The Incident

It all went down on a Friday night when most of us were just counting down the hours to the weekend. The campus dining hall was unusually quiet, except for the hum of fluorescent lights and the occasional clatter of trays being returned to the conveyor belt. I was working a closing shift—a last-minute favor for Katy, who had begged me to cover for her so she could catch her boyfriend’s band playing on the other side of town.

I didn’t mind. The stillness was nice for a change, and besides, I had my philosophy notes spread out on the counter near the coffee station along with my iPad. Midterms loomed on the horizon, and cramming for "Existentialism and the Absurd" felt less soul-crushing when I wasn’t stuck in my dorm alone.

It was sometime after 10 PM when I first heard the noise—a soft shuffle, then the sound of sneakers squeaking against the tile floor. I glanced up, expecting to see one of the stragglers who always seemed to show up right before we locked the doors. But the dining hall was empty. 

Or so I thought.

Then I saw him—Chaz. He was crouched near the dessert cooler, the glass fogging slightly as he peered in. His back was to me, but there was no mistaking the messy mop of dark hair and the oversized varsity jacket he wore despite not being on any team—something I never understood because it was from my high school.

“What are you doing?” I called out.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he slid the cooler door open, reached in, and grabbed the last slice of triple-chocolate cake. It wasn’t just any cake—it was one of those desserts we weren’t supposed to serve. Everyone knew that. This cake was for supervisors only. Wait, I thought. Why is Chaz taking the last piece of cake?

“Chaz!” I said louder, setting my notes aside and walking toward him. “You know you can’t just take that.”

He froze, his hand halfway to his mouth with a plastic fork he must’ve snagged on his way in. For a split second, I thought he might actually listen to me. Maybe he’d shrug, give a sheepish grin, and put the cake back. But this was Chaz we were talking about, the self-proclaimed rebel who wore rule-breaking like a badge of honor.

“What are you talking about?” he said, straightening up as though he had nothing to hide. “I didn’t do anything.”

I stared at him, incredulous. “You’re literally holding the cake right now. Look at your hand.”

“No, I’m not.” He took a bite as if that would somehow prove his innocence. Standing there with his eyes wide open and cake and frosting all over his lips and even the tip of his nose.

I wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it, but irritation won out. “Chaz, you can’t just steal food. That’s against the rules. You know the rule, it's for Supervisors only. You can't just take it. My supervisor is in the back office. He's going to wonder where it went.”

“I’m not stealing,” he said between mouthfuls. “This cake was just... sitting here. It’s fair game.”

“No, it wasn’t. It’s for supervisors only. You know that.”

“Who says?” He cocked an eyebrow, daring me to argue. “Maybe someone left it here for me.” He grinned and brushed his lips as crumbs bounced across the white tile floor.

I threw up my hands. “Oh, come on. Nobody left it for you. You snuck in here and took it. That cake was for Supervisors only. Why would you think it was for you?”

He shrugged, completely unfazed. “So. You don’t have any proof I took it.”

I gestured around the empty dining hall, my voice rising. “Proof? You’re the only one here, Chaz! I literally saw you open the cooler.”

He smirked. “Well, maybe you’re imagining things.”

My jaw dropped. He had the audacity to gaslight me over a piece of cake. “Do you even hear yourself right now?”

“Relax, it’s just dessert,” he said, licking the fork clean, tossing it onto the nearest tray, and licking his fingers clean. “You’re acting like I robbed a bank or something.”

“That’s not the point, and you know it. Rules are rules.”

“Rules,” he scoffed. “Who cares about rules? You think anyone’s gonna miss one little slice of cake?”

“It’s not about the cake!” I snapped, my patience officially gone. “It’s about respect. For the staff, for the system—hell, even for yourself. But you don’t care about any of that, do you?”

Chaz folded his arms, his smirk fading into something colder. “You’re really worked up over this, huh? Maybe you should chill out. Go study some more of that existential crap or whatever you’re always babbling about.”

I felt my face flush. He’d overheard me explaining Kierkegaard to Katy once and hadn’t stopped mocking me since. “This isn’t about me. You’re the one who screwed up. You're the thief, buddy, not me.”

“And you’re the one making a big deal out of nothing,” he shot back. “What are you gonna do, report me? Call campus security? Oh, wait, why not tell your supervisor somebody snuck in and stole the last piece of cake.”

I hesitated, and he seized the moment. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. You’re not gonna do squat because you know they won’t care either.”

Part of me wanted to prove him wrong, to march straight to my supervisor and let them deal with his blatant disregard for the rules. But another part of me—the tired, overworked part—knew he might be right. Would anyone really take this seriously? Or would they brush it off as just another stupid prank by a guy who thrived on pushing boundaries and breaking rules?

Chaz must’ve noticed my indecision because his grin returned wider than ever. “See? No harm, no foul.”

I crossed my arms, trying to stand my ground. “You think you’re untouchable, don’t you?”

“Not untouchable,” he said, walking past me toward the exit. “Just smart enough to know when people are all talk.”

As the door swung shut behind him, I stood there, seething. My mind raced with all the things I could’ve said, should’ve said, but it was too late now. Chaz had gotten away with it, just like he always did.

As I turned back toward my notes spread across the counter, I noticed something on the counter where I’d been standing—a chocolate fingerprint and another on my iPad. I picked it up and smirked to myself. 

My imaginary friend Chaz hadn't been eating cake. It was me. And I wasn't about to get caught.