My neighbors are currently making fried chicken and the smell has permeated my entire house, so if I start to veer off subject, it's completely out of my control. I also feel like I've lost my sense of humor and desire to write because of this aroma.
Anne was at the bowling alley when she should have been on her way to softball practice. As soon as the guy at the counter was distracted and headed off elsewhere, she reached up, grabbed a Snickers and thought her shoplifting quest was a success. It wasn't. She got cold busted and the cops were called.
Considering my parents were already livid about her getting trashed at school, I think this is when they tried sending her - or maybe both of us, I don't remember - to a shrinky dink. It didn't do much good, because he recommended my parents back off, let us have messy rooms, give us our freedom, etc. My dad heard that for about 10 seconds and no more shrinky dink.
I, on the other hand, shoplifted but never got caught. I did it twice. The first time I was in the convenience store on base. I'm pretty sure it was in England, once again. I had a real hankerin' for candy. All day. Every day. Loved Big League Chew. Fire Jolly Ranchers. Suck on them long enough and they get bendy. You can actually make a rollup out of a Jolly Rancher stick if your mouth is hot enough and you have enough patience. Fireballs. I'd eat anything in the candy aisle. Chocolate. Hot Tamales. I didn't discriminate.
One day I was perusing the candy aisle, trying to narrow down my selections, when a dare was presented to me. People who know me know that whether truth or dare, I'm playing. I was dared to steal a piece of candy. And I did. I peeked around, located the check out guy, and slick as oil slipped either a chunk of gum or piece of chocolate into my pocket. I honestly don't remember what it was, but isn't shoplifting all about the thrill? Seeing if you can pull one over on someone without getting caught? I thought I was being inconspicuous, but I bet you any money that guy knew exactly what I was doing. Maybe I just had better luck than Anne in this particular arena.
Shoplifting experience #2. England. Yes, England again. I went downtown with a friend of mine to do a little shopping - wasn't planning on lifting until faced with yet another dare. She dared me to steal a pair of earrings.
"Consider it done," I said. I started eyeballing the merchandise for the shiniest pair.
I was scared shitless because stealing off the Air Force base was a hell of a lot different than on it. I'd be in trouble either way, but base cops are like rent-a-cops. Bobby's are like regular cops with anger management issues and a desire to beat down anyone who messes with the law. You guess which one you'd want to deal with if facing a shoplifting charge.
I had my target picked out - a cheapo pair of danglies that no one would miss except the inventory team. I grabbed them, canvassed the scene for eyeballs and cameras, then slipped them into my pocket. I was sweaty, my heart was racing, I felt like I was going to hurl. My friend thought it was the coolest thing ever, but I couldn't bring myself to agree.
After that day I never stole anything from a store again. I stole clothes from my dad, but that's about it.
Tune in tomorrow for the inhalation of lit cigarette butts and volanco'd bowls.
Yep, in England.
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