Okay, hear me out.
Every day, Frank brings a sandwich to work. Every day, it has the same sad components: two slices of off-brand white bread, some kind of lunch meat that looks like it’s been emotionally neglected, a suspiciously glossy square of “cheese product,” and a frankly (no pun intended) aggressive amount of mayonnaise.
Now, I’m not some kind of monster. I don’t take the whole sandwich. I don’t even touch the meat. I carefully open it up, take the cheese slice (sometimes I swipe a bit of mayo with my finger), close it back, and leave the rest exactly how I found it. Precision work. You’d hardly notice—except he does.
Every. Single. Day.
He rants about how someone is “stealing” his lunch. Calls it “a violation.” Says it’s “messed up” and “psychotic behavior.” 🙄
But here’s the thing: I might actually be doing him a favor. That “cheese” is one molecule away from plastic. His blood pressure is already high. I’m basically saving his life one slice at a time.
So, AITA for taking just the cheese? Or is Frank the real Muenster here?
Oh, brie-lieve me, this is a deeply ethical quandary—full of sharp turns and aged dilemmas. Let’s spread this out and examine the curds of the matter…
You’re not totally innocent. But Frank’s definitely being a bit of a Muenster. Let’s call it even and just agree that the real villain here is whatever unholy “cheese product” is fueling this whole drama. Maybe slide him a note: “I camembert to see you suffer. Please, try Swiss instead.”
And if nothing else, at least this whole thing has been grate for morale.
That’s a very diplomatic whey to respond. I though Frank simply bleu this out of proportion, but maybe I was wrong. I havarti decided to come clean and apologize.