I love sen-sen
I was 25 and lifted a 25 cent bag of sen-sen from a outlet store, my brother was buying something and I was in line playing with the sen-sen in open sight and just walked out with it. A huge score I know, was an accedent though... lolz, needless to say i haven't been back.
( Azathoth thinks my name isn't so bad..., Thu 10 Jan 2008, 21:23, 3 replies)

Creepy Child
I like to think I actually had a more perverted life as a child then I do now. What with my early introduction to pron (Me aged 8, brother waking me up to show me nekked ladies on t.v. running around a field) led on to naughty thoughts about the powerpuff girls and things an 8 year old shouldn't think, but that's probably for another qotw.

My life of crime (shoplifting) started around this age, stealing bouncy balls, pick and mix and eye make up, I was baaaad.

Now it's just the occasional cake from the canteen, I get hungry and can think of better ways to spend my lunch money.

DS!
(Ellytots Last thought of chocolate on, Thu 10 Jan 2008, 21:22, Reply)

some time ago in chiswick sainsbury's
I was using the new fangled 'self scan' tills. I will not insult the boards intelligence with a description of how this facility works.
In this particular instance I had used a tenner to buy a bacon and leek pasta bake a culinary delight wich costs a couple of quid. I put my tenner in the machine and waited for the shrapnal from the shrapnal dispenser bit on the side and then took my paper change from the paper change dispenser under the scanner.
But lo - I had fifteen quid. somebody had left either their tenner of cashback or change. So I pocketed it without that much of a second thought and a minor twinge of guilt.
My Bad.
Karma caught up with me last week when among other things from the sainsbury's this time in East Dulwich I bought some anti histamines with my marsmilk and bacon and leek paste bake.
The checkout gimp failed to place the stop sneeze pills in my bag and i spent the rest of the day sneezing.
And so teh pendulum swings back in favour of its opposite.

On a related note I once witnessed a shoplifter half walking half running from boots on Chiswick Hight Road pursued by a security guard. As she wobbled by me she left a dispensing chemists version of a hansel and gretel trail behind her, shedding her stolen load of colgate and rimmel eye liner and cotton buds and sanatogen all over the high street outside robert dyas.
(magictorch, Thu 10 Jan 2008, 20:56, 1 reply)

More like class-lifting
When I was 6, I apparently developed a pencil fetish. I compulsively collected every pencil I ever found, even if it was chewed on or had no eraser or was an inch long. I stole the pretty pencils from my sister. If you dropped a pencil in class, it was mine. If you left one unattended on your desk for too long - mine. I was a paranoid little kid though, and knew better than to use any of my treasures in class, lest someone confront me about the fact that I was using their pencil. I just took them home and stored them in my pencil bin.

Then the guilt and more paranoia started to set in. I had to make sure that no one saw me pick up a pencil, otherwise I'd be busted as the pencil thief. As far as I know, no one was even aware that their pencils were disappearing. But then I considered the possibility that other people could read my thoughts. They would know that I was a dirty thief. No, that's stupid, no one could read my mind. Right?

This habit spread to erasers. Our teacher had a bin of all sorts of colored and shaped erasers, and if we were good we'd get to pick one. I occasionally crept into the class during recess and nicked one out of the bin. Oh god, stealing from an authority figure now. I would be so screwed if I got caught. And how could I live with myself, I have this eraser because I stole it, not because I earned it.

Oh, the shame.


I ended up with around a hundred pencils and a handful of erasers. I still have them all in a box somewhere.

Dirty little fucking thief.

(If you went to Kalaheo Elementary School in the mid-90s: OH GOD IT WAS ME, I REPENT, FORGIVE ME)
(Exempt OH WOW, VICODIN, Thu 10 Jan 2008, 20:49, 2 replies)

An XBox 360 from PC World - kind of.
Background - I finally got round to getting a flat screen HDMI bells and whistles etc TV for christmas.

Noticing that the XBox now came with HDMI, I thought I'd get a new one (as my current XBox only has YPbPr), and sell on the old one. Buyer lined up for it and and everything.

