*cue wicked guitar cord… then another*
Bark! Bark! Bark!
*excellent jangly guitar riff*
Been caught stealing once
when I was five…
I enjoy stealing.
It’s as simple as that.
– Jane’s Addiction
I actually was caught stealing once, right around that age – I don’t remember how old I was exactly, but I definitely knew better. Actually, I think I reasoned with myself that the stepped-on box of Chiclets I spied on the floor of the supermarket, as my mother and I were checking out, couldn’t have been wanted by anyone anyway – it wasn’t even stacked handsomely in the little boxes that contain them like the other packages of gum and chocolates, so surely, no one would miss it. It’s amazing how we can trick ourselves into believing things, if we want something badly enough.
Of course, on the walk home, my mother noticed me trying to eat something she hadn’t given me herself, and after my quick story, she marched me back to the grocery store to return the item to the manager. It was as terrifying and humiliating as you would expect. As it ought to be. And though I have nary a recollection of the man I spoke to, I will never forget my parent’s united front on matters such as these, and I came to understand, in no uncertain terms, that I would indeed be instantly vapourized if I ever thought about leaving a store without paying for an item on my person ever again.
Needless to say, I believed them.
. . .
While shopping in a department store, maybe ten years ago now, I noticed a little old lady turn the corner at the end of one of the food aisles, and watched her breezily slip a can of tuna into the pocket of her rain coat. I was shocked, to say the very least. I followed her to the end of the aisle, and watched her from behind as she pocketed a second can.
My power of speech returned. (Barely.) I managed to squeak, “Excuse me?!” but she just shuffled further down the aisle ahead of me, like she hadn’t heard me. I stopped walking, and contemplated what to do, but then reasoned that she probably needed the food. I tried to buoy my heavy heart with thoughts of her little old lady-ness, shivering in the corner of her tiny, unheated apartment, with five or six cats at her feet, all cuddling up for warmth… and sighed. Why should I care? It wasn’t my problem, was it? I mean, isn’t this what store security and surveillance cameras are for?
I never forgot the incident. I wondered if this was something she did daily, or just once in a while… is it okay to lift a can or two of tuna? What else might she have stashed in those pockets?! It’s hard to know when to feel alright about something like that. I can tell you, even after all these years, it’s never sat completely right with me.
. . .
About a week ago, I was perusing one of my favourite places on earth (the one the rhymes with Sinners) and as I stood in one of the wide aisles, contemplating whether or not to go back to pet and drool over an excellent pair of Tahari sandals I’d recently fallen in love with (really, the heels were too high for daily life, and they were too spend-y – the cost-per-wear factor was too high to make them worth it this time…) a woman walked past me, and I watched her stuff an article of clothing up under her jacket.
*blink*
She adjusted the waist of her pants to compensate the added girth, smoothed the hem of her jacket down over top, and didn’t break her stride at all. It took about four seconds.
*blink-blink*
“Excuse me?!” I said, walking behind her, not even thinking about what I should do next. Am I, like, making a citizen’s arrest now? WHAT am I DOING?!
Since she didn’t turn around (I don’t think she heard me) I kept my eye on her as best as I could, while I walked in another direction to the store entrance, where the security guard stands. I’ve known that guys for a while now – we always smile at each other when I enter the store. Yes, it’s that often.
He smiled when I approached him, and asked how I was doing. “I’m fine, thanks… um… but I think there’s a shoplifter…?” I quickly recounted what I saw the woman do, and described her from memory as best as I could, since, though craning my head this way and that, I couldn’t spot her anywhere.
He pointed to another woman on the sales floor, and asked me to tell her what I’d just told him, and he remained posted at the door, talking into his walkie-talkie thing on his uniform. Holy crap, here we go…
As directed, I retold the identical story to the lady manager, and we both craned our heads all around, looking for the woman I described. I didn’t see her anywhere. The manager must have seen from my face that I was beginning to feel a bit ridiculous, and then she thanked me profusely for speaking up. “You wouldn’t believe the amount of theft that goes on in this store,” she said. She gave me a weary look, while we searched a little bit.
But our efforts were fruitless. I swear, the woman had vanished, like a fart in the wind. Gone! I couldn’t understand it… was she hiding at the base of a clothing rack? I mentioned this to the manager, and she said,”It’s possible… you wouldn’t believe what I’ve seen in here…” and we crouched, scanning the floor. Suddenly, I felt so dumb.
