Stop, thief!
All you have to do is ask.
Rather, tell the thief: “Stop. I’m not yours.”
Cute. This method hadn’t occurred to me as a theft deterrent. I wouldn’t count on it working.
I saw this admonishment while boarding a plane in Oslo. The man was Norwegian. Maybe this sort of theft deterrent works in Norway. Maybe only against Norwegian thieves. Maybe only against polite Norwegian thieves.
Bob and I were enjoying a delicious dinner in a small Turkish resort town. It was a balmy, late-summer evening and the restaurant was in a narrow alley; our table was outside, on the edge of light pedestrian traffic.
We had a beer and some raki along with this gorgeous mezze plate and warm bread fresh from the oven. I was hoping to save room for the oddly chewy Turkish ice cream, but that didn’t happen. We lingered, letting the meal stretch and be the night’s main event.
I noticed a large bottle fastened to the wall across the alley. It appeared to be a plastic water bottle. Why was it perched there so prominently? To hold flowers? rolled-up messages? a broom? It seemed to be partially full of something…
Eventually, I had to get up and go look. Bottle caps! It was about a quarter filled with blue plastic bottle caps. Why? I asked our waiter, who explained that when the bottle is full of caps, it could be traded in for a wheelchair. Huh.
But, really? This seemed more like a hoax to me. Whatever…
As we considered the bottle on the wall across the alley, our focus shifted to the door at which it was mounted. It was an elegant entry surrounded by rich woodwork—at odds with the glass-fronted commercial establishments up and down the lane. It was warmly lit, while the surrounding shops flickered cool florescence. Could the doors lead to an upstairs guest house or hostel? We looked at the upper windows but could ascertain nothing. The glass doors were blacked out from the inside, reflecting alley activity, emanating mystery and privacy. This lent it a bit of foreboding, but that feeling was tempered and conflicted by the welcoming light. Come hither… stand back! Could it be an apartment house? The iron gate folded to the side implied a need for security.
After a while, it occurred to us that there was regular traffic into and out of the door. We hadn’t noticed at first, but once we began to pay attention, we saw that a couple or group would enter, then leave ten or fifteen minutes later. The visitors looked like tourists, not locals.
Again, we asked our friendly waiter. They sell copies inside, he said, knockoffs. But you have to know someone to get in. It’s the shop at the end of the lane. If you ask the right questions, you’ll be taken behind the wooden doors for the good stuff. He looked left and right, leaned in and whispered. No—just kidding.
When we finished our dinner we strolled to the shop at the end of the lane and asked what we thought might be the right questions. A boy brought us to the wooden door and gave a secret knock—the code! (Slight exaggeration here.) The door opened to a bright and immaculate shop. Its walls were lined with shelves of colorful leather bags, satchels, purses, and duffels. Its spotless marble floor reflected more of the same. Racks held belts, and a small section displayed red-soled Christian Louboutin shoes. The goods were branded Prada, Hermes, Gucci, Chanel… all the big expensive names.
The quality seemed excellent. The prices were high—in the hundreds of dollars, but not the thousands. This lower-cost merchandise was likely made in the very same Italian factories as the legitimate designer items, from the same bolts of designer leather, cut and sewn by the same expert craftsmen. Read how counterfeit items are made in Italy and why they are for sale. Could these items have been made in Turkey, which has a thriving leather industry of its own? I doubt it. Could they be imitations from China? Not likely. I’ve been to the Beijing copy district, where shop after shop displays branded goods with impunity. Those items, while good, are churned out factory-like, without attention to precious detail as is the custom of Italian artisans. Or… perhaps in Beijing I didn’t know the right questions to ask.
I met the elderly British victim moments after her bag was stolen. She’d been sitting on the beach in Alicante, Spain, eating potato chips. Her bag was right beside her. She lowered her head for a moment, just long enough to stare at her watch—she can’t see a thing without her glasses, which were in her bag. In that moment, her bag was taken.
It was 2 p.m. on her last day in Spain.
As I walked the woman to her hotel spa where she hoped to find her husband, she tried in vain to keep the tears from flowing. She was in a panic about her glasses and getting through airports without them. I had to brief the husband, because by then the woman had lost her composure.
A policeman had written down the address where the woman could go to file a report. Do you think she’ll get in a cab and go? No, I don’t either. If anything, she’ll find a quickie glasses shop and get some distance lenses that will see her safely home. She won’t get the bifocals like those she lost, though.