So, I got the new XBox, with Viva Piñata and Forza 2 included and get it all set up, except Viva Piñata wont' run. I took the disc back to PC World, who couldn't change the disc as they didn't have another - I'd have to bring the whole console back, get a refund, and get another console.

OK, I can handle that.

So whet gets put in the Box? The old console, power supply, controller etc, all having had a bit of a clean. And first words to the CS drone? "I got this a couple of days ago, the game doesn't work and I was told to bring it all back, but look, it has a broken QA seal under the one I opened (it did, I didn't stick another one one myself), could it be this is one that has been returned before? I'm not too please at the idea of spending that much money on something second hand when a new one costs the same"

Et voila, money back and a brand spank XBox 360.
(nobbyd is wanking furiously to industrial grade porn on, Thu 10 Jan 2008, 20:33, 1 reply)

Grand larceny...well, almost
Traffic island bollards (you know white and yellow, about 3 foot high, blue arrow to tell you which side to drive): fancied one to make into student style drinks cabinet and aware of road works nearby where said items had been spotted waiting to be installed some days earlier. Gather friends, discuss plan: essentially park mark I Ford Fiesta (getaway vehicle of choice for all top villains I believe) round corner and casually walk up grab item and bundle in boot. However, best laid plans and all, as we turn up discover that roadworks are now complete and bollards very much attached to traffic island..."Not to worry chaps, back in a mo'" mutters Rab C and totters off under the bright street lights gathering momentum like a wildebeest crossing the vast savannah until we bear witness to the sight of a fully grown man rugby tackling a traffic bollard removing it completely unscathed from its concrete bed before returning with it and depositing it in the boot of the car all in full sight of passing traffic. Stunned silence followed by uncontrollable laughter followed by nervous drive home followed by parental query as to why part of the tax payers local infrastructure is cluttering up the garage.

Youth is wasted on the young you know.

Edit: In my defence I didn't waste its procurement and using a some chipboard, a jigsaw and a piano hinge I did manage to manufacture a rather magnificent drinks cabinet.
( number5 has been fighting tramps and losing., Thu 10 Jan 2008, 20:32, 2 replies)

absolutely true story
there was this guy right who robbed a shop with a gun:


robber: GIMME ALL THE MONEY IN THE TILL
shop owner: no
robber: FUCKING WHAT 20 cigs then!?
shop owner: no
robber: ah fuck this i'm off... can i at least have a plastic bag?
shop owner: no.


he later ran into her without his mask, and apologized. she reported him and was prosecuted!
(lozarouy, Thu 10 Jan 2008, 20:19, Reply)

im a student and live in halls
just downstairs is a vending machine which i pass everytime im going too/from anywhere.
Each time i do, i make sure i have a look incase there are any nice things hanging on, waiting to be dislodged by a gentle knudge, if there's one ill come back just before bed so there's no-one around and give it the (sometimes not so) gentle knudge it needs, et voila, free chocolate, and its not actually from a person so i dont feel too guilty, but then i imagine a fair few people out there pull this trick too
( wjh31, Thu 10 Jan 2008, 20:18, 2 replies)

a cheeky ciggy theft...
Now obviously this was a "friend" and not me...

sat at a table in a bar, and this table was sat next to the cigarette machine. The said machine wouldn't give out any cigarettes for some reason.

someone would come over, put in money and get no cigs, so they would press the coin eject button, but the money wouldnt eject.

as soon as they walked away i tried the eject button and the money came out, they just hadn't pressed it hard enough.

meanwhile the guy had gone to the bar and asked for his money back. the barman and the guy came back over to the machine and pressed the button, explaining that you just have to press it really hard. obviously he was a little confused as no money came out cos we had swiped it already.

this whole process repeated itself about 4 times that night til the barman put up an out of order sign. paid for a couple of rounds of drinks for us!!!!
(mr_o_uk, Thu 10 Jan 2008, 19:54, Reply)

Fags from the pub.
Back in the day, I was staying at a mates house. The beauty of his house was the fact his mum had massive amounts of booze in her loft. Not sure why, but it all sat there, unopened and never touched. We took a bottle of Captain Morgans, and set to work on it.

