Desperate times call for desperate crimes. But now, another kind of ‘desperate’ have nowhere to turn. In a case that’s baffling even the most astute and eagle-eyed amongst us, the gentleman’s toilet seat in the office block I ‘frequent’ has been stolen. It’s used by at least three separate businesses in the block and also, no doubt, by several visitors, delivery men and couriers every day. While it’s always tempting to believe that a stranger is responsible for such an opportunist crime, I have too much bitter experience of internal theft in the workplace to automatically believe that one.
Unfortunately, the “security” staff who “patrol” the industrial estate are as much use as a pair of glass buttocks. Laurel & Hardy, I call them, but only because Stan and Ollie are no longer around to be insulted by the comparison. One of them is the self-appointed, self-important gaffer. He resembles your average, jobsworth, pain-in-the-arse council worker or, more accurately, considering his capabilities, car park attendant; short, baseball cap, moustache, bluetooth earpiece (why does a f**king car park attendant need one of these?) and regulation day-glo jacket. He also has a regulation limp in one leg – although, it’s probably meant to be a swagger. All he ever does is demand to know who parked their bike in the corridor on any given day. Such is his pedantic Health & Safety concern on this issue (alone) that a bike park was installed in the corner of the estate. Within a week, a bike was stolen, in broad daylight.
His colleague is, if anything, even more useless. A graduate of the Co. Dublin School of Village Idiots, he has been known to spend the better part of an afternoon staring at spent bulbs, possibly trying to guess at how many village idiots it might take to change one. His greatest skill, however, is taking his pet hoover for a slow wander through the corridors, gradually collecting pieces of dust just before they naturally biodegrade.
So, theft is probably rife around here. If Chewbacca out of Star Wars had wandered out of the estate wearing the stolen toilet seat as a necklace, neither of these goons would have lifted their heads from The Sun‘s racing tips or their join-the-dots book to challenge him. So, all I’m saying is, if anyone offers you a cheap toilet seat in a pub in the Dublin 3 area this weekend, just say no. There are a lot of people with unfinished business awaiting its swift return.
One thought on “‘Mystery’ Of The Basement Jacks”