It started small. Annoying, but small. The kind of thing you tell yourself not to overreact to. I had just begun my internship as a lab assistant, still trying to find my rhythm, still trying to prove I belonged there. Every morning, I packed something simple—usually a sandwich—because I wasn’t even there long enough to justify a full lunch. Just enough to get through the day.
And then… it started disappearing.
At first, I thought maybe I misplaced it. Maybe I forgot it at home. Maybe I was just distracted. But by the third day, it wasn’t just me. Other interns started noticing the same thing. Lunch boxes gone. Food missing. Empty containers tossed carelessly into the bin like it meant nothing. Like we meant nothing.
We told our supervisor.
She shrugged.
Just… shrugged.
Like it was normal. Like it wasn’t worth fixing. Like we should just accept that someone was going through our things and taking what wasn’t theirs.
That’s when irritation turned into something sharper.
I tried everything. Hiding my bag under others. Switching to paper bags. Even taking bites out of my own food—marking it, like that would stop someone from touching it. It didn’t. They still took it. Still ate it. Still threw the remains away like trash.
Day after day.
Until something inside me snapped. Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just… decisively.
If they wanted my food so badly… I was going to give them something unforgettable.
I woke up early that morning. Earlier than I ever had for this internship. And I made the perfect sandwich. Not just good—perfect. Toasted buns, grilled chicken, layered sauces, everything placed with care. It looked like something you’d crave at first glance. Something you wouldn’t even think twice about stealing.
And then… I prepared the surprise.
I carved out a space inside the sandwich. Precise. Hidden. Right where the first bite would land. Then I filled it—with bugs. Crickets. Mealworms. Waxworms. Dubia roaches. Clean, edible, technically safe… but absolutely horrifying if you weren’t expecting them. I sealed it back up like nothing had ever been touched.
And when I looked at it…
it was perfect.
Too perfect.
For a second, I almost laughed. Almost second-guessed myself. Is this too much? But then I remembered the bin. The wasted food. The disrespect. The way no one cared.
So I packed it. Calmly. Carefully. Like any other day.
And I waited.
That entire day, I couldn’t focus. Every minute felt longer than the last. Every second stretched with anticipation. I didn’t need to see it happen—I just needed to see the aftermath.
When the day ended, I walked back to my bag.
Opened it.
Empty.
Of course.
My heart actually raced as I walked to the bin. And there it was. My sandwich. Torn open. Half-eaten. And from one end…
the bugs were spilling out.
Not hidden anymore. Not subtle. Just exposed. Crawling. Visible. Undeniable.
I stood there for a second, staring at it.
And then it hit me.
They didn’t just take a bite.
They took multiple.
And suddenly, I pictured it—whoever it was, confidently stealing someone else’s food again, expecting the same easy reward…
…and instead getting a mouthful of something they would NEVER forget.
I didn’t hear a scream. I didn’t see their face.
But somehow…
that made it even better.
Because somewhere in that building, someone was replaying that moment over and over again. Wondering what they had just eaten. Wondering how long it had been there. Wondering if anyone knew.
And the best part?
They had no one to blame but themselves.
Because tomorrow…
maybe my food will still be there.
Untouched.
And if it’s not?
Well…
I still have plenty of worms left.
