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This is a question Shoplifting

When 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?

(, Thu 10 Jan 2008, 11:13)
Pages: Latest, 16, 15, 14, 13, 12, 11, ... 1

This question is now closed.

Swedish Furniture Superstore, Staff Fail Significantly
Recently bought a house worth of furniture from a famous scandinavian flatpack uberstore (waxed about a grand), got the lot delivered (£30, not bad). When the items arrive, the delivery manifest reveals that they appear to have delivered one extra item.

"To be honest, I'm not checking this lot to find what it is" says the world's-strongest-man-alike doing the delivery. "Let us know if you find it". "I certainly shall, my good man" says I.

After building it all, I realise their mistake: they've delivered an extra sofa, which at first glance appears a large error, but is an easily not-cared about single integer on their delivery clipboard.

Haven't really told them their misjudgement, but if they're going to do my shoplifting for me by giving me the extra goods while I rest on my fundament, then meh. This happens quite regularly, by all accounts, but rarely on such a £300 given-away-free scale

First-time post, be gentle
(, Tue 15 Jan 2008, 10:34, Reply)
Worse than shoplifting
As mentioned previously I have quite a history of stealing from shops but only once was my teenage conscience pricked.

I used to break into anywhere I got the chance to; schools, shops, old buildings, cimemas (yes, cinemas) etc. so I had a good idea of how it was done. Skylight windows were a favourite point of entry as invariably they were not secured. To my shame I used this M.O. to gain nocturnal access to our wee local shop which was run by the nicest, friendliest, silverhaired old couple you'd meet in a day's walk.

I chored copious amounts of sweeties, crisps, Irn Bru etc. and needless to say my guilt didn't stop me from consuming said goodies. If I recall, this haul kept me going for about a week.

I did feel really bad about it though and never did it again despite the fact that I could have, no problem.
(, Tue 15 Jan 2008, 10:31, Reply)
Bowling Balls and Broken Legs
In high school, as a ne'er-do-well musician in a punk band, fond of everything fractious and foreboding.... i used to go bowling with my friends.

Purchasing big fuck-off slushies on the way to said bowling alley, we would then proceed to the nearest liqour store to purchase what would amount to some abomination you could strip the paint off your car with. Ethanol and a gallon of sugar water. Aces.

For the sake nipping a long and self gratuitous story in the bud, the expected happens - we bowl, a short time later we are arsed, and shortly after that i am compelled to do what is natural in a situation like the one hitherto attenuated - theft.

A particular beauty caught my eye. She was robust yet humble, demure yet demanding, and the had an eye near her bottom that reminded me of the Great Red Eye of Jupiter. T'was The Bowling Ball of My Dreams. Love.

Luckily for me I was wearing a shoddy greatcoat in which the linings of the pockets had been torn out - rendering the entire insides of my greatcoat one huge pocket, from front to back. I would lose things for months in this jacket.

In goes my lovely into the wormhole that is my jacket. It's quite heavy and is interfering effectively with my balance, so i grab another bowling ball, unfortunately rather plain,and plop it into my other pocket to regain my equilibrium. Result. I look like a centarian who at one time sported perky double-deez.

Result! Into the parking lot we gather around for the prizes. I dig around the tickle-trunk and produce the unremarkable ball from my left pocket like a nineteenth century illusionist. Red Eye was proving to be a bit more reluctant in coming out of her shell as the tear in my right hand pocket leading to limbo was somewhat less torn than my left - it was stuck coming out like a golf ball through a garden hose.

Like an utter spastic i grab the corner of my jacket and start swinging it round like a bolab, praying for centrifugal force to do its job well.No results. I change tactics and jerk it from side to side like the Grim Reaper at WWI. All seemed to be going well until i slipped in mid swing and legged myself in the shin with the equivilant of an artillery shell.

Did i learn? Not really. Did it hurt? Most definitely.

Length? One Legged and self gratuitous.
(, Tue 15 Jan 2008, 7:17, Reply)
I Stole A Tree Part Deux
As requested. You'll have to forgive me if it's not as funny as normal but I'm a bit down as I've just ended a long-term relationship today.

Save the sympathy - it wasn't mine bum-tish!

When I lived in Manchester I'd scored with a lovely bit of posh totty. A Sloane Ranger who decided to indulge in a spot of rough - i.e - me.

