Milk snatcher

At between 09:30 and 10:00 yesterday morning someone stole my milk.  It was in the fridge on the bottom shelf, two pints and had ICT written on the lid in black marker.

It was daylight robbery.

I’d made myself a cup of tea, went into the kitchen, opened the fridge and noticed.  I reached for the bottle on the bottom shelf and it wasn’t there.  It didn’t make sense, where had it gone?

I looked in the other fridge.  I looked in my office.  I looked back in the fridge.  I looked in draws, in cupboards, in places that it could never have been but it wasn’t there.  I went to talk to my colleagues to find out if they knew anything but all to no avail.

I didn’t understand, why would anyone want to take my milk?  I would have let them have it if they’d asked.

I felt defiled, a victim of a smash and grab by an opportunist thief, a burglar, a robber a blackguard armed to the teeth, a low and contemptible person, a footpad, a milk snatcher.

My reaction was intense.  I needed to do something.  I contemplated an email to all staff, a post-it note on the fridge door venting my spleen or a web cam discreetly hidden in the corner of the kitchen.  I thought they would help.   I told everyone of my loss, of my disgust.  My mind was filled with all of the vile things I was going to do in retribution once the culprit was apprehended. I was sure that they would be caught.  I was sure that they would sense the full force of the law bearing down upon them.  I knew that their guilt would eat away at them as a ship worm bores into the oak.

I felt violated.  I felt betrayed.

Today I bought myself two pints of milk.  It’s still in the fridge.