ShopliftingWhen I was young and impressionable and on holiday in France, I followed some friends into a sweet shop and we each stole something. I was so mortified by this, I returned them.
My lack of French hampered this somewhat - they had no idea why the small English boy wanted to add some chews to the open box, and saw it as an attempt by a nasty foreigner oik to contaminate their stock. Not my best day.
What have you lifted?
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chthonic, Thu 10 Jan 2008, 11:13)
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FFDI was about to start with the line 'I was young, naive and foolish' and then I realised that even now, into my late twenties, I still get the occasional five finger discount on some items.
Recent acquisitions include a £16 jar of honey for someones nan, moonstones from a witch shop, a grout pen from a DIY superstore, a loaf of bread and a packet of Frazzles from a 24 hour garage, a bottle of wine from a restaurant, a snowglobe from a Christmas market and a Balti chicken wrap from Spar.
I'd just like to stress at this point that I'm not a penniless tramp, I think its more like very mild kleptomania.
In secondary school, a group of us often walked to the nearest main shopping area at the end of the day, passing by a small corner shop which was run by a Sikh with a glass eye. We came out with Kipling Country Slices, bottles of Coca-Cola, sweets, chocolate bars, etc and walked up to the train station for a picnic. The local Woolworths was my hotspot and I'd regularly half-inch liquer chocolates and various other confectionary to top up the box of goodies I had back at home. The highlight came one Christmas when I 'borrowed' a huge two foot long Toblerone thing, walking out with it in my coat sleeve, my arm at a curiously straight angle.
The tipping point was when me and a mate started choring cassette tapes from HMV. I went in on my own one day and after donning my innocent-as-a-choirboy face and loitering around the rock/pop section, I decided to make off with Green Day's Insomniac tape. In the pocket, up the stairs, out the quietest exit and FUCK the alarms go off, theres a magnetic tag inside the box. Heart plunges, legs go to jelly and I carry on walking, waiting for the hand on my shoulder. Convinced I was going to be nicked any second I think I walked about half a mile away from the shopping centre before actually stopping and looking behind me. No-one came and no-one has beaten that Power Walking record since. Me and my booty were safe...I stopped lifting stuff from that point on.
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prem1um is full of life, Sat 12 Jan 2008, 21:47,
2 replies)
You stopped listing stuffbut carried on into you late twenties?
Self delusion?
And can you get me a Mars bar please?
(, Sun 13 Jan 2008, 13:14, closed)
"Choring"That's gyppo-speak for stealing that is, you're not a diddy are you?
(, Mon 14 Jan 2008, 11:33, closed)
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