In Which the Bus is Full of Petty Criminals

Once again, I have put off my planned posts about the rest of my vacation to tell you about some irritating occurences that have taken place recently.
The first irritating occurence took place before vacation even began; the day before, to be exact. I was coming back from dowtown with a bag of groceries and other supplies, and I grabbed the bus on Egnatia to head back to my apartment in the dorm.
Well, the bus was its usual self that day, which is to say packed beyond all belief. I got on the back door, toting all my supplies. Now, you have to understand something about the Thessaloniki transit system; rarely does anyone actually make you pay. You do pay, at least I do, because I want to be a good citizen and because there's always the threat of a bus inspector coming by to check your ticket and fine you if you do not have one.
Well, on this particular day I was separated from the ticket machine by a solid mass of human flesh. With several kilos of kitty litter tucked between my knees and my shoulders tucked between so many people I could barely breathe, I decided well, to hell with it. I wasn't going to make it to the ticket machine without a struggle and it wasn't worth it, seeing as how the ticket inspector comes around about once per millenium.
It was just my luck that the ticket inspector came along ten minutes later and slapped me with a fifteen Euro fine for failing to purchase a ticket. So now I'm a criminal. I wonder if I should have explained the conundrum of the inaccessible ticket machine, but how the hell do you say "inaccessible ticket machine" in Greek?
As irritating as that incident was, I now have a story tht annoys me even more. Now determined to have my tickets ready beforehand, I purchased a book of ten yesterday before boarding the bus, which was once again packed like a sardine can. No, excuse me, packed tighter than one of those cans with the springy worms in them that pop out and hit people in the face when you open the top. I've said it before, but the New York subway has nothing on my Thessaloniki bus when it comes to crowded-ness.
I stuck my tickets in the back pocket of my purse, zipped up the back pocket of my purse, and boarded the bus. I then proceeded, in typical neurotic New York style, to clutch my purse tightly to me, and to look back and check it every few moments. I had the front flap, which covered the zippered compartment with my valuables inside, against my body. After a long and sweaty ride, I arrived back at school.
It was that evening, as I was standing at the downtown-bound bus stop with coworker Brad, that I discovered something. The back pocket of my purse had been unzipped, and my bus tickets were gone.
Now, I hate that people steal, but I can at least understand the thinking that would cause someone to take a wallet. I mean, one snatch from a handbag and you've got cash, fake ID, and a credit card with which you can repair to the nearest Circuit City and purchase thousands of dollars worth of electronics. I know this is possible, because this is exactly what some jerk did to me on the New York subway last October. Never carry an open tote bag, is my advice to you, especially if three and a half years in Iowa has made you a dangerously trusting human being.
(On a more positive note, I will say that the NYPD was amazingly persistant in looking for the perpetrator. They actually tried to track down the security video from Circuit City, and called me repeatedly in Iowa to ask for the details. )
Anyway, stealing a wallet is low and crummy, but it does at least reward the thief with money and valuables. Bus tickets on the other hand, reward the theif with nothing more than nine sweaty rides on the damn bus, which is hardly an extraordinary thing to be wished for. In all, the thief got away with four Euros and fifty cents worth of goods. Is it really worth becoming a criminal for that?
I don't know why I am complaining about the pathetic nature of this crime; I'm awfully glad he or she didn't get away with my wallet or iPod. But I hope the theif, wherever he or she is, spends his or her nine free rides packed in like a sardine, and I hope there's some really smelly person next to him or her, and I hope he or she gets banged by the opening doors a few times, and I hope he or she loses the tickets halfway through their trip, and the bus inspector comes along. just then. That would be karma.