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Shoplifting: Then and Now
The charge of the light-fingered brigade
As a child, several of my confederates drifted into casual shoplifting. While I was envious of these outlaws who devoured the spoils of their endeavours with relish, I only ever attempted to join their ranks on one occasion, and it was a disaster.
I Got Caught
The shop at the top of my street was situated in the front room of a house. I entered one morning, when I was aged about five, on an errand for my mother. The door pinged to announce my entry, and I stood on a ledge which was fixed to the front of the counter about six inches from the floor. From this vantage point I could survey the open boxes of goodies that lay behind a wall on the counter which was formed by a row of large sweet jars. On the left side of the room there was a door that led to the living quarters, and it was from that door the shopkeeper would emerge.
After a minute or two, the shopkeeper hadn’t appeared, and temptation began to get the better of me. There were two windows in the upper part of the door, and behind these hung a lace curtain. I studied the windows to see if there was any sign of movement, and, on deciding the coast was clear, I threw my arm over the sweet jar wall, hoping to grab a chew, a bubble gum, or perhaps some licorice, in the manner of an amusement arcade prize grab machine.
As soon as my hand…
