“Thieves in balaclavas broke into Paris’ Louvre museum on Sunday morning, using a crane to smash an upstairs window, then stealing priceless objects from an area that houses the French crown jewels before escaping on motorbikes.”
— Reuters
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I am the best at what I do. I move with precision, each step a carefully choreographed ballet. I do not simply steal things like a common pickpocket; I perform. I create. I inspire.
But not before 9:30 a.m.
If I were to, say, steal the crown jewels from the Louvre, I would not get up at the crack of dawn to do it. Mais non! How could I be expected to perform my best work without a good night’s sleep? Heist days are long, and a sleepy thief is a grouchy thief. And what of my petit dejeuner? Am I to rappel from the roof of the museum’s jewel wing without having enjoyed my pain au chocolat? I may be a thief, but I am not an animal.
In France, we pride ourselves on enjoying life’s simple pleasures: food, drink, and the occasional grand larceny. To rush through these things would not just disrupt our leisurely schedule; it would be a sin. One must savor the moment, not run from robbery to robbery like a buffoon.
My typical heist morning routine goes like this: wake at leisure, cigarette, croissant and cafe au lait, read a chapter of Voltaire, stroll along the Seine, browse the Paris flea market, THEN robbery. Eliminating any one of those activities would sap the pleasure from my day, making me no better than those fools from Ocean’s Eleven.
And that’s not even taking union rules into account. According to the Confédération Française des Voleuses de Bijoux bylaws, jewel thieves are to begin work no earlier than 9 a.m. and finish no later than 1 p.m. We have a strict ten-hour work week, overtime for weekends, and paid leave for polishing and jewelry dismantling. Years ago, the government attempted to raise the retirement age to forty-five, prompting us to go on strike for weeks until they caved. It may sound strange for the government to negotiate with robbers, but trust me, they need us for the intrigue. Besides, who do you think provides the inspiration for all those Muppet movies?
I have read of other cat burglars who work in the dead of night, and all I can tell you is they are not French. Miss a night of passionate lovemaking to steal some jewels that will still be there the next morning at a reasonable hour? C’est impossible! As exquisite as the curve of a perfectly cut diamond is, it will never compare with the curve of your lover’s back. Besides, life is too short to get caught up in the rat race. At some point, you have to realize that blindly chasing down jewels takes you nowhere, except maybe prison if you’re an amateur. Your life has to be about more than just your work.
But, as with every industry, technology is threatening to take my job away as well. No one wants to pay for centuries-old diamonds anymore, what with 3D-printed versions available at a fraction of the cost. Quelle dommage! It makes my blood boil to think that people cannot see the difference between a piece of plastic and a sapphire tiara worn by Marie Antoinette. But this new generation wants only the quick and easy, not the exquisite. My work is becoming a lost art, along with all those pieces of lost art I stole.
C’est la vie. In the meantime, I will enjoy myself for as long as I can as the last of a dying breed of hardworking—but not too hardworking—thieves. A ragtag troupe of misfits, off on one last caper to knock the bumbling inspecteur off his guard as he shakes his fist at us while we zip away on our mopeds.
