Colleague Offers 5 Dollars Monthly to Share My Fancy Lunch Box
Anya, your lunch smells amazing. Youll share half, right?
I smiled politely and shook my head. Sorry Brenda, this is all I have. If I give you half, Ill be starving by three.
I thought it was a crass joke and shed drop it. I was wrong. She pulled up a chair, sat across from me, dead serious.
How about this? she leaned forward, conspiratorial. Ill transfer you five dollars a month, and you give me half your lunch daily. Deal?
She didnt wait for a reply. Youre youngeating less helps keep your figure. Win-win.
Her bizarre logic left me speechless. I stared at my food, hoping shed take the hint. Instead, her chopsticks shot out like a snakes tongue, snagging the largest piece of sweet-and-sour pork from my container.
Cmon Anya, dont stay silent. Youre already cooking for oneadding a bit more wont cost much. Ill even give you cooking feedback. Five bucks buys a couple pounds of kale, and you get on my good side. Total bargain!
Before I could even form a response, the prize piece of my lunch had vanished into her mouth.
She chewed with a theatrical slowness, swallowed with a sigh of satisfaction, and even dabbed her lips with a napkin before speaking again. Delicious. A little salty, though. Try half a spoonful less soy sauce next time. So, its settled. Ill send you the five dollars at the end of the month.
With that, she pushed her empty bowl across my desk, expecting me to fill it.
A bitter laugh escaped me.
The fire in my gut flared, but my face remained a placid mask.
Brenda, I asked, my voice dangerously calm. Was the pork good?
She seemed taken aback that I dared to speak. For a second, she faltered, then plastered on that condescending, world-weary smile of hers. Oh, relax, sweetie. Its just one piece of meat. You didnt think Id actually eat it for free, did you?
Oh? So youre offering to pay? Excellent.
I nodded as if this was exactly what Id been waiting for.
Without another word, I picked up my phone, opened my messaging app, and sent a quick voice note to Mrs. Davis, my familys private chef. I made sure to put it on speaker.
Mrs. Davis, could you please send me the digital receipt for todays lunch? Yes, right now would be great. Thank you.
The air in our section of the office went still.
Brendas smile began to look a little strained.
Less than ten seconds later, my phone buzzed.
I opened the image and shoved the screen right in Brendas face, tapping my finger on the grand total at the top.
I watched, with immense satisfaction, as her expression shifted from smug amusement to confusion, and finally, to pure, unadulterated shock.
The color drained from her face, her lips starting to tremble.
See it clearly, Brenda? I pulled the phone back, my voice slow and deliberate. The ingredients alone for my lunch today cost fifty-two dollars and eighty cents.
I looked at her ashen face, my tone one of sincere concern.
You cant just eat one piece of meat a day, can you? You said you wanted half. Half would be twenty-six dollars and forty cents. Well say twenty-two workdays a month that comes out to a mere five hundred eighty dollars and eighty cents. A little more than the five dollars you offered. By about five hundred and seventy-five dollars.
A choked snort of laughter erupted from a junior colleague in the corner.
Brendas face turned a shade of crimson so deep it was almost purple. Her lips moved, but no sound came out.
I ignored her, serenely picking up my chopsticks and selecting a glistening, translucent shrimp, which I popped into my mouth.
Lets see you try to grift my lunch again.
Just then, my phone screen lit up with another message from Mrs. Davis.
Miss, for tomorrows lunch, would you prefer the A5 Wagyu with black truffle or the Lobster Thermidor?
My eyes still downcast, I typed back my reply.
Both. One of each.
The atmosphere in the office the next day was thick with something toxic.
Colleagues who usually nodded hello now either stared right through me or quickly averted their gaze.
It was painfully obvious. Brenda, smarting from her public humiliation, had no doubt spent the evening poisoning the well in every company group chat.
She herself was in early, head buried in her work the moment I walked in. The back of her head radiated pure venom.
I couldnt have cared less.
At three oclock, our departments sacred afternoon tea time, Brendas demeanor changed entirely. She sprang to her feet, beaming, phone in hand.
Bubble tea, everyone! My treat! she announced, her voice loud enough to carry across the entire floor. Think of it as my apology for yesterdays little misunderstanding.
She made a grand show of taking orders, going desk by desk, pointedly skipping mine as if I were invisible.
Someone finally whispered, Brenda, you havent asked Anya yet.
Oh! Brenda slapped her forehead with theatrical dismay. Silly me! Of course. But someone who eats such gourmet lunches wouldn't be interested in our cheap ten-dollar bubble tea, would she? I wouldnt dare ask, what if she makes me send her the receipt?
A wave of muffled, cruel laughter rippled through the office.
They were ganging up to isolate me.
I didnt even look up, the rhythmic click of my keyboard the only response I gave them.
During my lunch break, I set out the two containers Mrs. Davis had prepared: one with A5 Wagyu and shaved black truffle, the other with a golden-crusted Lobster Thermidor.
Just as I lifted the lids, my phone buzzed.
A notification popped up: Brenda Smith has invited you to the group chat The Loving Lunchtime Support Group.
