That was not casual theft. That was a person enjoying my frustration.
I took the napkin straight to HR. Colin looked genuinely disturbed now, but still cautious in the way corporate people get when something is clearly wrong and they’re already calculating how little they can do without liability.
“We can’t accuse anyone without proof,” he said.
“So get proof,” I replied.
He promised to “speak generally” to the department.
The theft happened again the next day.
That evening I stayed late, eating pretzels from a vending machine and staring at my spreadsheet while anger settled into something calmer and sharper. Not rage. Strategy. I thought about cameras, sealed lunch bags, tiny trackers, food coloring. Then I thought about what I actually liked to eat and what almost no one in the office ever touched.
Avocado.
Not because it was dangerous. Because it ruined things.
Avocado turned bread green, went brown under fluorescent light, and left obvious smears. It clung to fingers, teeth, napkins, keyboards, and paper.
So on Monday morning, I made myself a thick avocado sandwich on toasted multigrain with lemon, salt, crushed red pepper, and extra ripe slices layered so generously it could not possibly be eaten neatly.
Then I put it in the break room fridge.
At 12:07, the sandwich was gone.
