It's the Principle

The cycle had begun and there was no stopping it now. Bruce was still leaning into the fridge and complaining when I came back from the photocopier. Apparently, there’d been three Sicilian pizza slices left over from yesterday’s lunch meeting, which Bruce had wrapped in paper towels and stored in the fridge. Apparently, everyone knew his intention was to eat them for lunch today as nobody really liked Sicilian, except him. Obviously, there was a very thoughtless person on staff — or an actual thief.

*

Sue and Rosa waited behind Bruce, trying to get to the fridge. Sue was blank-faced. Rosa seemed to have slipped into a coma.

“Sue, you remember, I said I’d take that pizza. Nobody objected.”

“I remember,” Sue deadpanned, “It’s probably been shoved to the back. Here, let me take a look.”

“Believe me, it’s not there, even though I clearly stated in front of the whole staff that I would save it for my lunch, today.”

Sue rolled her eyes. “Still, two sets of eyes are better than one, Bruce.”

She stretched around him, repositioned a few items, and grabbed her own lunch.

“Maybe the cleaner threw them out?” she offered, sidling away from him.

“The cleaner doesn’t touch the fridge,” Bruce insisted.

Rosa may have nodded off, neck bent to her chest, a hand over her eyes.

“Bruce, let Rosa get her lunch,” I said, pouring a coffee.

“What?” He stood up too quickly. Jars and bottles clunked and rattled in the side door. A plastic bag fell to the floor. An apple escaped from its folds, rolling under the table all the way to Sue’s feet. Rosa peeped out from spread fingers.

“Can someone grab my apple? Bruce, just pass me the plastic bag,” she sighed.

Sue passed the apple to Rosa.

Bruce fossicked in the fridge. “Which one?”

He stepped on her bag.

“Careful!” Rosa called.

“Why do people just shove plastic bags in here? Which one?”

He stepped on the bag again.

“Bruce!!” Rosa cried.

“What? What?” He scrunched his face at her.

“My plastic bag! Under your bloody foot!” Rosa held out her hands.

“Oh. Ok. No need to yell. You really need to use a lunch box, Rosa.”

Bruce handed her the bag. Rosa slammed her squashed lunch onto the table.

“We actually need a rule,” Bruce continued. “Only lunch boxes allowed in the fridge. There are so many plastic bags and containers it’s impossible to find anything.” Another bag fell as he shoved things around. “See what I mean? Ridiculous!”

*

I know I shouldn’t have said it. The unspoken rule is to minimize Bruce's ‘incidents’ for the basic well-being of the office. But it just seemed too obvious.

“Bruce, you said you wrapped the pizza in paper towels. That’s not exactly a lunch box.”

“Paul,” he glared at me over the fridge door, “Obviously, I meant it for when you’re bringing in lunch. I was hardly going to take them home, only to return them the next day in a lunch box.” He snorted. “I mean, if other people do actually like Sicilian, maybe we need to order extra. You have to stick to the preferences you allocated. It’s not very thoughtful — or even fair — to nominate Pepperoni or Supreme and then eat Sicilian. Especially if someone has clearly stated their intention to eat the leftovers.”

*

Bruce had hit full stride. Sue exhaled, scraped back her chair, and left the lunchroom with her plate.

“We all live in a society. That’s what I tell my young nephews all the time. Common-sense rules are what make this country run. You can’t just flout the rules and expect everything to run smoothly. I mean, if someone got a bit peckish and wanted one piece, I’d understand, but I’d clearly stated I wasn’t bringing in my lunch today. Someone’s been rather selfish, I’m afraid.”

Rosa picked up her squashed egg sandwich and left, muttering, “For Christ’s sake.”

*

It was just Bruce and me now.

I refilled my cup, leaned back into the kitchen bench, and suggested, “The ground floor cafe’s open until 2:00, you know.”

“I know that, but it’s the principle really, isn’t it? I don’t touch people’s things, and I expect the same respect in return.”

Well, technically, it wasn’t yours. Just free office pizza provided by management so we could work through lunch.

But this time I only thought it. Didn’t say it out loud. I felt rather responsible for stoking the flames and clearing the staffroom out, already. This particular pizza lament would likely continue into the afternoon — at the water cooler, the washbasin, and probably make its way to the next staff meeting agenda.

*

Bruce frowned at me.

“What did you have for lunch? Only having coffee?”

“Ahh, bit of a tummy upset today, I’m afraid.” I patted my stomach. “Anyway, I’m off to finish a report.”

It was true — I didn’t really like Sicilian pizza, and it had given me a bit of indigestion.

But it was the principle, really.

Kate Maxwell has been published and awarded in many Australian and International literary magazines such as Cordite, Meniscus, Books Ireland, Skylight 47, ROPES and The Galway Review. She’s published two anthologies: Never Good at Maths (2021) and Down the Rabbit Hole (2023). Her interests include film, wine, and sleeping.