We have a work fridge that is shared by around 30 people. It is so crammed that if you arrive late-ish, you have to play Lunch Tetris just to find a slot for your PB&J.
You can imagine what ends up crammed into and eventually abandoned within the deep recesses and nether areas of the fridge.
So I got fed up a few months ago and elected myself Fridge Marshall. I posted a sign - giving plenty of notice - that all items must be dated and initialed. I indicated that I would routinely go through the fridge and toss anything that was more than 3 days old or anything that lacked a label. And I provided a marker and sheets of labels.
(note: I had the manager’s full permission and gratitude to do this)
So, when D-Day came, I cleaned house. Out when that greenberry yogurt, into the bin went that Paul Newman’s Salad Dressing that was bottled while Paul was still aboveground, into the shitcan went that hunk of what looked like, well, shit.
Most cow-orkers were appreciative. Then, one day, I tossed some container of some sort of powder (didn’t pay much attention, just knew it was unmarked) and it’s owner came at me the next day with talons at the ready and murder in her eyes. Turns out it was a $30 can of protein powder. She admitted she hadn’t marked it. She admitted she had read the sign but didn’t take it seriously. She admitted that she wanted to twist my scrotum into a Clove Hitch knot.
I remained calm. “Talk to the boss”, said I.
There have been a few other near-murders. I tossed another person’s lunch, turns out she had no money to buy lunch. She blew off offers to help and embraced her martyrdom. She went hungry. And she doesn’t speak to me anymore.
So it seems I have everyone’s support, except those dinged by the rules. I am thanked regularly. The fridge has never looked so respectable. But there are 2 or 3 folks who hate my soul to this day.
I will probably retire my marshall-hood at some point - it’s a bit wearing - and the icebox will again go to hell. But until then, they’d better mark those macaroons, stamp that scampi, and delineate that deli.
Mean Mr. Marshall