I'd arranged to pick her up from her halls of residence and take her out for a night on the town. So I got suited and booted in my best leathers and jeans and headed across town to pick her up. On the journey with me was my old partner in crime Denty. As I was about an hour early we decided to have a quick pint and a game of pool before heading for my assignation.

Bad move. In the pub were a bunch of people I knew and we got chatting, as you do, and then playing pool for pints. It was one of those nights where I just couldn't miss. Every ball I went for, every difficult pot or snooker just came off. I was in the zone. I was also winning a lot of beer.

6 o'clock, the time of my date, came and went as did 7,8 and 9. By this time I'd decided that I was so late that I may as well not bother and kept on playing pool. Around ten, a mate of my date came in and asked me what I was playing at. My date was sitting in her flat, dressed to the nines waiting patiently for me. Guilt took me and I sank my last pint and drunkenly wobbled for the door. It took me a while to get to her halls, partly because I was drunk and partly because I stopped to remonstrate with a waste bin that jumped out and attacked me, but I eventually made it.

"She's going to be soooo pissed off" I thought. "Better take her a present. I know. A tree. Girls like growing things"

So I spied a sapling that had been recently planted and went to drag it out of the ground. I took a firm grip with both hands and pulled. Well my grip wasn't firm enough and my hands slid up the tree and ripped themselves to shreds on the tough bark.

"Bugger" I thought. "I'm not being beaten by a tree" so I took a *really* strong grip on the little sod and heaved. Out it came dragging clods of mud and soil with it. And off I headed to my dates flat. I rang the bell and she opened the door.

So there I was, covered in mud and soil proudly holding tree with blood dripping down my hands and a soppy grin on my face.

"Brought you a present" I said thrusting the tree towards.

"Oh Legless" she said taking the tree. "What am I going to do with you?"

Then she proceeded to beat me with her present.

Women eh?

(, Tue 15 Jan 2008, 3:09, 5 replies)
A Newt
I was a kid at a pond with some friends. We were trying to catch some fish with nets. I had caught jack all and my friends (well I say friends, I didn't really have any, these were just people I knew) wandered off.

So I went over to someone elses container which had a couple of newts. I asked around to see who they belonged to to ask if I could borrow them. Not getting an answer, I took them with intent of giving them back later and put them in my container to show off my big catch and get some well-deserved praise!

No-one cared about the newts and I put them back in the pond before leaving. The guy who I borrowed them from clocked me and poured two buckets of the pond water over my head.
(, Tue 15 Jan 2008, 1:16, Reply)
I asked mum for some sweets
and I thought she said yes, but she'd said no.
I put them on the counter with the rest of the stuff and when mum had paid for everything I toddled back to the car with her and set about enjoying my Opal Fruits.
My sister whined that she didn't get any, and mum said "Well Sam didn't either"
And she said "Yes he did, look!"
And I cried and explained it.

Mum never bothered paying for them, though, because we ended up owning the shop for a few years.

Then she married the boss.

Then we went bankrupt and can't pay the rent.

I can't help but feel that it's my fault somehow.

How's that for shoplifting? Accidental and everything!
(, Tue 15 Jan 2008, 0:14, Reply)
Beer Garden
This story should have been made into a movie, it was so heartwarming. Resulted in the best 21st party ever that I'd been to.

This was in Richmond Melbourne, drinking at the local in the beer garden one Friday night, just the four of us, 3 guys and 1 girl. We were the only customers in the beer garden aside from a middle aged couple supping port and brandy or whatnot in the corner.

After a few beers, we discovered a keg, just sitting there in the beer garden. Assumed it was empty, but just in case.. Jamie went over and tried to pick it up. It was full.

Conversation soon turned to how great it would be to have at Jamie's upcoming 21st. Keg stands in the bathtub etc. That mythical beast.

If only we weren't locked in the beer garden. Just for a laugh, Jason tries his house key in the locked gate of the garden.. holy shit it worked, it was a miracle.. we now have a full keg, blind ambition and 3 hideously drunk young men rolling a keg up Richmond hill at 9pm on a Friday.

The middle aged couple politely ignored us.

It was kept in the bathroom for a week or so, paranoid that the po were going to come and arrest us for keg thievery. The night of the party arrived, the beer was good.. the only clear memory I really have left of that night was watching Jamie handstanding on top of the keg being held up by 3 or 4 people. Absolutely mashed.

