At my graduate school orientation, a security officer cautioned us to beware of bag-swiping bicyclists. Especially on dual purpose paths that cater to both cyclists and pedestrians, he warned, thieves have been known to whoosh by on wheels, and snatch bags from the shoulders of the unsuspecting. His concluding words were ominous: "It's an easy way to lose a laptop." Strapped snugly into the padded pocket of a backpack, my laptop never has much to fear. But as I trod along the path through Cambridge Common on Friday evening, the officer's words rang in my ears. I was on my way to Julia and Eitan's for dinner. Swinging from my left shoulder, seemingly oblivious to the imminent danger all around, was a canvas tote bag. Bicyclists rolled swiftly by, too close for comfort. I imagined myself the victim of a swipe. Or, rather, I imagined the perpetrator: Bike chained up for the night, filthy fingers curling with evil, the thief upends the tote on his bedroom floor. He cannot believe his darty little eyes. Instead of an overstuffed wallet, an apple tart and two braided loaves of bread, sprinkled with seeds, spill out onto the floor. I imagine him furious, at first. He tears off a hunk of bread and stuffs it into his mouth. He chews. He swallows. He... smiles. He helps himself to a slice of apple tart. I like to think that he considers this steal a tasty one, after all. Accidental cookery crookery at its best.
Is it weird that I daydream about feeding baked goods to imaginary, bike-riding villains?