A Tale Of Petty Revenge

"A Tale Of Petty Revenge" or, "Dr. Cimmerian microwaves a slice of unwrapped Kraft American Singles in the Site-19 break room for two minutes"

rating: +96+x

10:26 AM

A mousy looking woman opened the door to the waiting room. She adjusted her glasses with one hand and held her clipboard up with another, quickly reading the name of the next case.

"Mister Cimmerian? The Human Resources Case-Resolution Committee will see you now."

A somewhat pudgy man still bearing scars of a fire long-passed stood up, sneering.

"That's Doctor Cimmerian, thank you." His slightly high-pitched and unmistakenly Southern drawl corrected her with a tone of indignance.

"Yes, sorry Doctor Cimmerian." the woman rolled her eyes, marking off the name on her clipboard before holding the door open for him. She lead him down a tight, nearly featureless corridor down to the last door on the left, which she once more held open for him. Once Cimmerian had entered, she shut the door gently and grimaced.

"What a dick."

10:32 AM

Cimmerian stepped into the room as the door shut behind him. A single fluorescent light bulb hanging from the ceiling illuminated a simple chair and desk further ahead, upon which a bottle of water had recently been placed. A few meters away from the empty desk was a giant monitor, displaying a figure obscured in shadows. Despite the presence of factors which would intimidate a sane person, Cimmerian casually strolled up to the chair and took a seat.

"Hey guys. Long time no see! When was the last time I was here? During that whole 650,000 email fiasco? I like what you've done with the place. The water is a nice touch." As he spoke, Cimmerian worked on opening the bottle before him. Once the cap came loose, he casually tossed it behind him and swallowed the contents of the bottle in a long gulp, then gasped.

"Thank goodness, I was parched."

The figure in the monitor was silent for a moment. Though their face was not visible, they visibly brought their palm to their forehead at the sight of Cimmerian loudly crumbling the empty plastic bottle.

"Hello, Jeremiah Cimmerian." - the figure spoke in a distorted voice. "The Human Resources Committee has received several complaints regarding your behavior recently. After receiving an overwhelming number of repor-"

"Didn't you bring that up from like, ten to fifty or something?" Cimmerian interrupted, leaning back on his chair.

"Yes, Doctor Cimmerian. You were present for that ruling. Now, as I was saying, we received an overwhelming number of reports regarding your behavior regarding the Site's Break Room. Normally we would-"

"What the hell did I do?" he interrupted again.

"Cimmerian, just let me finish! Stop interrupting, damn it."

"Doctor Cimmerian!"

The room was silent for a moment before the mysterious figure let out a loud, long sigh.

"Anyway… We received multiple complaints about you using the break room's microwave to, uh, microwave fish. Is this correct?"

"Why yes. I microwave my tuna sandwiches for a whole minute right as lunch starts. I like being first so I don't get held up in line."

Though the voice distorter would mask it, the HR representative was disgusted and nearly gagged. After regaining their composure, the speaker cleared their throat and shook their head before continuing.

"I'm sure you're aware this creates a… less than pleasant odor, correct?"

"Like hell I am. That's why I don't microwave it in my personal office. One time my sister microwaved her tuna when we were growing up. The whole damn trailer stank to high hell for almost a year."

"Then why would you do this once daily in an area of mass concentration?"

"I just told you why. I don't want my damn office reeking of fish."

"Do you not realize that you are creating an unfavorable and negative environment in the workspace, fostering poor relationships with your coworkers? Do you not see how this offensive odor can cause problems for your peers with sensitive noses?"

"It ain't my fault that Kain's a dog. And besides, it's not like they have to sit in the break room and eat. There's plenty of places to go to. If I heat my lunch in my office, I gotta deal with that stink all day."

"It's the considerate thing to do."


"It's plain rude."

"But not against any rules."

The figure got up and moved out of frame, leaving Cimmerian alone for a brief moment. Their sounds of exasperation were barely understandable through the microphone's distortion, but Cimmerian didn't much care. He was more concentrated on checking his watch.

"Listen, I gotta go. I have a meeting in about fifteen minutes in Wing 34-B, and I shouldn't be late. I'm just gonna get up and go, okay? You can email me or something if you need me to show back up or whatever. Peace out."

With that, Cimmerian pushed his chair back and exited the room, leaving the shadowy figure on the display to grumble.

01:04 PM

Doctor Cimmerian stepped into the break room, his cold tuna sandwich in hand. The lunch break wouldn't start for another six minutes, but he was resilient in getting in his meal early. He approached the good old reliable microwave but spotted something amiss.

A sticky note was placed on the screen, reading 'Please review new microwave use rules.' His eyes darted up above to a large laminated sign. Everything seemed to be about the same, save for one new addition. There it was, directly under the latest reason Bright was exempt from using the appliance; 'All employees are asked to not microwave any form of fish or seafood. This rule will be thoroughly enforced.'

Cimmerian grumbled, looking at the neatly wrapped sandwich in his hand. What he had been doing was perfectly within the rules, why change things now? He should have the right to eat his sandwich as he pleased.

Discontent with the situation, he approached the fridge in search of a soda to liberate as his. Where he usually would find an abandoned drink he instead found an open pack of Kraft American Singles. He fished one out of the fridge and looked it over, then glanced to the microwave.

He had an idea.

Pulling up a chair to the counter on which the microwave rested, Cimmerian momentarily set down his sandwich and got to work unwrapping the yellow dairy square. Once the plastic had been undone, he opened the microwave and placed the slice as centered as he could on the revolving plate. Before taking a seat once more, he set the timer for two minutes and took a seat.

As the heavily processed dairy began to bubble and scorch, Cimmerian unwrapped his cold tuna sandwich and took a bite. There was nothing in the rules against this.

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