The Coffee Shop

There was no queue not speak of, so once she’d taken my order and passed it on to the barista I thought my coffee would be just moments away. But no, the service in this generic coffee shop was about as slow as a 7 year old getting ready for bed. I was in an irritable mood and the tardy service was not helping. I put my bag and coat down to reserve my place at my favourite table by the window and went back to wait, and wait, and wait while listening to Champagne Supernova on the tinny coffee shop speakers. How long did it take to make a latte?
Eventually the hapless barista poured the coffee into the now lukewarm milk and handed over the cup but when I turned round, coffee in my hand, disaster was unfolding in front of me. I hadn’t thought the day could get worse, but some bastard had his hands in my bag, and was going through my things; my iPad, and my passport, and my new headphones were all in there. 
‘Oi’ I shouted and took a step towards him, it felt like I was slowly walking down the hall, but he was leaving late to run away still rummaging in my bag. I was now just three steps away from him, still ridiculously carefully holding my coffee as I made my way towards him. 
Then, he was gone, making his way through the tables and disappearing into the crowds as I put my coffee down. It was too late to chase him, all I could do was check my bag and see what damage had been done. 
Amazingly the iPad was still there, and the passport and the headphones. My ‘oi’ must have scared him. He’d taken nothing although he’d had plenty of time had he wanted to. 
I sat down and tried to relax, it was a lucky escape and I'd learn the lesson well, I put two sugars in my coffee instead of one to help with the shock and tried to enjoy the coffee as best I could. I watched the world go by outside the window. 

A woman suffering from a cold was waiting for the bus. Her face was red and her eyes streaming, the dry skin around her nose suggested she’d been blowing for Britain, and she struggled to catch her sneezes in her saturated handkerchief. She was a walking contagion and even through the glass I felt her germs spreading and infecting me. I don’t know what made me think of it but suddenly I remembered the cheese; I’d just bought a nice extra-mature cheddar from the farmer’s market. I pulled my bag towards me and looked in it again, passport, check, iPad, check, headphones, check, cheese, no check. The bastard had stolen my cheese. Why on earth would somebody steal my cheese? 

Please feel free to leave your answers in the comments below, why would somebody steal my cheese?