Monday, April 2, 2007

The Everyday Detective Agency

Scene: A normal morning at the office, in fact this morning

Scene of the Crime: the Department kitchen

Crime: My personal carton of half-n-half, stolen, in cold-blood*

Estimated Time: Sometime between my 1st cup of coffee this morning and my 2nd cup

Speculated Modus Operandi: The Suspect taps a piping hot cup o’ Joe. Looks in the common fridge and spies the properly labeled half-n-half of one of their co-workers.

He/she nervously looks around for witnesses and decides to “skim a little off the top”. It’s a victimless crime, they reason, no one is getting hurt. But then—oops--they finish the whole carton and cover their tracks by tossing the evidence in the trash. Nobody ever has to know.

But I know--because I rooted around the garbage looking for it. Well Mr./Mrs./Ms. Suspect, it looks like you didn’t count on that – so check and mate.

Psychological Profile: The suspect (or suspects) is, like the victim, an avid coffee drinker. Also like the victim, a creamer snob who thinks they’re too good for the non-dairy creamer-like dust powder that the company provides. Unlike the victim, the suspect however is a raging psychopath who if capable of this may be capable of absolutely anything.

Main Suspect: White people. Consider these 3 related facts:

Who’s always poking around in my Excel files messing up the formulas? White people.

Who works the front-desk and never turns her radio off that soft rock channel? White people.

Who shot Abraham Lincoln? Again, white people

1+1+1 = 3. Case closed.

Through the powers of deduction and a quick glance at the Department roster, the half-n-half Suspect has been positively identified as being of the white persuasion. But, they’re not all like this; some of them are pretty decent people.

In fact, I use to have a good friend once who happened to be white and we’d talk about it like it was no big deal. Everyone knew he wasn’t the one who killed Lincoln, and he was really cool with everyone. Eventually he moved to New Hampshire to be with his own kind.

*Here’s hoping you get lactose intolerance…in hell.

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