The Lasagna Thief

To this day I’m still unsure whether I love lasagna because I read too much “Garfield” or if I liked Garfield because I strongly identified with the urge to shove my face in a family-sized pan of layered pasta and fettuccine, but as neither option says much about my emotional/physical well-being, I’m inclined to ignore both like I do all my other concerning personality traits. What’s important here is that I get across what lasagna means to me because I’m trying to set up a tragedy.

lasagna juliet italian kitchen, nicolesundays
In order of importance to me, the list goes Mom, lasagna, Cat, human connection, some other things, and then probably the accounting final I’m not studying for because I’m writing about lasagna.

Yesterday afternoon, sitting in one of the few places I think are as close as you can get to dying while alive—the business school study room during finals week—I decided to treat myself and order some good food via DoorDash. (DoorDash is an app through which you order meals from restaurants and “dashers” deliver the food to you.) I got the Lasagna Bolognese from True Food Kitchen, an incredible restaurant less than ten minutes south of campus.

I placed the order around 4:10 PM and announced to my friends that my lasagna was on its way. It’d be here in an hour, I told them. Shane the dasher had accepted the order and would be here at 5:21. They didn’t question why I thought it necessary information for everyone probably because I’ve conditioned everyone around me to tolerate my antics.

Half an hour later, I began to worry. The order tracking page was still indicating that Shane was heading to True Food, and the progress bar hadn’t budged. I reasoned with myself that the drive was only ten minutes and that the order might still arrive as scheduled.

5:30, I received a message that said the order would be delayed by ten minutes, which was a relief. I checked the order tracking page. And did a double-take.

The route had reloaded. It had been a simple ten-minute drive straight up to campus. Now it was showing a winding path that would go west from True Food, head miles north of my location, and loop backward, adding 60-70 more minutes to the wait.


I passed my phone around, laughing at the ridiculous glitch, before calling Shane. He didn’t pick up.

Friend, half an hour later: What happened to your lasagna?

Me: Standing me up, I think.

It wasn’t a glitch. The tracking page indicated that Shane was actually taking the absurdly long route. The ETA was now 105-115 minutes.

Friend 2: Do you have to pay him?

Me: I already did. Tip and everything.

Watching Shane’s icon move further and further away from my location, I called customer service. The rep tried to call him, but he’d gone rogue. I asked to cancel the order, and the rep immediately refunded the credits I’d used.

Friend 2: Do you think he did it on purpose?

Me: There’s no way he was stupid enough to mistake a ten-minute drive for a two-hour one.

Friend 3: Yeah, and Google Maps isn’t that stupid, either.

Friend 2: So he just picks up an order and gets the customer to cancel it and then the food and tip are his?

Me: What a system. He’s probably in his car eating the lasagna right now.

I didn’t have much heart for accounting after that. The sky had darkened outside, and of course it’d begun to rain. Cold and drenched and miserable thinking about the lasagna that could’ve been, I trekked back to my apartment and just ate an entire can of black beans in silence.

I still can’t make up my mind whether I should find the situation funny or not. On one hand, there’s always humor in small misfortunes—that’s the whole premise of this blog—and I was grudgingly impressed by the scamming. On the other, when in the future people ask “who hurt you?” to try to understand how I came to be bitter and untrusting, I’ll have an exact moment to point to.

Please consider following this blog via email and/or liking its Facebook page, where I post occasional life updates and quality excuses for the lack of said life updates. Oh, and find me on Instagram, too.

Last post: I Somehow Stranded Myself Again

16 thoughts on “The Lasagna Thief

      1. 🙂 no worries, I have days when replying to comments is waaay down on my priority list.. and no one can think of awesome comments every time 😉


    1. That’s what I was wondering after I posted! Like, what if he’d gotten caught in a flash flood and had to choose between delivering my lasagna and picking up his second grade daughter from ballet practice? And he works extra hours as a DoorDasher in place of quality time with his family in order to provide for them? I mean, I want my lasagna but I also want him to be present in her life, you know? Unfortunately, Shane hasn’t reached out for comment.


  1. Yes there is always humor in small misfortunes but missing lasagna is not (NOT!) a small misfortune. It is as great a misfortune as there can even be. Ever! So great it is that I am willing to attest that you are unable to take your accounting final as you are in grieving. Unless you already took it in which case you can bank said attestation for a future test or ill advised blind date you wish to avoid. Also, I am immediately Googling how to make a voodoo doll and will be fashioning one of Shane for his part in this tragedy. You wouldn’t know where I could get some personal belonging of his, would you?

    Liked by 2 people

    1. I’m glad we’re on the same page. I miraculously did make it through the accounting final, but I’ll keep that attestation on reserve. It also occurred to me that the only thing we know about Shane is his name, and that might not even be his REAL name. The mystery unfolds.

      Liked by 1 person

  2. Why on earth would there ever be a system in which you have to pay first?! That seems completely ridiculous. Even with the delay your lasagna would have been COLD, which is totally unacceptable. Surely this Garfield in DoodDash clothing will be fired? Unless it was a legit emergency and he was on his way with the lasagna when he heard his granny had been rushed to intensive care or something, and if he didn’t arrive in the next half an hour she would die without getting to say goodbye, and so your lasagna was the last thing on his mind as he rerouted his GPS and headed for a tragic bedside scene with the woman who had essentially raised him in place of his absentee mother who all too often disappeared on week-long binges and a father who took little notice of him because he was busy gambling on horses, glued to the TV……

    Liked by 2 people

    1. I’m so tickled by how indignant all this blog’s readers are on my behalf. Whether all of you also love lasagna, y’all are my people. Also, your hypothetical example MIGHT let him off the hook. I’d need to consider it for some time. The scenario I thought of (left under a different comment) involved him being an absentee father–like, I want my food but I also want him to be present in his daughter’s life, too. Decisions are hard.


Leave a Reply to PMcG Cancel reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s