She thanked me again before we parted ways… she said it was good that I’d spoken up anyway. She said she’d keep an eye out for the woman I described. I went back to my shopping, feeling foolish. Oh well. I was a bit relieved, actually.
I paid for my things and got set to leave the store. I pondered the idea of being a moral person… if it counts some of the time, but not at other times… at the end of the day, does it really matter what I or anyone else does? Uch. Why do I even care?
That’s when I spied the curious fart in question, walking, across the store from me…
(To be continued.)
Ever been caught stealing?
I always remember a story my dad told me when I was young. He was a teenager, and was shopping in a department store when he saw an rather large older lady pick up a typewriter (yes–a TYPEWRITER!), pull up her skirt, place the typewriter between her legs and let her skirt fall to cover the about-to-be-stolen item. She then turned and waddled down the aisle and headed for the door. (I still laugh when I think of the image my dad painted of this lady waddling away.) He actually told somebody in the store, who got the manager. They stopped the woman, but she turned on them all and became quite aggressive. She accused my dad of harassing her and the store personnel of discrimination (based on what, I have no idea). She made such a loud and awkward fuss that they let her go!
I’m still proud of my poor ol’ dad, who had to have been gobsmacked that justice had not prevailed. Hey…he tried! And judging by the cajones of the lady in the story, he may well be LUCKY he survives to tell the story! 🙂
I knew it!
We WERE separate at birth.
I was around 6 or 7. Picture the dreadful grocery store trip boring summer evening.
I was straggling behind and I spied as my parents entered the shop THE CHANGING OF THE GUMBALL MACHINES.
I lost my mind. I lingered behind just long enough to snag a hand full of gumballs and shove some in my mouth and a few in my shorts pockets. This could only happen during a major burnout week with my poor mother minding us 4 busy kids and no A/C.
My dad had gumbleeping radar.
He HATED chewing gum. It cost him back-to-back shifts at work to pay for my dental. He caught me mid-chew.
Marched me by the ear directly to the manager, made me hand over all the gum, including the wad in my mouth. He paid for it all and I got a massive lacing by my mother at home.
I never, ever took anything that wasn’t mine since. Now if I accidentally get charged a regular price for an organic fruit, I take it back to the store to get re-priced. Yes, I am that scarred.
I tell that story to my daughters regularly so that they never need a lacing like I did.
So far, it has worked.
I can still feel that wooden spoon.
loves ya even more now.
id
I accidentally (no really!) stole a Martha Stewart Magazine at a grocery store in Lake George about 10 years ago. We were on vacation with a bunch of friends and had stopped by the grocery store for snacks and booze to take back to our cabin. While waiting at the cash for the rest of our party to finish up their shopping, I started reading the mag right there at the cash. Then everyone arrived, paid and got carded while I was still reading the mag and I walked right through and out the door with the magazine still in hand. I didn’t realise what I had done until I was back at the cabin with my nose still in the magazine. I turned around and asked Stephen if he had paid for it … what magazine? Ooops!
I kept it. And didn’t really feel that bad about it actually. And no one punished me. But still, I never did it again 🙂
I got caught stealing a single Black Cat gum from the corner store when I was a kid. I think I might have been 10 yrs old. The store owner called my mom who came and got me. She was less than pleased. It was definitely justified because my friend and I had been lifting candy from that store for a few weeks. I didn’t stop tho…the next time I stole something it was some baking chocolate. Stupid me, I picked up the unsweetened kind. That was the last thing I stole…unless you count pens and pencils from the office…or the toothbrush I accidentally stole from Shoppers. I had put it in my pocket because my arms were full and I kept dropping it. Totally forgot that I’d put it there til I got home and found it. Oops!
When I was a teenager, I worked in a boutique in a very upscale mall. On my first day of training, my manager explained about “loss prevention” and budgeting. They had a 30% loss rate (aka theft). Why? It was all the incredibly wealthy and incredibly bored housewives looking for a kick.
I’ve never understood it.
Grandma volunteered at a food bank most of her life. She’d been dirt poor and knew how hard it was to make ends meet & keep 2 little girls clothed and fed. It never once occurred to her to simply take something, and the food bank was a way of making sure no one else had to.
That being said, I *may* have borrowed 50 cents from my older brother to buy a special edition Laff-a-lympics comic when I was 4. And yes, I’ll never forget the yelling I got for that.