The cop said he’d guess there are about five reports a day of beach bag theft. We know the elderly Brit who can’t see isn’t going to file a report. What about the twenty-something with her boyfriend? The two guys on the prowl? The cruise ship passenger who has to be back onboard at 4:00? How many will file police reports?
The beach-shack soda-seller thought he’d recognize five or six of the area’s regular bag thieves. Are there more? How many bags does each steal in a day?
The cop defined the technique as he understands it. The perp targets a bag and creeps close with his towel or blanket. He waits for the bag’s owner to move away. He covers the bag with his towel or blanket and makes off with the hidden treasure.
Not rocket surgery.
Not the only way, either. Look at our poor British victim. She didn’t leave. She didn’t nap. She just looked away.
Bags. Like wallets and smartphones, they have legs.
Purses and backpacks go missing at the worst times. Like, when they’re filled with cash, passports, cameras, medications, travel documents, and laptops. Like, when you’re far from home.
Last month, Ron and Sharon Dasil were renting a car in Barcelona. Very experienced savvy travelers, they took all the precautions. Sharon sat with their four suitcases and two backpacks while Ron stood at the counter in the tiny Hertz office near Sants train station. After resisting up-selling efforts by persistent employees, Ron finished the paperwork and asked for driving directions. To make notes, Sharon joined him at the counter for three minutes, max. When she returned to her chair, her backpack was gone.
The office was only about a 12-foot square; the two employees faced out toward the door. When Sharon exclaimed that her bag was gone, one of the employees took a few steps to the door and closed it, pointing to a sign that the Dasils had not seen: “guard your stuff, thieves are around,” or something to that effect.
Had someone been watching from outside, waiting for the office’s only customers to turn their backs? Was it pure flukey timing? In such a small space, why hadn’t the employees noticed the arrival of a new person? Wouldn’t they greet a potential customer? If thieves are around, why was the door propped open?
These are questions the couple is asking the police and the Hertz headquarters. They also wonder if there was some complicity or collusion between the Hertz agents and the thief. “One of them bent under the counter for a while. He could have been texting someone,” Sharon worried.
At about the same time, Paul Hines was checking into the Holiday Inn Kensington Forum Hotel on Cromwell Road in London. He and his wife piled their luggage next to some chairs in the lobby, with their backpack on top. Mrs. Hines sat with the bags while Mr. Hines checked in. Mrs. Hines was briefly distracted when she noticed a man in the lobby with his fly open. That was all it took. The backpack was gone.
Who was the man with the open fly? An intentional distraction? Or just a staff member or hapless guest? Holiday Inn staff claimed to have the theft on video, but wouldn’t reveal much else to the Hines’s. Neither were they very helpful after the incident. They marked the location of the police station on a map, but didn’t get a taxi for Mr. Hines, who had no cash for a cab. He walked there and back again in the rain.
Both the Dasils and the Hines’s lost a lot in their backpacks. Both couples spent considerable holiday time filing reports, canceling credit cards, replacing passports, etc. While the Dasils, frequent travelers, took care of the theft business then got back to their adventure, Mr. Hines still seemed angry and frustrated several days later, when I spoke with him.
Now you see it, now you don’t. We all know to guard our stuff, but it’s worth remembering how quickly these thefts happen, and how frequently. The opportunist thief is lurking, waiting for you to drop your guard. The strategist thief turns your head himself, with some devious distraction or other.
Lobby employees don’t know whose luggage is whose. They don’t know every guest or customer. They are not luggage guards—not even the doormen are.
How exactly are purses and backpacks stolen, right out in the open? The technique usually involves a sport coat or jacket. We know some thieves who use an empty garment bag. The thief simply drapes the cover over the object of his desire and walks off with the goodies hidden underneath—often barely breaking stride. Bob Arno has done this many times on television.
I’ve heard about a hundred too many stories like these. Now I’m calling on you, readers, to help put an end to lobby theft. Watch your stuff. Keep a hand on the heap, or some other body contact with your bags.
The scene: a hotel lobby, late morning.
Guests sit with their luggage, waiting for rides. Some are waiting to check in.
A man walks quickly through the lobby. He doesn’t notice when his wallet drops to the floor. A guest sees the wallet fall, runs over to pick it up, and chases after the man to return it.
Nice distraction, isn’t it?
On returning, the guest’s backpack is gone.