About an hour later we had one empty bottle, two very drunk teens and..... no ciggies, NNOOOOOOOO.

Not a huge problem, we gathered all our money, saw we didn't have enough, topped it up with change from the change bottle, and set off for the sports club, with exactly the right amount of money- mostly in coppers- for a half ounce of golden vadge and a packet of skins.

Now my memory goes on the way to the sports club, but I do remember falling on an electric fence, and being so pissed I couldn't get off it, just leaned on it taking multiple shocks.

The next thing I knew it was the morning, I was in my mates house in an arm chair, half my clothes and half my head covered in mud.

I emptied my pockets, and had; one unopened packet of baccy, one packet of skins, all the money we had taken to buy said baccy and skins.

Now this was very confusing for two reasons, the first being that in the sports club they keep said products on the shelf behind the bar, the second, my mate could remember us arriving at the sports bar, and me going in for the baccy- he couldn't, as it was his village, and his mum would have found out he was smoking- then coming out with the baccy but sans skins, so going back in, and returning with both products.

Somehow I must have walked in, asked for the baccy, been given it and walked out without paying, then walked in a minute later, asked for skins, been given those, and walked out again with no money changing hands. It's the only way it could have happened.

We lost each other in darkened fields on the way home, I somehow got to his house and let myself in, to wake up half covered in mud the next morning. We never did smoke any of the baccy that night.

Later that week my mate was asked by the staff in the club if he knew a strange little Egyptian man...WTF. I'd love to see film footage of what happened the two times I was in there.
( The Awful Puppy Bakery is still bored, Thu 10 Jan 2008, 19:42, 1 reply)

Accidental not-quite-shoplifting
Indeterminate years ago, my sister and I were dragged shopping by our parents. My mam ventured into Evans to look at clothes, my dad waited outside, and we went in to look at the jewellery (no, you can't have that necklace, or those earrings they're not clip-ons, and no, before you ask, you can't have your ears pierced.)
Sister picks up...I can't remember what it was, I think it was a pair of clip-on earrings, looks around for mother, realises she's in the changing room, and trots out of the shop with the earrings in hand to ask my dad if she can have them. No. So, she goes back in and puts them back.
It was only once we'd left the shop, 'er...how did you get those out of there without the alarms going off?'
(and now for someone completely different, Thu 10 Jan 2008, 19:27, Reply)

Where Pissheads Dare...
My school and college amigos traditionally get together during the first week in September at a well known rural Beer Festival in Essex to drink warm ale and shoot the breeze. We turn up on a Wednesday, pitch tents at our usual spot and head into the grounds of a charmingly delapidated railway museum where the "pisscatorial" takes place.

We're a quiet bunch these days and usually keep ourselves to ourselves. The gentle pace of the countryside surroundings does not lend itself to Club 18-30 style party antics, so the most controversial we ever get is the occasional lazy game of cricket between slow sips next to our tents.

One Thursday afternoon however, my enjoyment of the obituary section of the Times was ruined when a dozen caravans, towed by the most obnoxious of 4x4 type vehicles turned up in our field and to our intense irritation, roped off a section twenty feet away from us and parked in formation within the boundary.

I harbour a seething hatred of the masses who tow one of Satan's Portakabins along East Anglia's B roads, especially when I need to be somewhere so I was even more convinced of the innate selfishness of the caravan club when they insisted continuing the fun late in the evening after the festival's chucking out time. Not only had they turned up and annexed a sizeable portion of the field - OUR field - but the bastards were still noisily doing whatever they do at 1am, ensuring that the rest of the field was kept awake.

Next morning, we arose bleary eyed and hungover to note that the caravanners had erected a large green marquee, complete with a flagpole and a green flag emblazoned with the "Swift Carvanning Club" logo fluttering proudly in the breeze.

