I was in my office at my desk, idling away the hours ostensibly working when the buzzer farted.

“Delivery for Richard”

I found this strange for two reasons:

  1. There was no one in my office called Richard
  2. I’d never heard of Richard as a surname.  And who gets a delivery using their first name?

To try and relay my concerns through an intercom would have been more hassle than it was worth, so I buzzed in this courier of mystery and waited outside the office for him to climb the stairs.

I’m no detective, but something didn’t seem right about a shady looking character climbing the stairs with a scar on his face and no box in his hands.  As he approached I recognised him as a scumbag, a bam, a ned.  Not your common ned, but a well-dressed one.  A ‘shirt ned’, as we call them.  A ‘six kids starving cos Daddy needs another G-Star jacket’ type.  Not to judge, of course.

He tried to walk past me and into the office.  I stop him and tell him he can’t go in.  You know, cos it’s an office.  He seems to think this is the kitchen of the cafe downstairs.  I say “I’ve worked here for two years, I would’ve noticed if it was a kitchen”.  Mentally, I say that.  Verbally, I just say “no”.  I don’t bother to mention that the cafe downstairs is a restaurant.  Some things are just better left unsaid.  Taken aback, yet still happy, he heads back downstairs, still taken with his ruse as he happily mutters “Delivery for Richard” to himself.

What was the point of that?  Did he really think this would be a kitchen?  And if so, what was the purpose of him trying to blag his way in?  To rob it, to try to steal food, to surprise some friend of his who works there?  If he was on the rob, why not us?  Is there black market money is selling stolen fish but not computers?  And if the whole kitchen thing was a lie, why try to get into the building just to leave again?

As far as I’m aware no crime was committed in the area that day.  And I’ve no idea why, years later, that story came to mind.

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