Karma's Revenge

I knew about Karma way before My Name is Earl came on TV.

I knew about it because I have an active and engaging relationship with Karma.

We see each other everyday - sometimes in a good way and sometimes in a bad way. Sometimes I think to myself, "This is totally not going to count." Normally, I am thinking that I'll get to skate home-free when I can't find the doody that I know the dog just did. I KNOW she did it and I can't find it and I wander around and I am POSITIVE it's okay for me to not pick it up this one time because, after all, I always pick it up. I sometimes pick up other dogs' doodys; I am certain that I will get of the Karmic hook and not end up with doody on my shoe.

Other times, I do something; I know that The Piper is going to exact payment in a very succinct way.

For example, the kitchenette at work.
How many times have I gone on a Crusade of Clean?
Innumerable times, that's how many. It's not possible to coulnt how many times I've acted on a pulse of rage that is directly correlated to how gross the kitchenette is.
When the button is pressed, I have no problem huffing around the corner with a coffee mug dangling from each finger and several bowls stacked in the palm of my left hand while my right hand kind of half-way holds the stack in place and I hunch over the whole affair to ensure safe passage to the big kitchen. I look, and sound, like an old-timey medicine wagon making its way down the hall with various things to entice the dishwasher to clean.
I try make this journey only very early in the morning so that, of course, nobody sees me. It's not pretty.

Other times, I get the irresistible urge to clean out the kitchenette refridgerator.
Mostly, this impulse is the result of my opening the fridge and being knocked back so hard by the noxious fumes of decaying lunches from three years ago, that I hit the wall behind me and leave an actual dent; it's defined as me by the high-heel imprints from the force of the blow being so powerful that my knees bend and I hit the wall hands and feet first.
It hurts a lot.

It's how I know it's time to clean out the fridge and merrily, I put on my haz-mat suit and get down to business.
Again, I only attack the grossness in the earliest of morning when there are no other Cubical Castle soldiers.
So maybe I get over-zealous sometimes and throw away things that are pretty clearly, maybe, fresh food.
The state of the kitchens have been addressed here before and they have been often addressed by Human Resources with notes, company-wide emails, and the occasional type of sweeping clear-out that I secretly do before anyone else gets to the office.

Things were in such a state of disrepair that HR instituted an actual policy, a cleaning schedule for the refrigerator in the big kitchen.

Someone in another department took it upon herself to do the same for the mini-fridge over here, in the kitchenette.
It's cool, she always lets us know when it's cleaning time and it's all good.
Nobody loses their lunch.

Last Friday?
We all got this email:
"Hi All! The mini-fridge is getting cleaned at 4 PM today! Please make sure you have removed anything you want to save!"
No problem.

Monday, I came in and put the home-made, delicious tuna salad I planned to eat for lunch for the next few days in the newly-cleaned fridge.

Monday at noon, I went to get my lunch.
You already know that Iím going to tell you it was gone.
Whatís going to surprise you is that the fact that I was not reduced to a seething pile of anger entrails when I found out that my lunch was in the trash, and although still sealed in Tupperware, it was under a bunch of coffee grounds and a Happy Anniversary! flower arrangement that didnít last through the weekend.
Of course I checked.
I was hungry and Tupperware is good stuff. It keeps out a lot of dirt. You never know what's going to salvageable if it's stored in Tupperware; you'd be surprised if you gave it a chance, I think.
Sadly, even in checking, I knew it was a lost cause.
It was sort of like after a wreck.
You donít want to look at your car but you do anyway.
You HAVE to know the damage.

Anyway, I wasnít angry; I was sure this was my Karma for all the times that I tossed someone's lunch because I thought it had fermented into some organic, radioactive waste.

And ummm..... lesson learned, yo.

From now on, I'm only throwing away things that have visible mold or that are marked: "Best if used by 01/06/87."

arizonasarah at 8:30 a.m.

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