I am a thief. I’m addicted to the adrenaline rush of a successful heist—or even a failed one.
But I’m not a reckless thief. I don’t steal anything that could get me into serious trouble. My specialty? Stealing lunch from conventions and hotels in downtown Seattle. Here’s the story of my first mission:
Thanks to a lucky classified ad, an inflated résumé, and a surprisingly positive first impression at an interview, I found myself working in downtown Seattle in the office of a foreign government. Lucky for me, English wasn’t their first language. If it had been, they might have noticed that I’d ended my résumé with the word “Summery” instead of “Summary” and tossed it in the trash.
Coming from punk rock roots and ending up in a conservative office was a surreal experience. Wearing a suit and tie daily felt like play-acting. While my suits weren’t the finest, they were always contemporary, well-pressed, and fit well enough to let me blend in seamlessly with the lawyers and executives in the building’s marble-lined lobby.
At first, I ate out every day, but it didn’t take long to realize I was spending almost $50 a week on lunches. To save money, I started bringing lunch from home. Today, though, I hadn’t packed anything, so I headed to the Washington State Convention and Trade Center (WSCTC) for a burrito.
As I walked through the WSCTC, a sea of badge-wearing conventioneers clutching boxed lunches caught my attention. The sight sparked an idea: Could I, with my professional appearance, slip into the convention and snag a free meal? The thought thrilled me. I imagined myself as an undercover agent on a covert mission: Operation: Free Lunch.
I started on the second floor, where I spotted a Green-Jacketed attendant standing guard outside a meeting room. He resembled Lionel Richie circa 1990 and was meticulously checking badges. Behind him, I glimpsed a buffet with shiny stainless steel serving dishes and tables set with white linen tablecloths. The VIP setup and Lionel’s vigilant presence made this target too risky, so I moved on.
On the fourth floor, the digital event board listed a Microsoft Sales meeting and a Labor Law seminar hosted by the Washington State Bar Association. Perfect. If anyone stopped me, I could claim I’d confused one event for the other.
At the entrance to the restricted area, a Green-Jacketed woman stood guard. She had dyed blonde curls and bright red glasses, looking like Sally Jessy Raphael. Luckily for me, she wasn’t as diligent as Lionel. I pulled out my phone and pretended to answer an imaginary call as I strode confidently through the glass doors. It worked, and I was in.
On the sixth floor, I joined a line of attendees outside a lunchroom. A staffer in a black uniform stood at the door collecting pastel yellow meal tickets. Without a ticket, I had no chance, so I stepped out of line and noticed a second, unguarded door nearby.
I followed another attendee through the unguarded door but was immediately intercepted by another Green-Jacketed staffer—a Florence Henderson lookalike.
“Do you have your meal ticket?” she asked, all smiles.
“Uh, yes, I do,” I lied, hoping to bluff my way through.
“Great! Just show it to the attendant at the other door,” she said cheerfully.
Shot down. I retreated to the lobby to regroup.
Determined not to leave empty-handed, I wandered into the ballroom where the attendees had come from, hoping to find a discarded meal ticket. No luck. The room was nearly empty except for some leftover pastries on a table. I grabbed a strawberry scone and took a bite. It was dry, but at least it was something.
Then, inspiration struck. The ticket collector had left her post, and the second door was now unattended. I dropped the scone back on the table and made my move.
Inside the lunchroom, I saw a table stacked with box lunches labeled “Roast Beef & Cheddar” and “Turkey & Swiss.” I grabbed a roast beef box, turned on my phone for another fake call, and casually walked out.
Heart racing, I made my way back to the public area of the convention center and found a quiet table to inspect my haul. Inside the box, I found:
- A Red Delicious apple,
- A container of rotini pasta salad,
- A chocolate chip cookie,
- A bag of Tim’s Cascade Crunch potato chips,
- And the sandwich: roast beef, lettuce, tomato, and… American cheese.
The sticker lied—it wasn’t cheddar. Just as white chocolate isn’t chocolate, and red licorice isn’t licorice, American cheese isn’t cheese. But I didn’t care. The sandwich wasn’t the prize—the thrill was.
This mission wasn’t about saving $12. It was about the rush of breaking the rules and getting away with it. As I bit into the sandwich, I realized one thing for certain: Sometimes, the chase is tastier than the catch.