Dear Soulless Coworker,
I don’t know what you were taught in primary school in Hell, but I can only assume “respect” was not in the curriculum. I guess Satan only had time for an eternal lecture on “how to ruin my fucking day.”
Because if you had even the slightest inkling of the concept in that horned skull of yours, you wouldn’t have eaten my slice of German chocolate cake from the work fridge.
Now, I want to believe there’s another explanation for this—other than the fact that your heart is black. In fact, there are rumblings around the office that this might have just been an honest mistake. An accident. This, obviously, is an idea you’ve chosen to spread. So help me understand. How does an accident like this happen? I’ve been working for Dale’s Flooring & Tiling for over seven years now, and not once has my zucchini casserole ever been “accidentally” eaten from the work fridge.
So what was it? Did you accidentally forget your name wasn’t “SAM” as was clearly marked in sharpie across the lid? How many bites did you get into that wedge of German bliss before you realize you were accidentally eating my cake instead of your three-bean salad? As evidenced by the empty Tupperware you left on the counter, it apparently took you all of the bites. Every last bite and even some additional scrapes of icing off the inside of the lid to realize your “accident.” So I won’t be buying into this propaganda. This was no accident. This was an act of evil intention.
It has now been eleven days since the incident. And still, you have not come forward to confess. It’s clear that you are too much of a coward to seek me out and be held accountable for your evil ways.
And so it is upon me to seek you out instead.
I’ve been on the lookout for a dark, swirling cloud of evil that must constantly follow you around, and I keep my nose up in hopes of catching a stench of this wickedness, as I can only assume the hate you harbor within you is so pure, raw, and untethered that it has manifested a physical odor, foul and putrid—one that must emanate from every orifice of your body, as the sheer volume of it cannot be contained by human flesh.
But still you remain undetected.
You surely are a great wielder of black magic to have so masterfully blended in with the rest of us. There are only nine employees in this office, so I’m sure I’ve looked you dead in the eyes since the incident… Have I simply not noticed your dark empty voids where the rest of us have eyes?
I know everyone's sick of seeing a new letter like this posted in the break room every day. Multiple coworkers have approached me about it, urging me to “stop the madness” and offering to “just buy me a new cake, for Christ’s sake.” Dale even sat me down, urging me to stop bringing it up with customers. But I refuse to let it go. I refuse to let you win. So even though it’s led me to my current four-week suspension, just know that this isn’t over…
You owe me a slice of cake, Diablo.
See you in hell.