Cunts. Utter, utter cunts...

Something just had to be done. With military precision, we planned a reprisal raid on their marquee.

11pm that evening saw drinkers ambling slowly from the railway museum back to their beds. We were the first to leave the festival as we had a cunning plan. The very symbol of their B road clogging tyranny was our target of choice for the flag had to go. One of our number, Nomis, was a serving member of the TA and his military experience was invaluable.

Silhouetted against the green tents in the moonlight, we crept toward the marquee, crouching to avoid the moonlight. The gentle late summer breeze covered the sound of orders being whispered down our ranks as we maintained the crucial element of surprise.

Nomis himself was first on the scene and tried to lower the hated symbol of our tormentors. However, the flag was secured by a stiff cable, not the nylon twine we had planned for. A small but dangerously sharp penknife was produced which failed to make a scratch. The operation had one trick up it's sleeve.

Mark had a brainwave and with great stealth was sent back to retrieve his calor gas stove. This was sparked into life with the intention of weakening the cable in the flame so we could hack away at it. The dim blue flame of the stove was easily concealed from view (remember, this was an open field) by two of us holding jackets around Mark from a safe distance. Amazingly, several caravanners walked past within twenty feet, unable to see us in the darkness and no doubt unable to locate the source of the muted "hiss" from the stove.

Nathan produced a Leatherman, which snipped through the nylon and wire cable, now weakened from the intense heat. Success!

The flag was lowered and using great stealth, we retreated back to our lines carrying the prize stashed in a jacket as if it were the Fallen Madonna with ze big boobies. You know the famous picture of the Red Army soldier lowering the swastika from the Reichstag in 1945? Well we knew exactly how that bloke must have felt.

Triumphantly, several cans of ale were broken open as we toasted our operation. We then turned in for the night and waited for the fallout the next morning.

Seven hours later, we emerged from our tents as the scale of our sabotage became clear. The green marquee was flaccidly fluttering in the breeze, as the flag cable we'd taken out lowered the pointed roof. A scorch mark was visible on the length of broken cable flapping uselessly as a number of caravanners ambled around as if shellshocked, clearly knowing that they'd been hit but unable to fully comprehend how. A few were half heartedly looking in the surrounding bushes for evidence of their flag.

By five thirty that afternoon, the Swift Caravanning Club had dismantled their cordon and began to depart from the field one by one under a heavy cloud of defeat.

A great moral victory was one that night and our gallant commander Nomis still owns the charred remnants of their flag.
(Bicycle Repairman "you're also a bit of a wanker", Thu 10 Jan 2008, 18:54, 8 replies)

Not me but a mate etc
Aged about 13 me and my chocolate loving chums (fnar) used to go in to the local sweetshop, run by a shifty paedo looking man called Eggbert.

One of my particularly light fingered friends got quite profficient at nicking creme eggs over the course of a week or so despite the fact the box was right by the counter, until one day they were put on a shelf above the till meaning that Eggbert had to bring the box down to serve you/leer better.

My mate somehow Derren Browned (qwoo qwoo) his way in to stealing 8 that day. Mad skillz- I've no idea how he did it, but shortly after that he peaked with a whole box of milk tray, the guilt of which led him to change his ways.

Live and learn eh?
(this is a shit username, Thu 10 Jan 2008, 18:23, Reply)

Free beer.
I used to be in a band, and we used to do gigs all round the local pubs in Torquay.

There used to be a bar there called the Piazza - still there now but called something else - which was pretty much the main venue for live music in Torquay. The inside was done out like an Italian square, with a balcony running around the top. Oh, and for some reason I never quite got to the bottom of, it had a full sized Fokker Triplane hanging off the ceiling in the colours of the Red Baron.

Anyway, we were playing away while our soundman did his stuff from the closed balcony. Ordinary gig, no drama, but our sound was a bit weird. Glaring up at the balcony had no effect and we wondered what was going on.

We take a break and head upstairs to see whats happened to find our soundguy blind drunk and slurring about the place, twiddling knobs on the desk at random. WTF?

