Ugh, seriously? Again?! Can’t this guy get it through his thick skull that no one wants to smell his stinky fish for hours on end?
I mean, come on! It’s like he thinks we all want to be transported to a seaside dock at low tide every time he heats up last night’s leftovers. I walk into the break room and spot the culprit, Jim, hovering over the microwave with a smug look on his face like he just discovered fire.
“Jim, what is wrong with you?” I demand, trying to keep my voice down but failing immediately. “Can’t you see that everyone hates your fishy smell?!”
He turns around, still grinning. “What’s the big deal? It’s just a little fish. You’re being dramatic.”
A little fish?! A little fish?!
Does he not understand the concept of shared space and basic human decency? I take a step closer, my voice rising whether I want it to or not. “You know what’s dramatic? The fact that I have to work on the same floor as your stinky ass! It’s like you’re trying to torture us with your seafood fumes!”
Jim chuckles. Actually chuckles. Like this is a lighthearted moment. “Oh, come on, Hal. Lighten up. It’s just lunch.”
Lighten up?! Is he kidding me?! This guy has no idea what it’s like to be trapped in a windowless office while his reheated ocean corpse slowly poisons the air circulation system. I swear, I can taste it. I shouldn’t be able to *taste* someone else’s lunch from across the room.
I step even closer now, fully committed. “You know what? Forget lunch. You’re about to forget everything except how much you hate me when I report your stinky ass to HR.”
That finally wipes the grin off his face a little—but not enough. Big mistake.
I pull out my phone like I’m about to launch a missile. “Actually, no. Forget reporting. I’m calling them right now. We’re putting an end to this. New rule: if it smells like it used to have gills, it doesn’t go in the microwave.”
The entire room goes silent. Forks stop mid-air. Someone quietly backs out like they just witnessed a crime about to happen.
Jim raises his hands. “Dude, relax. It’s not that serious.”
“NOT THAT SERIOUS?!” I’m fully in it now. There’s no exit. “You’ve turned this break room into a war zone. I walked in here and thought something *died*. Turns out, something did—you just decided to reheat it!”
That’s when our team lead walks in, takes one step into the room, and immediately pauses. You can see it hit her. That smell doesn’t sneak up on you—it punches you in the face.
She pinches her nose. “Okay… what is going on in here?”
I point straight at Jim like I’m presenting evidence in court. “That. That is what’s going on. He microwaved fish again, and now the entire floor smells like a failed seafood restaurant.”
Jim tries to shrug it off. “It’s just lunch.”
She looks at him. Then back at me. Then back at him. You can see her deciding how much of this she wants to deal with today.
Finally she sighs and goes, “Hal… maybe you should just take a break outside.”
A break. Outside.
So let me get this straight—I’m the one getting exiled because *he weaponized a tilapia*?
I just stare at her for a second, then slowly lower my phone. “Unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable.”
I turn and walk out, muttering to myself, while everyone else just pretends none of this ever happened. And as the door closes behind me, I hear it—
The microwave beeping again.
That son of a bitch brought *seconds*.