First, he has to carry an oyster knife. Then he must palm an oyster or two (large hands are recommended), and find a dark corner of the store where the security cameras can’t see.

Speed matters, so opening the oyster can’t be the ordeal it tends to be around here, where we don’t have the right knife. But still. Does he hunch over in the canned fruits, pretending to read the labels as he opens an oyster? He can’t exactly hold a can since his purloined goods require both hands to access.

Eating an oyster is not the same as eating the odd cherry or grape. Imagine coming around the corner, surprising the thief as he is swallowing a mouthful while trying to inspect yams, for example. Will he down it too quickly, forcing some regurgitation later in the cereal aisle?

There’s the chance that he isn’t eating them on the premises, merely seizing an opportunity to save his wife some shelling back at home. In which case, there is some sort of concealed plastic bag on his person.

Which, if it gets heavy enough, is likely to slide right down to the floor. At this point, we sincerely hope the thief has become embarrassed enough to head for the exit.

But not before a helpful young clerk rushes after him, saying’Sir, Sir, you dropped uh, um, what looks like, uh, good God, he’s lost a major organ!’

Michael Buble’s version. He was influenced from an early age by his grandfather’s record collection.

Weakly, but there it is. Fleeting as well. I’ve lost count of how many days it has been.