Help Yourself

Help Yourself

What’s this?

Help Yourself, it appears to say.

A second, more deliberate glance to ensure I’m not confused.

I am not.

Help Yourself

In cursive, no less. Delightful, bubbly letters joined together to make a sweet, almost smiling, offer.

Help Yourself

Oh really?

Help Yourself

Help. My. Self.

Hmmm.

It is indeed an enticing offer. One I’ve seen before, however.

Alluring? Certainly. Sincere? Ah, therein lies the real question.

Just who posted this sign, and how polite and free of judgment were their intentions?

A seemingly simple, straightforward statement. But Help Yourself can mean many things.

1) You work hard and your efforts are integral to our success. We want to show our appreciation, so Help Yourself to these delectable desserts. 2) We couldn’t finish these, so Help Yourself, you tubby, free-loading loser.

Help Yourself was the call of the sign sitting in front of the plate of brownies left in the break room in February. A genuine directive, depending on who was reading.

“Oh, I didn’t know you moved to accounting,” came Ted’s smug remark.

“Huh?” was the mumble through a mouthful of delicious fudgy walnut.

“Those were for the accounting department.”

The sign discriminated. The sign did me in.

And yet, it wasn’t the sign at all. The sign had no feelings, no agenda. The sign didn’t write itself. The sign was only a means to draw unsuspecting readers into Ted’s trap.

It was Ted with an agenda. Ted with a misleading courtesy. Ted… with a lie.

Now before me sits a half-full container of cupcakes, lightly sprinkled and not overly frosted. Topped, in fact, by what appears to be the perfect amount of frosting. Enough to give each cake a sweet, sugary zest, but not so much to pain the teeth and stomp on the taste buds.

Help Yourself

The writing doesn’t look familiar. Care free and kind. Written in pink by someone who certainly wanted the office to partake in the joy he or she experienced just moments earlier.

Not written by Ted, in his cold, black, hard-edged, chicken scratches.

But who?

Someone else from accounting?

Maybe someone in Marketing.

A kind soul from H.R.? They always have food.

And who would be watching? Who would be peering around their doors and into the hall, hoping to spot the first to be lured in by such a tantalizing tray?

Maybe they all would.

Most certainly they all would.

Perhaps none would make a comment as disdainful as Ted’s, but comment they would. If not to me, then to each other.

“Look. Look who’s taking advantage of the free food,” they’d say. “Oh, of course. Mike’s always on the lookout for cupcakes,” they’d say. “I hear his wife cheats on him,” they’d all laugh together.

“Screw you and your stupid cupcakes,” I tell myself as I turn towards my desk.

But something grabs hold. No turn is made. Not yet. I stare directly at the goodies. Straight down, too frightened to see who may be watching.

Come on, no one’s watching. No one cares. Just take one, damnit. You’ve stood here for so long, it will look weirder if you don’t take one.

Reaching… reaching… now grab! Pivot! Pink-frosted mini cake firmly in hand.

Racing down the hall, disapproving stares pierce my back; their judgments tug my limbs.

“Probably been waiting all day, hoping someone would put out snacks. Haven’t missed a free meal yet, huh buddy? Friday we’re having doughnuts! Bwah ha ha ha ha!”

Faster! Walk faster!! Oh, here comes Betty. Shove it in your pocket!

Wait. She turned into Carl’s office! Pull it back out.

Close the door. Turn off the lights. They won’t come in if I play back the recording of an old webinar on speaker, too afraid to interrupt a call. Eat under the desk. Stuff it down without chewing. Hurry up!

Uhhhh, ip’s suhhh guhhhhd!!!

(Knock, knock) “You dropped some papers out here,” says a familiar voice.

Fuck you, Ted. Fuck you.