Tunde’s Log: Thursday 2nd February – 10:27am
It has come to my attention that the worst thing anyone can do on this planet is state their own perfectly entitled opinion or steal milk that does not belong to them. Yesterday, our Residential Milk Thief struck again. Luckily, I was not the victim. The poor soul who had their semi-skimmed delight depleted was Brian (names are changed for legal reasons). After coming back from a day out, Brian returned home wanting to enjoy a fresh, warm, soothing cup of tea.
He would be denied this pleasure.
He proceeded to open his fridge door when to our collective shock he notices the four pint carton of milk in his possession – which was allegedly half full before his earlier departure – has reduced in volume significantly. The total amount of milk remaining is approximately 238ml. Pitiful. Quite rightly, Brian is livid. Myself and a third witness, my friend, who will go by the name of Frederick, offer our condolences to Brian. He remains indignant, threatening to and I quote, “chop off the hands of the person who stole the milk.” He proceeds by stating he his a man of his word and does not go back on things which he has said.
It remains unclear whether his remarks were meant in a jovial tone.
Suddenly, I catch my wit. I begin to realise that the first person Brian will suspect is myself. I did not wake up on the morning of Wednesday 1st February 2017, knowing that by the end of the day, I would be in danger of losing both my left and right hands. The damage from which, would be too great to repair. So I hastily make a decision to offer him some of my milk. My offer is accepted with great thanks. Surely then, I am no longer a suspect?
As cruel fate would have it, I was wrong.
The following morning, the very morning I am writing this in fact, after returning to my room from a wet shower, I overhear a conversation taking place between Brian and another resident in our shared accommodation – Wallace, who lives downstairs. Not to my surprise, Wallace states that his milk has also been stolen recently. This has been happening for a while as not too long before all of this, my milk was also reduced by an undisclosed amount, by an unauthorised individual. Brian continues to tell Wallace about his ordeal the night before. Wallace, with a hint of urgency, proceeds to ask Brian,
“Well, let’s ask him.”
He means me.
“Oh, he’s getting ready for uni.”
This is true. I was sitting on my bed with nothing but a pair of boxer trunks preserving my dignity.
The conversation centres on myself for a while longer. It is clear that I am still a prime suspect. Internally, I hope their suspicions are not the result of any mislaid racial stereotypes. I hurry my dressing up in order to clear my name then and there, but by the time I have finished putting on clothing, Wallace and Brian have already left the kitchen.
I begin to make my own deductions.
There are five people who live in our house. The Residential Milk Thief could not be Brian. He was a victim, witnessed by my own eyes and those of Frederick. I also, could not be the perpetrator. Having suffered from a loss of milk myself, it seems implausible to suggest that I would steal my own milk. Another incompatibility is Priscilla – the girl who lives upstairs. She was not in the house during the time of these events.
This leaves two suspects. Wallace and Nathaniel, who also has a room upstairs.
Wallace – claims to have had his milk stolen, but could this be a double bluff?
Nathaniel – never stated having any milk stolen, but on observations of his behaviour, have never seen any reason for him to consume milk…
I begin to think of the intentions of our Residential Milk Thief. Whoever they are clearly wants their victims to know that their milk has been stolen, given the large amounts of it displaced. Or, perhaps they simply did not care. Maybe they are stealing milk from us as part of some perverted, twisted game. Conversely, could it be that there is no actual Milk Thief? Is it possible this entire scenario is merely a figment of my imagination, in an attempt to draw away from the reality of life, as life itself becomes less and less familiar with every increasingly onerous challenge it presents to me? Has this life taken it’s toll and driven me such to the brink of insanity that I would live my day-to-day under the false pretence that there is a serial milk thief on the loose who must be brought to justice?
No. It simply cannot be.
Residential Milk Thief, be warned.
I am coming at you with fire.