How do cautionary tales begin again? Oh, yes. “Once upon a time.”
Once upon a time, there was a young woman named Jasmine. She didn’t live in a forest, by any stretch, but the city–any city–was bustling and big and gritty. Keep your bag close to your front, she was told, lest a thief with quick fingers pluck her treasures right from under her nose! Notice the people who bump into you, the suspiciously dirty children in raggedy clothes. Eyes up, eyes cool. And for god’s sake, keep your purse zipped up!
She kept her purse zipped up, but forgot about pockets.
The pockets. How could she forget about the pockets when all she was told to do was to keep a keen eye out for the pick-pockets?
Her smart phone was nipped neatly from her coat pocket not two weeks prior to her departure, after months of carrying it in her purse. The irony. The object in question was stolen between 7 and 9PM on a Friday, lifted after she locked her bike up at the South Gate and proceeded a five-minute walk away to a nearby pub and before she returned to her bike. It would have taken longer for her to realize had she not intended to take a picture of a menu item to later translate. She had been buying pork-and-pepper sandwiches for she and her roommate.
Later, Jasmine would be reported saying that she “would rather have had my wallet stolen, Thief.”
“She was seriously [angry],” confided a close friend. “Then she was mostly sad and paranoid. That’s a lot of pictures and videos and memos and memories lost. She was even in the middle of a really cool photo project. Jasmine would, like, bike around campus and take pictures of her daily life. […] Sucks, man.”
Two nights later, someone stole Jasmine’s bicycle basket. Sources confirm Jasmine questioning the nearby security guards if they had seen the culprit. They had not.
(Over a to-go cup of chilled strawberry juice, Jasmine sighs and laughs. She does not sound amused. “Two weeks left. I thought I was home-free, y’know? Hadn’t been stolen yet. I thought it really wouldn’t happen, not to me.”)