[ WP ] A meticulously packed lunch shows up in the employee fridge each day with your name on it .

It was literally one of the worst times in my life. 
 I ’ d broken up with my girlfriend, and I watched as I could no longer afford to live in a decent neighborhood. My job laid me off, and I got another, that paid less, and I ended up renting a house in a neighborhood that was run down and full of rusty cars with missing parts. 
 
 I ended up not having much money left over after bills, lawyer fees, and paying $ 400 every month to rent a room that reminded me roughly of a shoebox, so I ended up never eating. Or I ’ d splurge on $ 10 worth of groceries and pay only part of my phone bill. 
 
 I worked at a call center, one that was over in the industrial district with 40 other office buildings that all looked alike. 
 We were basically on a cubicle farm most of the day trying to convince people to pay their morgage. 
 
 So I was pouring myself a cup of free coffee in the breakroom during lunch one day, and peeked in the fridge to see if anyone had left any old pizza there with the “ free ” label that we kept around. 
 
 And I saw my name -- my full name -- on a box. 
 I slid it towards the front of the fridge and inspected the name again. 
 Yeah, it was my name. not something similar. My actual name. 
 I hefted it -- it was heavy -- clearly full of food. 
 
 I picked it up and brought it over to a table, and then opened it. 
 Inside was a full lunch -- plus two snacks. a crusty bread sandwich with real ham, a bowl of loaded baked potato soup, a string cheese stick, two little bags of pretzels mixed with nuts and dried fruit, and a bottle of lemonade. 
 It even had a spoon with it for the soup, and a napkin, and some condiments for the sandwich. I wolfed it down, hungrily, and shoved the bags of homemade trail mix into my pockets. 
 
 I walked home that night, not hungry for the first time in a long time. 
 I wondered who ’ d left it there for me. I ’ d thrown the box in the trash when I was done, I could have written a note and put it back into the fridge. 
 I should do that if the person does it again. 
 
 The next day it was there again -- this time my name was decorated with swirls and curlicues, elegantly spelled out, like a fancy invitation. 
 I opened the box and inside was a dish with pasta -- baked ziti, and a chicken scallopine, with some snacks for later in the day -- two small boxes that were mixed nuts, dried ham, and hearty hard cheeses with crackers. 
 I threw the boxes in my pocket and reheated the pasta dish, then threw it down my gullet. I noticed that I was actually feeling a little better. A little... odd, but better. 
 
 I went home that night and pondered the person who was leaving me these. Clearly they were for me, because I didn ’ t have a common name, but who could be putting them in there for me? Surely not one of the other call center workers, none of us made much and there weren ’ t that many women that could handle it. 
 
 Maybe it was a guy. Maybe it was another guy who was leaving me really nice lunches. 
 My skin crawled a little but food was food. As long as he didn ’ t try to approach me or ask for something in return I would be okay with being given a free lunch. 
 
 I mostly just leeched off the neighbor ’ s wifi at this point -- I couldn ’ t really afford my own, the signal was weak, but I did still have my old laptop from happier times that I took good care of and I used to provide some basic entertainment. 
 The house I rented in was rarely ever quiet, it belonged to a young couple who ’ d bought it from an elderly couple ’ s estate sale. They hadn ’ t bothered re-insulating anything or improving the plumbing, so the whole place was constantly in danger of falling apart. 
 This week it was the plumbing. It kept backing up so she was screaming at her husband about how he was so useless for not picking a better house. He was passive-aggressively suggesting that it was her fault, and trying to convince the shower/tub combo to drain in their master bathroom. I could practically feel her fatness jiggling the floor when she stamped her foot. 
 I could hear all of this through the walls. I mostly just rolled my eyes at it, they would threaten to break up, but they never would, not like my girlfriend and I. 
 Her main gripe had always been that I didn ’ t pay enough attention to her, and that she felt like I was never interested in spending time with her. The reality was that she was beautiful and I wanted to spend time with her, but it always had to be her way, or whatever she wanted to do. That wore on me so I ended up rarely talking to her at all. She ended up cheating on me ( I think ) with some guys from her work and then calling the cops on me when I didn ’ t come home one night. I was literally out alone trying to figure out what I wanted to do with myself, with my life. 
 
 She got the apartment, which I ’ ve been ordered to pay the rent of for the remainder of the lease, so that ’ s most of my paycheck, and then I have my lawyer trying to get that mitigated, since it ’ s not fair that she got the entire apartment and I had to move out. 
 
 Well I didn ’ t have to move out, I chose to, because I didn ’ t want to see her face anymore. But I didn ’ t want her to have the apartment either, that isn ’ t fair. She should have moved out as well. 
 I bet she has her coworkers over all the time now and fucks them on our old bed. 
 
 At any rate, my life now was the call center, and walking to work when I could or taking the bus, but driving my car only when I actually had gas money. 
 I listened to the fight on the other side of the wall peter out, and then the resigned clank of dishes as she started on the leftovers from their dinner. 
 I wondered if the lunch would be there the next day. 
 ____ 
 
 It was. This time, a roasted salmon with salad. Pine nuts on top, and two snacks again -- some toasted crackers with a little tube of hummus, and some mint tea to drink. 
 
 I didn ’ t eat as fast this time. I mulled over the cardboard box that they packed it all in -- lined with wax paper to keep it from getting soggy, classy but not expensive, very simplistic -- no identifiers on the box whatsoever. 
 I decided to write on the back of the name card and ask who was leaving it for me, and thanking them. I put the empty box back in the fridge that day. 
 
 ____ 
 
 The next day there was a note on the back of the name card! telling me that they ’ re glad I ’ d been enjoying it, and they wanted to meet me on the parking deck -- top floor, after my shift ended. 
 This meal was another spectacular one, lemon chicken with steamed rice, and a dessert -- a small round candy that I ate in a single bite -- it was filled with a melon-flavored jelly. The snacks were sesame sticks and dried pineapples with roast chickpeas. 
 I read and re-read the card, trying to figure out if it was a man ’ s or a woman ’ s handwriting. 
 I guess I ’ d find out after the shift. 
 
 I burst out into the cool air after my shift ended around 1am. The buses weren ’ t running, so I ’ d have to walk home. 
 I walked up the stairs to the top floor, and watched as most of the cars pulled away. 
 Except for one. 
 A plump woman was sitting on the retaining wall, wearing a long black dress, with her red hair pulled back into an unruly bun, and an grey anorak keeping her warm in the cool night air. 
 

