I am the victim of medium-sized crime that has ever been committed.

A few weeks ago I was a victim of crimes of the smallest kind. It was Easter Sunday and because I am a journalist and hadn't had a holidays for a decade, I was at work instead of being on vacation like the rest of the public who had the point of choosing the right jobs. I worked late and spent my dinner break in the supermarket to get all the parts I needed for lunch on Easter Sunday. The business would close and would not be reopened on Monday. This was my last chance to secure supplies for my family.

As the only unmarried, childless woman, I do not trust in bringing adult dishes to give access to a heat source. Instead, I can only bring the cheese and dips for starters, something that I cannot ruin. It is only one step over “ice” on the list “Bring compassion” and two about “plastic cups”. The offer of someone, whose cooking competence turns a few baby bay directly above the plastic.

Over the years I have seen it as less insult and more as an opportunity. Previously, the starters of my mother and an alliance of matriarchs as checked, which believed that the food would ruin their appetite in the previous 49 hours to meal. What is the point for me, the roast meal. Why do they suffocate Brussels sprouts, which smell of fitters both before and digested when they can do an entire wheel BRIE and a amusement of quince paste. “Don't fill Cracker!” As if that is not exactly what they are made for. Frying is just a vehicle for sauce. Simply quench a cup of it as a shot and enjoy the rest of us in peace with rosemary-coated bread bars and marinated goat cheese. The way Jesus would have wanted us.

I take my job very seriously, even if others don't. I drove across the shelves and chose the human men. The big weapons. The brand names guys. Crumbly Cheddars. Foreign sounding cheese with accents. A cheeky little Manchego. Then Camembert's own bikes because this is not the Celtic tiger. Some hummus and Tzatziki followed together with some French onion dip because I knew that my mother was suspicious of food that she could not spell. The long queues ate into my break, so I ran back into the office and fired the goods in the fridge.

Earlier e -mails warned me of the moral dangers to push food into the fridge with food and take more space than necessary. Therefore, I only took the objects that the cooling needed – the cheese and the dips – and put them on an empty shelf. I hesitated a moment about the possibility that they would prove to be too tempting to accidentally be ejected by the cleaning staff. But the cleaning staff do not come on Saturday evening and I only had 2½ hours of my layer in a mostly empty office. I was just paranoid. You are right. I had to have more confidence in people.

[ I am the butt of my friends’ and family’s jokes because I can’t driveOpens in new window ]

I was proven to be wrong on the way out when I discovered an empty place where my cheese was – and new problems. I didn't want to jump to conclusions and convinced myself, maybe someone accidentally threw her out and thought they were outdated. Until I realized that only my own brands had been left behind and provided the chic.

I cursed the alleged thieves that seemed cheap to call me by leaving the unhappy cheese and the dips. I called for satisfaction. But realistically, there was nothing in the situation that would be a worthy answer. Go and tell the teacher (our boss?).

[ Her ‘no’ was clear. She did not want to go home with him. Still he went on. And onOpens in new window ]

Or leave a passive-aggressive note on the fridge? “Who may be concerned. I hope you enjoyed my cheese that you took without permission. The night before, all shops were closed, which meant that I could no longer buy. Only knew that you took food from the mouths of the children of my family (my niece and my nieces, who probably eaten in chocolate at 10 a.m.), so I hope that they needed it more than they needed XXX (Smiley Face). From Brianna. ”

I wouldn't get my cheese or respect from my colleagues. There was nothing to do than accept that I was the victim of the most bourgeois crime that was ever committed, lifted cheese robbery from an office refrigerator. So I did what Jesus would do in the spirit of Easter, and I kept the other cheeklike eye open for treacherous packaging in the office container.