Dear Man Who Ate Someone Else’s Chips,
In that moment you resembled your spirit animal: the seagull. Your beady eyes, present even in the gloom of the pub, zeroed in on the people leaving next to you. Once you ascertained that they were definitely not coming back, your focus flicked to their leftover food. They’d done a good job. Mostly. In the middle of the empty plates, bowls and other food receptacles, sat an half-full bowl of chips.
To be fair, it was good you waited for them to empty out through the door before you slyly grabbed the bowl and placed it behind your schooner glass. And how you tore into them. The last time I saw potato inhaled like that was when a family of a collective 400kg was going at a bunch of potato scallops.
You glanced up once, to see if anyone had noticed. You didn’t catch my eye, and I’m glad you didn’t. You might have felt self-conscious, and might have made to put the bowl back on their table. But despite the obvious hygiene and Western-sensibility issues, I’m glad you had a stab at the cold, forgotten chips. We waste too much food as a society. You’re the one-man garbage-can. The pub should hire you.
Not all heroes wear capes.