Theft by Finding - David Sedaris

“Hugh!” I called. “There’s somebody here to see you.”
The ex-convict was attempting to sell a series of Magic Marker drawings he’d matted into little
cardboard frames. They were geometric designs, the kind people sketch when they’re trapped on the
phone with a relative or, possibly, a parole officer. When Hugh told the guy we weren’t interested, he
became hostile. “You’re all the same,” he spat. “You think that just because somebody’s been in jail
they’re not good enough to come inside and sit on your furniture.”
He called us a number of names I’ve only recently come to understand, and then he banged on our
neighbor’s door and insulted her as well. This is the third time this month that somebody has gotten
into the building and come knocking. It used to happen every so often in New York, but there I never
gave it much thought, as I’d been able to fluently lie and talk my way out of whatever someone was
selling. Last week I was visited by two Catholic nuns collecting money for what I can only hope were
new uniforms, and a few days later a small elderly woman came by wondering if I wanted to buy her
bath mat. “Look,” she said, “it’s dry and clean. Perfect for the feet!”
May 8, 1999
London, England
Over dinner I stupidly asked if Vanessa did anything that got on Steve’s nerves. I meant it as a joke,
but Steve answered seriously. He complained that she always leaves the caps off bottles, and just as I
thought that was that, he started in on a list of other things. Vanessa tried defending herself, and when
it got awkward, I suggested that Steve put a lid on it.
“Do what?”
I learned then that in England, one says, “Put a sock in it.” The phrase originated in the early part
of the century. Gramophones had no volume control, so to lower the music, you put a sock in the horn.
I also learned there’s a woman at the BBC named Jonquil Panting.
Why is it you so rarely see a woman with a hearing aid?
May 17, 1999
Berlin, Germany
I flew from Paris on Air France and was seated across the aisle from the fattest man I’ve ever seen
in my life. He was German, dressed in a T-shirt and shorts with an elastic waist. They brought him an
extender for his seat belt and when he sat, his stomach pressed against his folded-up tray table. The
guy was on the aisle, while his friend took the window. In order to fit, he had to raise both armrests.
Half of him invaded his friend’s space and the other half was repeatedly battered by the food and
beverage carts that struggled to get past him. When breakfast was served, his tray had to be placed on
his friend’s table. The fat fellow ate his food and then asked for two additional rolls. The only thing I
touched was my coffee, and though I could feel the guy’s eyes on my food and had no problem with
him taking it, I didn’t know how to offer without saying, in effect, “Hey, you’re fat. Why don’t you eat