The Great Sandwich Heist: How Bob and Tina Ruined Lunch and Saved the Day

Bob Jenkins took his lunch seriously. He wasn’t known for his punctuality, or his work ethic (honestly, not even for his hygiene), but when it came to his 12:30 sandwich, Bob was an artist.

Every day, he brought in something new. Roast beef with horseradish mayo on ciabatta. Smoked turkey with cranberry relish and brie. Once, he even did a banh mi that made the entire floor stop what they were doing just to sniff the air.

Tina, on the other hand, was a microwave mac-and-cheese kind of person. Efficient, no-nonsense, and completely incapable of understanding why anyone would make a sandwich with more than three ingredients. She respected Bob’s sandwich skills in the same way one might admire a magic trick — with curiosity, suspicion, and the firm belief that it was probably fake.

And then it happened.

The Sandwich Disappeared.

It was a Tuesday. Bob strutted into the break room at exactly 12:29 PM, humming, as he opened the fridge with a flourish. The humming stopped. So did his heart.

His sandwich — a hand-crafted marvel of salami, sun-dried tomato pesto, arugula, and aged provolone on focaccia — was gone.

He blinked. Looked again. Shuffled a yogurt to the side. Moved a very old Tupperware that may or may not have been growing civilization inside it. Nothing.

“Someone,” Bob whispered, “has stolen my sandwich.”

Tina, already halfway through her microwave meal, looked up with zero sympathy. “You sure you didn’t eat it and forget?”

Bob turned to her with the wide, haunted eyes of a man who had never forgotten a meal in his life. “This is a crime. A heist. A betrayal of office ethics.”

Tina rolled her eyes. “Maybe it grew legs and left. You do use weird ingredients.”

But Bob was already pacing. “No. This was an inside job. Someone knew. Someone planned this.”

At that moment, Chad from Accounting walked in, chewing suspiciously. Crumbs clung to his shirt. Crumbs that looked suspiciously like focaccia.

Bob lunged. “WHERE IS MY SANDWICH, CHAD?”

Chaos erupted.

Chad sputtered and backed up, yelling that it was just a granola bar. Tina jumped in to separate them, holding her plastic spoon like a weapon. The break room was full of shouting, suspicious stains, and a very loud microwave beeping for no reason.

Then came the power outage.

Yes — at the exact moment Bob pointed dramatically at the fridge and yelled, “This office has a SANDWICH THIEF!” — the lights flickered and went out. The microwave sparked. A fuse blew. The coffee machine exploded. The entire office descended into confusion.

“Oh great,” Tina muttered. “You screamed so hard, you broke the building.”

Bob, standing amidst the chaos like a soggy Sherlock Holmes, looked down at the floor and noticed something — a single piece of arugula. A clue.

The investigation began.

For the next hour, Bob and Tina became an unlikely detective duo. She claimed she was only helping because she was bored, and the Wi-Fi was down. He insisted he didn’t need her, but also didn’t know how to check camera footage, interrogate coworkers, or spell “interrogate.”

Together, they questioned everyone.

• Janet in HR had an alibi: a dentist appointment and minty-fresh breath.

• Karl from IT had five burritos in his desk drawer and no need for anyone else’s food.

• Marge had eaten a cold can of beans. Willingly. She was ruled out immediately.

Then, they found Gary — a quiet intern with a guilty expression and focaccia crumbs all over his keyboard.

Gary confessed. Sort of.

“I thought it was… just in there,” he said, shrugging. “Like, communal. It wasn’t labeled.”

Bob clutched his chest. “It was wrapped in artisanal wax paper. With a sprig of rosemary!”

Tina sighed. “You know, you could just write your name on it like a normal person.”

Before Bob could compose a eulogy for his fallen sandwich, the building manager stormed in. The power outage had messed with the entire system. Alarms were triggered, temperature controls went haywire, and someone had apparently gotten locked in the janitor’s closet due to a door malfunction.

They needed help restoring order.

And somehow… Bob and Tina — still dressed like sandwich detectives (Bob had made a badge out of a Post-it note) — stepped up. They coordinated communication, helped calm people down, and even used Tina’s laptop hotspot to restore access to the system.

When the chaos finally settled and the power came back, Bob was given a voucher for a free lunch and a public apology over the intercom.

But more importantly, he and Tina shared a laugh.

Over sandwiches.

Tina’s had four ingredients that day.

She didn’t say it out loud, but it was kind of delicious.