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.