I raised an eyebrow.
The moment I joined, a message from Brenda tagged me.
@AnyaLin, welcome, welcome! The departments lunch club is officially open! After a unanimous vote, weve all agreed that since you bring the best food, youll be in charge of our main course every day! The rest of us can just bring, you know, a fruit salad or something. What do you think?
The chat immediately flooded with messages of Great idea! and I support Brenda!
I stared at the message, a wry smile touching my lips. Apparently, yesterdays public shaming wasnt enough for her. She was serving her face up for another slap.
I simply tapped the corner of the screen and left the group chat.
Let someone else be the fool. It was a blatant attempt to leech off me.
A second later, I saw a new notification pop up on the phone of the colleague next to me, who I was on decent terms with.
It was a screenshot of the Anya Lin has left the group notification.
Beneath it, Brenda had posted a dramatic message: Sigh. Young people these days have absolutely no sense of team spirit. Oh well, lets just eat by ourselves and not bother Her Majesty.
I lifted a piece of Wagyu to my lips. It was tender, practically melting on my tongue.
As I was about to dive into the lobster, my neighbor slid her phone over to me, giving me a pointed look.
It was a link to the companys internal, anonymous message board.
I clicked on it.
A bright red, pinned post title stabbed me in the eyes.
EXPOSED: The Million-Dollar Lunch Queen in Our Department, a Selfish Hypocrite Hiding in Plain Sight.
The Million-Dollar Lunch Queen.
I had to admit, it was catchy.
The post was even more vicious than Id anticipated.
The author, affecting an objective tone dripping with envy, painted me as a spoiled rich girl whod parachuted into the company and looked down on everyone.
Her lunch every day costs more than what we spend on groceries in a week. When we asked her to help with a main dish for a group lunch, she just left the chat
Yesterday she humiliated a senior colleague in front of everyone with some fake receipt, showing no decency or respect
This kind of person is dangerously manipulative. Who knows what shes really doing at a small company like ours. Ladies, stay far away from her
There were already hundreds of replies.
I know who this is. Anya Lin. Always acts so high and mighty.
OMG, how terrifying. Shes the definition of a textbook narcissist.
Poor Brenda, getting bullied by a newbie like that.
I scrolled through the venomous comments, my face impassive, my heart a steady, cold drum.
Brendas revenge had come faster than Id expected.
At two p.m., the directors assistant tapped on my desk. Anya, Mr. Williams wants to see you in his office.
As I stood up, every eye in the office turned to me, hungry for drama.
A tiny, triumphant smirk was already playing on Brendas lips.
I walked into the directors office. Mr. Williams was rubbing his temples, his face a mask of exhaustion and annoyance.
He didnt offer me a seat.
Anya, he began, his tone sharp. Youve been with us for a little while now. How are you finding it?
I remained silent.
He slammed his thermos down on the desk with a heavy thud. I saw the post on the forum. He looked up, his eyes filled with accusation. Anya, you know the saying, where theres smoke, theres fire. Out of everyone in this department, why are they writing about you? Have you stopped to think about what you might be doing wrong?
His logic was so twisted I almost laughed.
It takes two to tango! If you had a better relationship with your colleagues, none of this would have happened! Now the entire department is a laughingstock in the company!
Go apologize to Brenda. Be the bigger person, he ordered, delivering his final verdict. Get her to take the post down, and well consider this matter closed. The company does not tolerate internal conflict.
I looked at his face, a perfect portrait of a man desperate to sweep a problem under the rug, and finally spoke.
Mr. Williams, are you telling me that if a thief breaks into my house, I should apologize to the thief for having a weak lock?
His face darkened instantly. He clearly hadn't expected me to talk back.
Anya! What is that supposed to mean? he roared, slamming his hand on the desk. Do you even want this job anymore?!
I smiled, a breezy, unbothered expression on my face.
Of course, I do.
My calm reaction seemed to throw him off. He just stared, his chest heaving.
But Mr. Williams, Id like to remind you of a few things.
First, the company handbook explicitly prohibits spreading rumors and slandering colleagues. Brendas actions are a direct violation of company policy. As her manager, not only are you failing to address it, youre asking me, the victim, to apologize. Wouldnt that be considered management negligence?
The color on his face began to shift.
Second, I continued, my voice steady but my gaze turning to ice, you mentioned where theres smoke, theres fire. Well, if a department constantly has issues with cliques, bullying, and drama that becomes company-wide gossip, doesnt that suggest that maybe the department itself is the fire? That the whole place is rotten?
You you He pointed a trembling finger at me, speechless with rage.
And third, I straightened my posture and smoothed down my blouse, my voice returning to a calm, professional tone. I will not be apologizing. And it doesnt matter if she deletes the post or not, because Ive already contacted my lawyer. As for whether this incident will harm the companys reputation well, that depends on whether the company chooses to protect a slanderer or a victim.
Ive said my piece. Ill let you get back to work, Director.
Without a second glance at his apoplectic face, I turned, opened the door, and walked out.
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