OFFBEAT: Her food fight goes nuclear

This sounds a little Heloise. But trust me, I'm not nearly as nice as she is. Here's a little lesson o
Sandusky Register Staff
May 24, 2010


This sounds a little Heloise.

But trust me, I'm not nearly as nice as she is.

Here's a little lesson on office etiquette and the office refrigerator: Don't eat other people's food. It's stealing.

And, it makes me hungry.

A hungry me is an angry me, a vengeful me.

Here's a little warning: I'm armed with hot sauce, lunch snatchers.

I have French in my blood, which means I have impeccable taste in food -- that's undoubtedly why you think it's OK to steal from someone who's always been underweight for her height and age.

Come on, I look hungry, don't I?

I've got Irish in me too, which means, if you steal my lunch again -- I will unleash the nuclear explosion of perfection only Louisiana's own hot sauce can bring and lay siege on your taste buds.

I will sacrifice my food if necessary to be a hot sauce sniper -- whoever this scavenger is, you're enemy no. 1.

I have the Marine Corps on my side. In fact, it's their idea for the tactical operation: Operation Flaming Lips.

The Aztec Chicken Pasta leftovers were the last straw, but it's been a battle for my heart and stomach for months.

When my frozen dinners were swiped I convinced myself it was someone hungry and they needed the food more than me.

When I saw a coworker eat my yogurt -- clearly marked with a sharpie in bold letters, "MOLLY" -- without a spoon, I discovered there was yogurt confusion.

This winter when we were abandoning our wedding plans and buying a new car I got an apology in the form of a barbecue pizza.

That might seem strange, but if you ate the slice that was stolen from me, you would understand why this pizza is worthy of being an "I'm sorry pizza." It's that good.

I brought the second half of that pizza to work. I even offered a slice to a hungry coworker. While we heated the pizza up, we went into a separate room to get paper plates, and one of the pieces was stolen.

Someone stole a slice of I'm-sorry-my-car-ruined-our-wedding. That's not right.

I know I'm not alone. I hope someone is reading this and feeling guilty and I hope someone else is reading this and their salivating mouth and growling tummy find divine inspiration.

Maybe someone's mouth is burning, too.

I know that every communal anything is subject to theft. But you would think that people would have enough respect for their coworkers to not eat their food. Actually, all I'm asking is to be asked. If you're hungry I'll feed you, but don't resort to stealing my lunch and making me go buy something more expensive than my leftovers or homemade lunch.

I'll even cook for you. My coworkers know that. I even have a drawer full of food that's meant as an emergency stash for anyone starving on the job.

But that's not what gets eaten. It's my lunch.

So, remember, when the signs don't work, when breath-checking every coworker doesn't work, it means food fight.

It means hot sauce.

Find your arsenal at