He'd discovered that the upstairs bar, which was closed, still had all the beer pumps turned on and he'd been helping himself as fast as he could for the last hour or so before he got rumbled.

Disgusted at this blatant theft, we leant over the bar and joined in.

Our second set was a bit ropey.
(inflateable, Thu 10 Jan 2008, 18:15, 1 reply)

no joke
my parents told me this story when i was a young one.

i was stolen from a zoo. from the penguin enclosure. i believed this until i was 17 :|

now thats serious shoplifting
(scarydylan has lost his scare :(, Thu 10 Jan 2008, 18:13, Reply)

hmmm
two strawberry laces instead of one

ooooh i am a naughty one
(scarydylan has lost his scare :(, Thu 10 Jan 2008, 18:12, Reply)

Not really shoplifting, but
When I were a nipper, you used to take the bottles that had been full of fizz, back to the grocer/pub and get a deposit back, usually sixpence (small silver coloured coin, often put in christmas puds)
So we used to go to the back of one greengrocers in our little town, and pinch one or two empty bottles, run round the front, and claim some pocket money to buy sweets.
The fact we were as poor as church mice, and couldnt afford to buy new shoes when they were so desparately needed, let alone bottles of Corona Cherryade, didn't seem to put off the grocers owners.
I like to think they knew all along, but felt sorry for us.
(lordy lordy, Thu 10 Jan 2008, 18:06, Reply)

Got caught once
Crap story... I swiped some candy and the shop keeper came out after me. I managed to convince her that what whoever saw me put in my pocket was actually something else I had in my pocket. Learned my lesson, I did. Still ate it though.
( Foxglove -- it all ends in tears anyway..., Thu 10 Jan 2008, 18:05, Reply)

Cheating the vending machine
At work, we have a few vending machines. I normally wait until Monday, and watch an old women fill it up with food. 99% of the time, she neglects to fasten the door properly. Last week, me and a couple of other lads went straight in and literally emptied it. Yay, one weeks worth of free food. Cue one sneaky pikey bastard fucker emptying the contents of its money box into a sock.

A camera went up the next day.

Free food no more.

Cunt.
(sbx, Thu 10 Jan 2008, 18:00, 6 replies)

Never stolen a thing
No, really.

However I once worked for a large electrical store. They were petrified of staff theft. Not theft of staff, but rather staff having their hands in the till or generally being a bit on the light-fingered side. New staff were sent for training in a far off villa (shop) and shown many videos demonstrated how BAD and WRONG it is to steal.

You would've thought the kind of people they were targeting would probably fail the interview process, and you may be right. There's nothing better than making subservients feel subservient though.

Anyway, the following items were stolen (by 'customers') whilst I was there...

1 x 42 inch wide screen telly. It was wired up at the front of the store. Watching the theft on the security video it seems the chap just walked in, picked it up, and walked out. He didn't even unhook it, just let the wires snap behind him. The staff member who set it up didn't alarm it as who would nick a widescreen telly from the front of a store?

1 x speaker. Just the one. It was from a surround sound set. Normally I would surmise it was because someone had broken theirs and needed a replacement. Only this was a brand new set and design - it was stolen the day it was released.

1 x Display case for a power shower

32 x Washing machines. Kept in a storage crate at the back of the store. Some chump left it unlocked.

After that excitement, I worked in a shoe store. People relatively frequently stole the display shoe (right foot) and then returned the following day to complain that the staff only gave them one pair.

Following on from that I worked in a cafe. A colleague chased a bloke across town - about two miles - because he'd nabbed a MUFFIN.
(Captain Skippy pooed in a bag and left it on your doorstep, Thu 10 Jan 2008, 17:55, 1 reply)

also in france
we went to a honey shop one day, and there were lollipops all over the place with "gratuit" signs near them, my mum sent me in to by a beeswax candle and pick one of these lollies up. the bloke refused to give me one for free, so i put it back down, and paid for the candle, as he went out back to get my change i lifted the lolly and put on my best innocent face :)
(cs192 is sucking on a Koala at, Thu 10 Jan 2008, 17:52, Reply)

Jeans, but not genes
When I was 15, me and my mates used to go down to Fosters Menswear after school, take a few pairs of jeans into the changing room and put them on under our school trousers, then leg it out the shop.

