It was the very first office/catered lunch that I had during my first couple of weeks on my first real job. I thought, why not, it beats brown bagging leftovers from last night’s dinner every day. We all ordered sandwiches from a local restaurant. I can’t remember exactly what kind I ordered–it may have even been a chicken salad sandwich–but mine was a rather plain affair, at least compared to the other, much more colourful choices of my co-workers.
As soon as the orders arrived at the office, they were placed on a table. The restaurant was actually a bit late with the delivery, so I grabbed mine without thinking and proceeded to uncharacteristically dig into it to silence my gastronomic growlings. I couldn’t help but think while I was eating that “This sandwich has so much extra stuff on it! What a deal! That restaurant will be getting one satisfied repeat customer again, soon!”
Ten minutes and one fully eaten sandwich later, one of my coworkers came up to me and cried, “You ate my sandwich!! You ate my sandwich!!” It was the oops moment which poured loads of abashment on my head, because it seemed like her tirades wouldn’t end, and they were in front of a few other coworkers, to boot. I wanted to shrink down into a crack on the floor, because I felt like a first class heel for my innocent mistake.
I might as well have been burned at the stake. The gates of Hades were clearly opened, because I could feel the flames of embarrassment flame hot and unrelentingly on my cheeks. My fervent apologies were for naught. I offered to pay the wronged victim the difference between our two sandwiches (which wasn’t a whole lot). But my unintended mark refused to be placated for principle’s sake alone. So my humble pie–the case of the mistaken sandwich–actually did involve food. Served with extra helpings of guilt and contrition.
Now there was that time when I poured out my friend’s mostly empty glass of Coke with mostly melted ice, only to discover that that was about $10 worth of Disaronno down the drain instead (can you tell that I don’t drink, and I wouldn’t make a good bartender, too?) But we won’t go there. One dose of humiliation per post is my quota for the year.
- Daily Prompt: Humble Pie (dailypost.wordpress.com)
- Daily Prompt: Humble Pie (angloswiss-chronicles.com)
- Daily Prompt: Humble Pie (poetrycrash.wordpress.com)