Pot Lucky

By Katheryne McMullen

Having done a mental countdown of seven different ways this plan could veer sideways and end in disaster, I decided to minimize my risk by working alone. Pun notwithstanding, all of Customer Service was fed up with Parker, who had helped himself to no less than nine of our lunches over the past month and a half. We tried everything. Labeling our Tupperware. Permanently marking our brown bags. Confrontations. Accusations. Threats. Human Resources made us remove the combination lock from the fridge handle. Crafty and calculating, we could never catch him in the act. It had become a sick, twisted game for him. But the day Parker had the audacity to stand in denial, even with my tuna fish salad on his breath, I vowed revenge.

I scheduled retribution for the first Friday in December. No particular reason for the timing; it just felt right. That morning, I pretended not to notice Parker pretending not to notice me depositing a 6-inch chocolate fudge layer cake in the fridge. On the Tuesday prior, the pharmacist had pretended not to notice me purchasing nine boxes of chocolate Ex-Lax. On that Wednesday, the new assistant, unaware of the chocolatier’s policy against handing over empty boxes with their brand name, acquiesced because he liked my smile, and in keeping with the holiday spirit. Naïve. What I mistook all day for Parker’s repentant resistance to temptation was really him just biding his time. When he left at 5:00, my cake left with him. The prey had taken the bait. But an air of disappointment washed over me; witnessing his suffering would have been most satisfying.

The texts and emails began flying early that Saturday morning. An ambulance had rushed Parker to the emergency room, a neighbor having discovered him collapsed just inside his apartment door. As office manager, I maintained the emergency contacts list, and with the ER’s critical diagnosis and ominous directive “notify the next of kin” having been issued, they, of course, called me. As my heart suddenly began beating faster, I remembered this was number three(3) in that disaster countdown–the possibility of him experiencing a serious allergic reaction to the overdose of Ex-Lax. But malice had been my motivation–not murder. Severe diarrhea and a lesson learned to keep his hands off of other people’s food.

My hands began shaking slightly as I googled the word premeditation. The law came down harder if there was premeditation. Manslaughter. Depraved indifference. Murder. It was his fault. How could someone who ate so much have such a delicate constitution? But wait; I mustn’t panic and get ahead of myself. Without thinking, I had just fast-forwarded to countdown numbers two(2) and one(1)—an actual death and a lengthy prison sentence on the heels of a guilty verdict. Momentarily, I experienced a twinge of guilt for having left Parker’s welfare as an afterthought, despite my self-preservation instinct being in full force. In my favor was having worked alone. Escaping detection was much more likely for one who worked alone. I’d once overheard a law enforcement type divulge as much. Glad I had resisted bragging to those who shared my wrath. So, alone I lived through the nightmare that was the next three days.

Then came the call. Parker was awake and asking to see me. Why me? Fishing wasn’t my strong suit, but I tried. “Is there something you need? What can I bring you? We all feel so guilty for not coming to visit, but we called, and they said no visitors.” Still no handle on why he was requesting my presence—and only my presence. I even considered having a lawyer accompany me. Little time for niceties, almost immediately Parker handed me a newspaper page with a product recall announcement circled in red. I quickly skimmed, impatient with whatever significance this could possibly hold. Spotting the chocolatier’s name made me stop and start over from the beginning. The company had issued a warning and recalled their famous holiday favorite 6-inch chocolate fudge layer cake–UPC number 07142128354249 sold any time after November 21st. Botulinum toxin tainted eggs and butter mistakenly used in the recipe. Nine reported cases so far. One death. It was then I remembered the empty box I had procured, the place in which to disguise my special homemade chocolate fudge layer cake. My eyes slowly rose to meet a grinning Parker, who proceeded to treat me to a hypothetical scenario. “If a person happened to come into the possession of a food that wasn’t intended for his consumption and then suffered food poisoning as a result, he could still sue, but his purloined act could significantly mitigate the culpability of said company being sued. That is, of course, if the company ever found out. Because if they didn’t, a generous settlement could then be shared by two.” There was a long pause. Then it was my turn to speak. But first I stood up to fluff the pillow of my new partner and newest best friend.