Good times. Good party. Crime does pay.
(, Mon 14 Jan 2008, 23:13, Reply)
Lets' just say there are lots of little hand/pocketable sized chotchkes around my house. I get bored after a while and they end up as birthday presents for my kid's friends. first think ever was a pair of yellow plaid and daisy printed silky hip-hugger knickers from 1974.
(, Mon 14 Jan 2008, 22:02, Reply)
Not me, but my Dad
and also a bit off-topic, but since we're into crap lifting-up-shop jokes I couldn't care less.

Each year, my Dad and his mates go to Le Mans to, basically, get pissed. Motor racing seems to be an added bonus. All good stuff.

Anyway, one year after a heavy night my Dad had a brainwave, and stole...

...the pit lane divider.
(The bloody massive wedge-shaped thing at the start of the barrier between track and pit lane.)

Now he's a big bloke, and dragged it back to the tent (at one point thinking that if he stayed below the horizon of a ridge noone would see him. Drunken cunning rocks.) and left it in the entrance area (big compartmentised tent, I think.) Naturally, this confused the others somewhat, upon waking, hungover, to find this bloody massive thing in the middle of the tent.

My favorite bit of this is that the race organisers had to announce over the tannoy for whoever had stolen it to bring it back, as they needed it for the race. Top work, Dad. I am properly proud.
(, Mon 14 Jan 2008, 21:38, Reply)
All the half-arsed jokes about physically lifting a shop from its foundations.
It started off as mildly amusing (if not a little predictable), but now every variation on a really poor pun makes me want to inject acid into all of your genitalia.
Or my eyes.
So stop it, seriously.
On topic: At school myself and some friends going through the 'mini-goth' stage had a small operation in the Claire's Accesories. The number of pilfered sweatbands (which I still wear) and bottles of black nail varnish (which I don't) must have entered the treble figures.
Thus meaning a slight pang of guilt when I applied for a job there recently.
(, Mon 14 Jan 2008, 20:54, 5 replies)
When I was in primary school, four of us were entrusted with the task of counting out the pile of change in the back room of the office that going towards fixing the church roof. Being young and greedy, I palmed a quid and bought sweeties with it on my way home.

Eight years on, there's a huge sign outside the church asking for donations to fix the leaky roof... and every time I pass it I can't help feeling a twinge of guilt. Damn you, Bubbaloo.
(, Mon 14 Jan 2008, 20:10, 3 replies)
not me but..
my brother doesn't shoplift but he takes things from me, when I say he took it he says he didn't.
when we clean behind his bed (yes we clean behind beds)there's all my stuff!
(, Mon 14 Jan 2008, 20:07, 1 reply)
bad nerd
I was a bit of a nerd at age 9 or 10 or whatever but I was bad ass nerd and so my first shoplifting was STAMPS for my STAMP COLLECTION.

Yes, I wear glasses.
(, Mon 14 Jan 2008, 19:59, Reply)
Forgive me lord, 'coz I'd lifted...
A load of books from my school library. Shortly prior to emigrating to Spain and being endowed with a larger than average library, I conveniantly forgot to tell the Librarian that I was to leave the climes of Essex for a more Mediterranean vibe.

Anyway, cue one slightly chubby 11 year old Gonad pilfering about £120 worth of books ranging from A DK American Classic Cars, to a Heinemann leanring book about John F. Kennedy...

Length, erm... well, several inches and in some cases rather stumpy.
(, Mon 14 Jan 2008, 19:26, Reply)
(similar to chthonics) when I was alot younger
I grabbed a sweet from the pick & mix in Woolies. I felt so bad afterwards that I rushed up to the counter, chucked a penny towards the cashier and ran out without a word.

Not exactly crime of the century, eh.
(, Mon 14 Jan 2008, 19:01, Reply)
The dangers...
I knew a guy who got killed shoplifting...

It fell off the jack while he was under it.
(, Mon 14 Jan 2008, 18:57, 2 replies)
At the stage of entering my teens, I used to love riding my bike. Really loved it. I started smoking around that time too and I'd ride about 7 miles every evening to enjoy a nice smoke in a pretty riverside spot. (cautious? moi?)

