The Great Sandwich Heist

place it in the office fridge, and count down the minutes until he could indulge.
But there was a problem.
Someone had been stealing Jerry’s sandwiches.

It started small. A missing apple here, a yogurt gone there. But when his sandwich disappeared three days in a row, Jerry realized he was under attack.

“This means war,” he muttered to himself, tightening his tie like a man preparing for battle.

The Investigation Begins

Jerry wasn’t an amateur. He devised a plan to catch the thief.

Step one: He marked his sandwich with an invisible dot of mustard on the bottom slice. The thief wouldn't notice, but Jerry would recognize his own condiment placement anywhere.

Step two: He installed a tiny webcam hidden inside a potted plant across from the fridge. Was it legal? Questionable. Did he care? Absolutely not.

Step three: He left a note on the fridge that read, “To whoever is stealing my sandwiches: May your coffee always be cold, your Wi-Fi always be slow, and your shoelaces always untie at the worst possible moment.”

With his trap set, Jerry waited.

The Big Reveal

The next day, he retrieved the footage. With a mix of excitement and rage, he pressed play.

There it was—clear as day. A hand reached into the fridge, grabbed his sandwich, and—wait. Was that… Kevin?

Kevin from Accounting?!

Jerry stared in disbelief. Kevin was the human equivalent of a golden retriever—friendly, cheerful, and seemingly incapable of evil. But here he was, chomping on Jerry’s carefully curated sandwich like it was his birthright.

Jerry stormed into the break room, where Kevin sat sipping coffee, looking too relaxed for someone who had just committed a sandwich crime.

“Kevin,” Jerry said, his voice low and dramatic. “We need to talk.”

Kevin blinked. “Uh… okay?”

Jerry slammed a printed photo from the video onto the table. “Explain this.”

Kevin looked at the photo, then at Jerry, then back at the photo. “Oh,” he said casually. “That’s me eating a sandwich.”

“My sandwich,” Jerry corrected.

Kevin squinted at the picture. “Oh, hey, I guess it is. Wow. That’s a great sandwich.”

Jerry’s eye twitched. “You… you KNEW it was my sandwich?”

“Well, yeah,” Kevin said, shrugging. “I thought you were leaving them as, like, a free-for-all thing. You never wrote your name on them.”

Jerry inhaled sharply. “WHO DOES THAT, KEVIN?”

Kevin took another sip of coffee, completely unbothered. “People share stuff all the time. Like, I brought donuts last month.”

Jerry slammed his hands on the table. “That is NOT the same, Kevin! You offered those donuts. You didn’t just leave them somewhere and hope for the best!”

Kevin pondered this for a second. “Huh. Yeah, I see your point.”

Jerry exhaled. “Thank you.”

Kevin grinned. “So does that mean I can’t have today’s sandwich?”

The Perfect Revenge

Jerry had two choices: let this madness continue or teach Kevin a lesson. He chose the latter.

The next day, Jerry made a sandwich. Oh, it looked just as delicious as ever, but he made a few… modifications.

Instead of mustard, he used wasabi. Instead of turkey, he filled it with an unholy combination of anchovies, peanut butter, and ghost pepper sauce. Then, he placed it in the fridge like usual.

He didn’t even need the webcam this time. The whole office heard Kevin’s reaction.

“OH MY GOD! MY MOUTH! WHY IS IT SPICY?! WHO DOES THIS?!”

Jerry walked into the break room, sipping his coffee smugly. “Huh. Maybe someone thought it was a free-for-all sandwich, Kevin.”

Kevin, his face red and eyes watering, gave a weak thumbs-up. “Lesson learned.”

And from that day on, Jerry’s sandwiches remained untouched.

Moral of the story: never steal a man’s sandwich… unless you enjoy suffering.