Satire: The Bike Seat Bamboozler strikes Newark
As I walk along The Green, people with bikes of all colors ride past me. Yellow, green, blue, purple, black, grey and white all surround me in a haze of rainbows. All these riders seem happy, content. Little did they know about the events occuring right beneath their noses.
It began in January, around 1 p.m., with a bike locked up outside Memorial Hall. The student came back out after a meeting only to notice something strange on the seat of his bike. Was it a bird? A lizard? A small, but lifelike figurine of Black Panther?
No. It was a half eaten chocolate chip cookie, with accompanying crumbs to boot. It was as if somebody couldn’t reach the trash can, which was about two bikes away, and decided to leave the cookie on a bike seat, simply out of laziness. Shocked, appalled and confused, the student held back tears as he brushed the cookie off and rushed back to his dorm.
It was about ten minutes later that I got the text. My involvement with the case could mean anything for me, for this university. We needed something big, something nationwide, in order to start getting the necessary recognition. It’s not easy being an undercover detective in the university atmosphere.
“Come quickly. Something terrible has happened.”
I ran over to Gilbert, sprang open the door and found him cowering by his bed. Tears streaming down his face, he explained the situation to me and looked up. His eyes were puffy, bloodshot. It was as if he had been crying for hours. I knew this was not going to be an easy case to solve.
“Why is this happening? Who would do such a thing?” he said.
Saying nothing, I tucked him into bed and gave him a glass of milk. I told him I would contact him in the morning if I found any new evidence, and prepared to leave for the night. I had been there for a couple hours, listening. Now it was getting darker, and who knew what could happen to another bike seat in the darkness, since the culprit was so bold in the sunlight.
As I walked along the side of Redding, I noticed a bike locked up to one of the lampposts. A strange place to park, when the bike rack was only a few feet away. I walked up to the suspicious character and felt my skin crawl as I approached.
It had happened again. The blue bike, wrapped with white tape on the handles, had been vandalized. Holding my breath, I looked at the seat. There, I saw it.
Baked ziti. If it had been the time in place, one could have said “baked seat-i,” but don’t be so crude. This is a serious case.
Capturing the evidence, I thought about the motives behind this terrible situation. I also wondered why somebody was walking around with baked ziti, enough to take a spoonful and plop it onto an unassuming bike seat.
When I reached my room, I knew what I had to do. I had to do the unthinkable — I had to learn how to ride a bike. This way, maybe I could find my own evidence. Today, I ride around on this yellow bike, searching for anybody with the gall to defile another person’s mode of transportation in such a way.
As I ride, I look for clues. Any piece of evidence that could point me to the Bike Seat Bamboozler. Have they struck any other campus? Have they placed their filth upon another person’s butt-rest? It’s been two months now with no sign of them. The case is starting to get cold, like the baked ziti still on that bike seat.
But I will never let this go. Wherever you are, Bamboozler, I will find you. You can be sure of that.