m after, it’s the thrill. It feels so good to be so wrong.
If my office had their own El Chapo, maybe things would be different because I wouldn’t have to steal. There really is no telling though because I’ve gone off the deep end. Hide your ketchup and hide your dressings because I’m snatching all of it. You may be sitting there asking yourself, “Why doesn’t he just ask?” Well, because it’s easier to apologize than ask for permission. Everyone knows that..