My all time best mate and I would ride all over on our bikes, and one day, after 'camping out' in his back garden, we decided to have a jaunt to a little village I know in the countryside. With nothing but a dozen smokes, 50p, and a bottle of squash we set off.

It was a glorious morning, we enjoyed the ride all the way to the quaint town, stopping only to fill our drinks bottles with spring water and to catch our breath on the beautiful Northumberland Cheviots. It was past lunchtime when we arrived at our destination, tired, thirsty, and hungry.

As our 50p was unlikely to go far, I proposed that my friend act as decoy by buying something from behind the counter of the Spar shop and I'd sort the rest. Browsing gingerly until the till-monkey was preoccupied, I adopted the technique, favoured by smackheads worldwide (not that I knew it then), of grab & bolt.

We feasted that afternoon by a burbling moorland stream in glorious sunshine. I think Jammie Dodgers, roasted peanuts, salt 'n' shake crips and Tizer were the dishes of the day.

***HOME TIME***** 18:01 14/01/08

It was a fucking long ride back. It pissed down. We didn't get back until about 7pm (left about 8am). We got fucking hammered by worried parents for going missing.

Didn't get caught for the shoplifting though.
The End

See y'all tomorrow.
Mitigating circumstance? We were fucking starving, 45 miles from home, on our own, and had no money!
(, Mon 14 Jan 2008, 18:03, 3 replies)
Just remembered this!
When I was about 12ish I was rather scientifically-minded and I used to go and shoplift 9v batteries from Asda.

Ended up with about a hundred of them, which I attached together and electrocuted myself with.

Why? I don't know.
(, Mon 14 Jan 2008, 17:14, 5 replies)
As I write this (on my phone, how swish!) I am currently sitting a bus stop soaking wet and freezing, waiting for my piano lesson to begin.

But how does this relate to the question? I wish I'd stolen a pair of fucking gloves.
(, Mon 14 Jan 2008, 16:24, 3 replies)
My mates mum stole a snail from the USA. It was in a fish shop (tropical not cod or haddock) on a display tank. On the outside. This didn't ring any alarm bells.

She decide it would look great at home, in her tank. So she put it into a film case (pre-digital days of old)which she filled with water and popped in the plucky gastropod.

She then kept it all holiday, flew home ignoring all signs "do not transport wildlife".

She gets home, overjoyed that it is still alive. So she pops it in the tank.

Every morning she got up, the snail had got all the way to the top of the tank and was trying to escape. She would push it back in again and happily go about her day.

It was nearly a month later when a friend of hers was round she showed off the snail - " it keeps trying to escape to its certain doom so i just plop it back in".

The friend laughed her arse off - the snail was a common american land snail, probably from the garden or the street and had accidently wandered into the shop. It had now been shoplifed thousands of miles and was being forcibly drowned daily. Every time it managed to get out of the water it was pushed back.

i hope she ate it to save our indigenous snails. It could be the start of something massive
(, Mon 14 Jan 2008, 16:21, Reply)
Stupid things we did as students part [insert big number]
One evening, drinking in a pub we'd never been to and were unlikely ever to visit again, we were busy half-inching bar towels (those promotional things they put on the bar to soak up the slops) when one of the group noticed that one of the beer pumps -- the one right on the end of the bar -- was loose. And as luck would have it this was one of those L-shaped bars, meaning that if the staff were all 'round the corner at the other end of the bar, they couldn't see what we were up to.

Two minutes later we were pegging it down the road, waving said pump -- trailing various bits of plastic piping -- over our heads and giggling like idiots.

As it happens, we did return to the pub, the following day, having been overtaken by an unexpected -- and decidedly unfamiliar -- sense of shame. Yep, we took it back. And we even apologised.

Not that we didn't get up to even stupider and more antisocial stuff after that, mind.
(, Mon 14 Jan 2008, 16:15, Reply)
Technically theft.
Taking things from skips is, apparently, frowned upon. Even though whatever is in the skip is going to be thrown away.

I assume this, anyway, from the fact a nice man in blue politely dissuaded us from taking the ten foot long plywood sign that had once graced the front of a bar that was being refurbished. From a skip.

The fact it wouldn't fit in the flat wasn't the point.

We made up for it by finding a lovely table further down the road and using it to set up our wooden train set on.

No, I can't remember why we'd bought a wooden train set. I think we might have been drunk.

