Lunchtime at the office. The single 30-minute sliver of not-horrible in an otherwise brutal, relentless existence.
But of course you didn’t bring anything. And all of that typing, and carefully hiding your browser from view whenever anyone walked by, just in case, has made you really hungry.
You paid rent yesterday, so your bank account might actually be overdrafted. You could just scan the work fridge and see if anyone has brought in a treat. Sometimes people bring leftover cakes and stuff. You could always eat that; hunger definitely trumps dieting, right?
You head down to the break room and open up the fridge.
Hidden behind all of the Tupperware and coffee creamers you see a brown paper bag. You’re pretty sure it was sitting there yesterday. Besides, it’s not labeled–work policy is to label anything in the fridge that’s not up for grabs. Technically, you have every right to eat this lunch.
You rifle through it–a sandwich, an apple, and a few Fig Newtons. It’s like the PBS of lunches–reasonable variety and probably good for you, but pretty hard to get excited about. But whatever, it’s all edible.
You scan the rest of the fridge and the shelves in the break room, looking for legitimately communal food. There’s some expired ranch salad dressing, a box of saltine crackers that’s been there at least a year, leftover tortilla chips from May’s “Friday Fiesta,” mustard packets, ice cream sprinkles, and a box of baking soda to help control the fridge smell, if that even counts.
If you want to steal the brown-bag lunch, click here.
If you want to cobble together a communal-food alternative, click here.