Til Desk Do Us Part

Hey Brad,

I know you panicked when you saw this letter because you thought I was going to call you out for your questionably sticky fingers and hairy palms. But we’ll save that conversation for another day. A Bible will likely be involved.

All I have to say is, nice pen you have tucked behind your ear. Nice pen in your shirt pocket. Nice pen in your hand that you’re using to write menacing words to me right now. And nice collection of pens in your backpack that you’ll add to your bucket of office pens at home. You claim it’s because you’re forgetful but you’re the only one in this office who never has a pen handy because they’re all packed up and ready to go.

I know you’re thinking right now that your petty office theft is no big deal. But if you think about it, pens are the gateway product that you start lifting from work and soon it becomes a notebook, then a pad of post-its so you can leave passive-aggressive notes for your roommate, then a ream of paper so you can work on your origami skills. It’s just office supplies, no one’s going to get hurt, right?

That’s what you think. I remember when there was a torrential downpour and you snagged a coworker’s umbrella. Did you even think about what would happen when it came time for him to go outside? When you were without a winter coat and really wanted breakfast despite subzero temperatures, you grabbed a woman’s coat out of the closet and helped yourself to the crumpled dollar in the pocket. Next thing you know, you’re going to be moving onto stealing a laptop and claiming you left it in a cab. Oh wait.

I mean, some of the stuff you do is pretty commendable in bizarro world. Like when you filled up a mug with dish soap to take home, I knew that meant you were thinking about cleaning up your mess at home. That’s a good thing. When you walk out of the office with oddly built up “muscles” that could only mean toilet paper rolls hidden up your sleeve, that’s just pitiful. This is an office, Brad, not a free for all.

Thief,

Grace