TO CATCH A THIEF
SOMEBODY LOCK UP THE TOILET PAPER. IN A BUSY OFFICE, MANY HANDS REALLY DO MAKE LIGHT WORK
There’s a teaspoon thief in our midst. The cunning cutlery crook is alleged to have made off with hundreds of them from the lunchroom at our office.
Every time the drawer gets topped up, the mysterious offender strikes again.
Sick of stirring coffee with a dessert spoon and the growing cloud of suspicion, we convened crisis talks at the water cooler.
I suggested we take a leaf out of the ever-trusting bank’s books and chain the teaspoons pen-style to the bench.
After all, toilet paper theft has been substantially down since the cleaner started locking up the rolls.
My colleague confided he’d been in a similar situation at a former workplace, although it was the far more serious offence of lunch lifting.
The alleged offender was polishing of his workmate’s meals and leaving a thankyou note on the empty plate. He was so brazen, he was flaunting it.
One of his victims had had a gutful (of not having a gutful) and poured Epsom salts into a bottle of soft drink plastered with his name and assorted “hands off” warnings. Next day, the prime suspect called in sick and the lunch reign of terror was over. Just desserts? It depends where you draw the line between everybody-does-it and downright thievery.
Some factions maintain a steady supply of pens, paperclips and Post-it notes is implied in the fine print of standard salary packages, but for me office food thievery takes the cake … because now it’s getting personal.
One could argue the likes of salt, pepper, margarine and Milo become disputed territory the instant they’re left unattended – almost fair game, if you will.
But a roast chook with my name on it? Don’t even think about it.
“NEXT DAY, THE PRIME SUSPECT CALLED IN SICK AND THE LUNCH REIGN OF TERROR WAS OVER.”