Keep Your Mitts off my Condiments!

I knew I wasn't going crazy...nor was I consuming an alarming amount of salad dressing. I just couldn't understand why I was going through a bottle of salad dressing faster at work then I was at my own apartment. I knew I was on the cusp of discovering the culprit. Day after day I would walk into the pantry at work and smell my Italian dressing. Only, I didn't use it that day at lunch....so who was using it?

I know I shouldn't get wrapped up in a $3 bottle of dressing, but when you think about it, what this person was doing, or rather, what my own co-worker was doing, was downright rude. We work together for cryin' out loud! Why would you help yourself to your co-workers belongings just because they are stored in a shared refrigerator? And to continuously do it over and over again is just beyond unacceptable to me.

I quietly came around the corner today and low and behold I caught the guy! (Yes, it was a guy, too.) I startled him, he made a weird face, and then suddenly tossed something into the fridge and bolted. It wasn't until a short while later that I realized why he looked so guilty....he was the Salad Dressing Hoarder!

So, to you, Dressing Hoarder, be fair warned!
I've got my eye on you. I will be watching every move you make when you enter that pantry from this point forward. You who can't even say hello to me in the morning when I say, "Good Morning!", or even bother to exchange a smile when I pass you in the hall. I have done nothing to you but only treated you with the common respect that I would want from my co-workers.

You're cheap to not buy your own.

You're lazy for not walking to the corner of the next block and buying one at CVS.

I don't want any excuses either that you're not from around here b/c look buddy, I live in DC, for all I'm concerned, I'm not from around Clarendon, either. I still figured out the joint and where to get my Starbucks, my Zone Bars and yes, my salad dressing. And claiming ignorance will get you no where fast, too. As instructed on our fridge, I used one of the pre-printed labels and filled it out with my last name and the date. Do not even tell me you don't know who, WILSON, is! I haven't taken my, "Welcome Aboard Marianne Wilson", sign from last October so come up with another excuse.

Until then, keep your chubby, greasy, architect-paws off my dressin' or else I'll have no other choice but to resort to some creative aggression in a culinary outlet.

Just sayin'...