complete randomness / life / non-work-related uses of time

Dictionary Wiggins and the Case of the Missing Lunchbox

For the past couple of days, generic DayQuil and I have been in what I like to call “a relationship.”  And like most “relationships” of this sort, it’s really more of a fling.  We’re both only in it for a few days.   When I’ve missed our time together, I’ve been a bit down.  And for me, at least, the whole thing has been one massive head rush.

I am, by most accounts, a small person.  Which makes taking adult medicine a full-out adventure.  Benedryl makes my heart feel like it’s hugging my face.  So, you can only imagine how high I am when I’m riding an orange DayQuil wave.

I probably should have taken Monday off and rested, post-half marathon bodily trauma combining with germs to make the day a total blur.  But, instead, I kept my commitments and headed off to work with a lunch from home.

Or did I?

That’s where our mystery beings.  In a snacky mood, and typically hungry enough to feed several friends, I assembled a feast of granola bars, cheese and crackers, hummus and pita, and Greek yogurt in my blue (second string) lunchbox.  And while I couldn’t remember for sure, I was under the impression I deposited that lunchbox in the fridge at work.

Lacking an appetite for anything but a salt bagel with cream cheese, however, I decided to give into my impulses, telling myself that at least on Tuesday I wouldn’t have to worry about the food issue.

Or would I?

Tuesday, lunch time rolls around.  I head to the fridge.  No lunch box.  I am perplexed.  Well, I think, I must have been really wrecked on Monday.  No worries.  My trusty blue lunch box must still be at home, probably in that fridge.  Since I remember packing lunch, but have no recollection of transporting it, this seems reasonable.  I laugh heartily at myself and enjoy Taco Tuesday.

But is my lunch box at home?

I check on Wednesday morning, even though I’ve been to the fridge several times and chalk up not noticing the item in question to fridge blindness.  Upon careful inspection, I find the answer is a resounding “No.”

Now, I’m a little freaked out.  I am pretty sure someone ate my lunch.  I had noticed a VERY similar blue lunch box in the fridge at work.  Maybe we were dealing with a case of mistaken identity.

I hoped the lunch bandit liked what I packed.  And that he or she would return my lunch box to me.  And that the thief didn’t catch my cold.

But none of this seems right.  It’s clearly a lunch I would make.  I’m too well-known around here for my food to just be mistaken for someone else’s.  And, for a small person, I’m also a little scary.  So, eating my lunch is just a stupid move.

Or is it?

Retracing my steps leads me nowhere, so in a very non-dramatic, anti-climatic way, I decide to check the work fridge one more time.  After all, how could lunch have disappeared without a trace?

So, I decide to pore into the fridge more deeply.  In layman’s (non-detective) terms, I squat down.  And there it is.  My lunchbox.  At the back of the fridge, where I usually wedge it to allow room for others.  After two days of looking and theorizing, there it is, right where I left it.

Case closed.

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