Because DeWitte just told his…
Many years ago now, I worked on campus.
One day, coming back after lunch, an old guy passes me on the path riding a bicycle, weaving all over the path.
Finally he just falls over off the thing right in front of me.
So I'm all worried that grandpa has damaged himself, and run over to help.
I lifted the bike off him, asking if he's okay.
But then I see, wrapped around the handlebars of the bike, a cut bike chain.
And realize that the reason (or one of the reasons) the guy had had such a hard time riding the thing was that he was holding a bolt cutter in one hand.
Because I am utterly brilliant, I say:
"This isn't your bicycle."
And the guy runs off, leaving me holding it.
So now I'm standing there holding a hot bicycle, and late for work.
I walked it to the police office, and got back to my rather crabby supervisor about half an hour late.
To do her credit though, she got less crabby the next day when the bike's owner came by – a very sweet freshman, bearing candy
She was beside herself with happiness that her stolen bike had been recovered because her mom couldn't afford a new one.
She was crying.
I still have the candy box, for keeping pins in.