Hands Off the Peanut Butter

No matter where you work, there's always has to be that one person that drives you absolutely fucking nuts. Fucking nuts to the point that being in the same room with them often produces violent visualization involving random office equipment used for evil and not for good.

It all started with a jar of peanut butter. A jar that when I went to find it today, made me feel much like Old Mother Hubbard discovering that her cupboards were bare when she went to looking to give her poor dog a bone.

Except I had a bagel. A plain bagel. A bagel void of cream cheese, butter or any other yummy for the tummy topping to make it something other than ordinary.

Drastic times call for drastic measures. And having missed breakfast, I wasn't in the mood to mess around. With purpose I walked head held high down the hallway and into the kitchen, opening the cupboard that held two of my office vices. Hot chocolate mix and Peter Pan Plus Creamy Peanut Butter with 8 essential vitamins and minerals,

But when I looked, it wasn't there.

And so I looked again. Checking above, checking below, checking behind. All to no avail. My peanut butter was not in the cupboard. Still holding on for a spec of hope, I checked the fridge next and found much to my surprise, that our normally jam packed shelves and side door were suspiciously empty and on second glance, suspiciously clean.

It was at this point that I bellowed.

"Whoever took my peanut butter better report to the lunchroom pronto!"

I stood there waiting, my foot tapping impatiently, my stomach growling and thought quite possibly there was a good chance that I could faint. But no one came. In fact, no one said a peep. That in itself unusual in an office such as mine where there is no shortage of absolute loud mouths.

With the odds appearing horribly stacked against me, I had no choice but to make a choice. And so I called Doug.

"Hello?" he answered somewhat hesitantly, unsure who it could be calling him from the kitchen.

"It's me," I said. "I have a problem and you're the only man who can help me."

"Woo hoo ..." he answered.

I rolled my eyes and sighed, "No. Not THAT kind of help." Ugh. Just the thought of thinking like he was thinking made me want to wash my mouth out with soap. "Tell me something. Is that your Philly Cream Cheese in the fridge?" I asked.

"Uh huh."

"Oh really? Well I wouldn't normally ask, but I'm standing here with a toppingless bagel and my peanut butter is suspiciously missing. Would you mind sharing your cream cheese?"

"Yeah go ahead," he said. "It's not a problem. Although I should tell you now, that you're peanut butter is probably long gone by now."

"Long gone?" I asked incredulously. "What do you mean by long gone?"

"Ask the kitchen gestapo." he whispered. "I'm sure she could tell you where your peanut butter is. But I'll give you a clue. It starts with a G and has an arbage on the end."

"Are you telling me that dumb bitch dumped everything in the garbage again?"

"Yup." he said popping the "P" on the end of the word. "I saw her in there last week with an incredibly large garbage bag and an evil look in her eyes." He paused for effect. "Nothing was safe. Not even the tupperware."

"Don't tell me anymore," I growled. "I don't want to do anything I won't regret later on."