If you are not familiar with Passive Aggressive Notes, I highly suggest you become familiar with it. It’s awesome. When I’m having a bad day, the posts are usually good enough to at least get me to smile and crack my bitchy mood.
Today, though, it was time to move past being an innocent passive-aggressive note viewer and become a passive-aggressive note poster.
First … background.
My mom and I went out to lunch on Monday. As usual, I only ate half of it, putting the other half in a box to have another lunch later this week.
Today was the day I was taking my highly-classy Applebee’s leftovers to work.
Not thinking, I put my lunch in the big fridge that everyone on the fourth floor uses. I should have known better. Really, I should have. We have a smaller fridge in the badge-protected cube-heaven in which I work, I don’t know why I didn’t leave my lunch in there. But I was running late so I just tossed it in the first fridge I encountered on my way in. No harm, no foul, right?
Around 11:30 I was starting to get hungry – that Bagelful at 8:15 this morning just wasn’t cutting it. But I decided I would wait until closer to noon. Believe me, though, the thought of my leftover potato skins was making me salivate. I’m thinking the hunger pangs I got at 11:36 this morning might have been a sign that I needed to rescue my lunch. Alas, I ignored them.
A little after noon, I decided I waited long enough and it was time to heat up my artery-clogging cheese-and-bacon-topped goodness. I went to the fridge and got out my awesome, non-biodegradable Styrofoam take-out container and headed over to the microwave. Knowing there was a leftover sandwich in there too, I decided to take it out so it didn’t heat as long as the potato skins (cause I hate bread that gets rock-hard because you warmed it up too long). When I opened the box, imagine my surprise to not see the same amount of food that was in the box when I left it there this morning.
The sandwich was still there. (In pieces, I might add.)
One potato skin was still there.
But one potato skin was mysteriously lacking a presence in the box.
Anger ripped through me as I threw the box in the microwave, set for two minutes.
The timer didn’t even make it to 1:30 before I opened the microwave, took the box out and threw it in the trash. I sure as hell wasn’t eating something that God-knows-who decided to rifle through. God-knows-what was on God-knows-who’s hands. The germophobe in me flipped out.
I immediately grabbed my car keys and headed out to get lunch from somewhere, anywhere. I didn’t care.
The more I thought about it, the worse it was. I wouldn’t have been so mad if someone had just swiped my entire lunch. To just leave proof that you went through their lunch like that is even worse.
I mean, who does that? I mean, if you didn’t take a lunch to work, what the hell were you doing in the fridge in the first place? If you brought your lunch, what the hell made you think you needed something from mine as well?
I swear.
So, I decided it was time to bust out a passive-aggressive note. After all, what better way to express my disgust? A co-worker told me I should bring in a faux lunch, spiked with something, and once I caught someone puking their guts out, I’d know who the lunch thief was. Fact is I don’t want to know who it was. I don’t care who it was. I just want them to know they pissed me off.
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