The Case of the Swiped Slice

I want you to imagine the way it smells when you walk into a pizza shop.  Close your eyes for a minute (after you read this sentence) and really allow your olfactory system to be overwhelmed by the delicious aroma of pizza.  (Ok go) 

Can you see it in your mind's eye?  Your favorite pizza baking in the oven, your desire for it rising in sync with its rising dough, like two hearts beating as one.  Soulmates, you and this slice.  It is being made for the sole purpose of bringing you joy.  And when it emerges from the oven?  Heaven on a plate.  That first bite?  Like a first kiss with a true love.  Nobody can mess with the bond between you and your pizza.  


Until they do.  

This morning, as I trudged through the first few hours of work, I kept remembering what was waiting for me in the fridge.  "Yesssssssssss!", I thought, as I remembered the thin-crusted, triangle-shaped piece of tomato, basil and cheese goodness that awaited me.  Finally, at 1:00, I obeyed the grumbling in my belly, put aside my work, and strutted with sweet anticipation to the kitchen.  After working hard all week, I deserved this little slice of heaven on earth.  And with that, I opened the fridge.  

Huh.

I looked right, I looked left, I blinked, I rubbed my eyes, I blinked some more, I closed the fridge.  "Hmmm, I know I put it right on the center shelf, in the middle, in a brown paper bag", I reassured myself.  "Let me look again, it has to be here".  I opened the fridge again, and ripped it apart.  I looked in every drawer, on every shelf, and inside every brown bag; I even looked in the freezer, just in case.  


My pizza was gone.  


I was so confused, and sad, and pissed!  I went back to my desk and composed the following email to my colleagues:  "Has anyone seen a slice of pizza?  I put a slice in the refrigerator yesterday afternoon, and now it's gone :( "  People offered their condolences, likened the scandal to a who-done-it game of Clue, and offered to help find it, but alas, it was nowhere to be found.  

Imagine the let-down.  Why my pizza?!  Help yourself (or steal) my apple, my turkey sandwich, my box of soup, but please, do not mess with my well-earned-Friday-treat pizza.  I have no clues as to who committed this heinous act, but I now look at my co-workers with one eyebrow raised.  How well do we really know the people we spend our days with?  Who are all these "social workers" and "advocates" working for social justice, anyway?  Ha!  If someone is capable of stealing a slice of pizza (on a Friday afternoon!), imagine what else they're capable of.  I shudder to think.


Moral of the story?  Don't bring pizza to work.  And if you do, and your slice gets swiped, well don't say I didn't warn you.  Be safe friends.