The biscuit thief
He was pint-sized and looked much younger than he really was. But that actually helped him because no one really took him for a thief.
Simon was a strange type of burglar. He would sneak into kitchens – be it of houses or of shops – and steal biscuits. Freshly-cooked-still-hot-deliciously-smelling-so-tasty cookies were his favourite.
He couldn’t help it. As soon as he sensed even the slightest smell of just-baked biscuits he had to go in. And he took a whole bunch of them with him. Simon had a sweet tooth. But he also had a compulsive urge to steal cookies. He didn’t eat them all at once. Some he even shared with other people – family, friends, even with people on the street.
In his neighbourhood, people began to search for the biscuit thief; then his activity spread throughout the city, and the news was even broadcast on TV.
But Simon was not obstructed. He continued unhindered, and un-caught. This was his thing. To find freshly made cookies and steal them to enjoy on his own time.
One day, however, he ran into the chef just at the time when he was sneaking out of a patisserie kitchen with a bag of biscuits in his hand. Both froze on the spot and stared at each other, the chef’s eyes rolling from Simon’s eyes to the bag in his hand.
“So you’re the infamous biscuit thief?” the chef finally said in a French accent.
Simon gulped. Could he go to jail for stealing biscuits?
The chef had a better proposition, though. He offered Simon the position of official biscuit-taster in the patisserie. Soon, the shop elevated to becoming the city’s best biscuit-maker and was renowned throughout the country.
Sometimes things do happen for a reason; and even if the initial reason is unclear, life has a strange way of working itself out.