Later that week, a friend of mine decided we needed a chair to go with our table. Having been told he couldn't get a free sub in the local Subway, he helped himself to a drink instead. Being told he wasn't technically allowed to do that, either, he shrugged.

"I'll have a chair instead, then," said he, picking up one of the hefty metal chairs and wandering out of the door.
(, Mon 14 Jan 2008, 16:06, Reply)
Massively underated...
(, Mon 14 Jan 2008, 16:01, 1 reply)
I never got to meet the bloke…and no, I don’t condone his actions etc etc blah blah

As I have previously stated before, I seem to have the uncanny knack of being able to mix with all sorts of people. Some characters could quite possibly be described as ‘rather unsavoury’ types. When in the company of such fellows, it usually means that general thieving twunt-stickery or tall tales about such clandestine adventures are never far away. I’m not particularly proud of it but you know that annoying git in the pub who always seems to know somebody who knows somebody who can steal anything?

Well…that’s me, that is.

Many years ago my mum was about to embark on a trip to Australia (apparently that was as far as she could possibly get away from us all, seeing as they don’t do trips to Mars yet). She requested her requirement for a video camera to record her happy experiences, far away from me and the rest of the family.

(This was absolutely AGES ago, by the way…and at the time, your average home video camera experience was comparable to plonking a medium sized refrigerator on your shoulder, shouting ‘Annnnnnnd ACTION!’ whilst your legs buckled under the weight and your battery ran out after twelve seconds). Good times.

Suffice to say, my mum didn’t want one of those efforts – she wanted a nice little-sized one…but these were expensive…so she asked my brother and I what we could do.

My brother found the answer…His name was ‘Zumbie’ (never found out why) and he had a growing reputation around our way as an Olympic class shoplifter. His infamy grew, not only due to the items he would be prepared to steal, but the blatant way that he went about it.

Zumbie had no style and no finesse…just bare-arsed cheek and balls which were obviously so big he should have carried them around in a wheelbarrow.

His whole technique consisted of walking into a shop, grabbing what had been ordered and then bollocking out of there as fast as his tea-leafing pikey legs could carry him. His reputation for catching security guards by surprise and / or outrunning them spread like wildfire around our yobbish community and he was subsequently asked to blag my mum a camcorder.

The one she said she liked was priced at £1200 – Zumbie told my brother he would get it for £200…My brother calls my mum, my mum said “Result!”, and off Zumbie goes on his merry way.

Lo and behold, within an hour of being given his ‘assignment’, Zumbie approached my brother with the required camera – including special offer labels, the price tag and features list still attached in shiny lettering.

However, there was a problem. Obviously we weren’t expecting a box and instructions etc, but this camcorder had come without a battery and was therefore pretty useless to us – my brother promptly told Zumbie where he could shove his dirty stolen rubbish.

‘Hold on a bit’, said Zumbie…he studied the item, made a note of the name and model number and walked off.

Back to the exact same shop he had just been to…

I believe the term is ‘bold as brass’, and god only knows how or why he wasn’t recognised…but he walked up to the nearest ‘may I help you?’ cretin and asked “Do you stock batteries for one of these?” as he thrust a piece of paper containing his freshly robbed camcorder details into the hapless assistant’s hand.

“One moment sir, I’ll find out right away” replied the numpty, tanking off enthusiastically into the back of the shop.

A couple of minutes later, said troglodyte returned and showed him a brand new battery.

..Which Zumbie promptly snatched out of his hand before sprinting off.

If I can still be bothered later I’ll tell you the story of how Zumbie finally got caught and sent down.

(and apologies to everyone that attended Big Girl’s Blouse’s brilliant B3ta bash last Saturday, for already hearing this post from my own rat-arsed slurring mouth)
(, Mon 14 Jan 2008, 15:57, 7 replies)
not shoplifting but..
halifax wrote off my £700 overdraft by mistake..

needless to say I didn't argue the toss
(, Mon 14 Jan 2008, 15:34, Reply)
porn theft confusion
I tried to nick a porn mag from the Esso garage once, I was so busy craning my neck to see if the cashier was looking that I made a fundamental error.

After making a swift exit and finding a quiet spot to examine my haul, I realised I'd actually nicked a copy of 'Attitude' - a gentleman's magazine for other gentlemen.
(, Mon 14 Jan 2008, 15:05, 3 replies)

This question is now closed.

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