I held the record - 4 pairs of Pepe jeans. It made me run like I had bum grapes.

But when I took them off down the local public lavs, I realised I'd stolen four pairs of 38 waist and 34 length.

But it was ok. The old man bought a belt and turned them up at the bottom. He looked like John Wayne. He still wears a pair down the allotment.

I told him that I'd found them on the bus. But he gave me a wink and said, "Just don't get caught, son, and next time nick the correct size, you plonker".
(evilpenguin Ur polar bears r wel gay, Thu 10 Jan 2008, 17:43, 1 reply)

Can't believe I'm admitting this on my new job's computer and time but.....
My first foray into the five finger discount was a result of my copyright infringement - I was home taping a copy of my cousin's "The Wall" album - (I apologise for killing the music industry and the impecunious state of the Floyd) - when I spilt ink all over the inlay. As I hadn't technically asked his permission (he would have said no to preserve his musical cool advantage), had no cash for a replacement and wanted to avoid a beating I was "forced" by circumstance to pinch STEAL _{(i will not flinch)} a replacement inlay from WH Smiths. I had nightmares about it for ages after - how "borrowing" a tape had led to the criminal spiral of music piracy and then theft - I might as well just go mug a granny!

I have few such qualms now, regarding as I do all institutions as inherently evil due to the Milgram Obedience to Authority effect www.new-life.net/milgram.htm and their ability to regularly rob me blind for driving, parking, having a job, having a house, drinking, using a mobile . . . . .
(jmaxi returned again on, Thu 10 Jan 2008, 17:39, Reply)

Thomas Crown tries shoplifting, hilarity ensues.
We were thirteen-ish when the remake of the Thomas Crown Affair came out, and our youngful selves unsurprisingly found great liking at it. However, as all fads of our young years, this, too, passed - except for the hero of this story, one of our housemates. He was totally and completely mesmerised not so much by the movie but by the character of Thomas Crown. And one fateful afternoon, whilst walking home from rugger practice, he declared he found the career of his dreams: he wants to be, literally, Thomas Crown: bored millionaire and master thief extraordinaire.

Mind you, this is the age when kids want to be doctors, veterinary surgeons, pilots and occasionally Mr. T, way before they realise that the sight of blood makes them vomit, vets spend half their time digging elbow-deep in bovine anal cavities, you can't be a pilot with tritanopia and the A-Team isn't hiring at the moment. So we more or less forgot about it, until, a few months later, upon coming back from holidays, he presented to us his brilliant strategy of becoming a criminal mastermind: namely, incremental development of his skills. He would, so he said, start small: namely, with nicking sundries from the tuck shop a short walk from school every time he could get permission to leave grounds. We didn't particularly listen to the rest of his plans (though I am sure they ended with him being something between Danny Ocean and Tomas van der Heijden) - we were already quite convinced he did not have the balls to shoplift, never mind the rest of the misdeeds. Now school has not only been a fairly posh, but also a fairly sheltered place, so it did not exactly teem with resources for a budding criminal. But that did not deter our hero, who with his usual studiousness set out at the task of reading and noting (!) every single literary or cinematic depiction of shoplifting he could lay his hands on. Finally, armed with this knowledge, one morning he announced with a hysterical chuckle otherwise generally observed in those about to be hanged that he's going to 'do it'.

What his careful prep did not seem to have acquainted him with is the fact that shoplifters tend to operate quietly, not make a huge spectacle of themselves, and would never ever tell their friends of their plans if they knew that such disclosure would inevitably result in about two dozens of excited thirteen-year-olds shadowing him and doing the general see-what-happens routine. So I suppose the fact that when he finally positioned himself in the tactically advantageous cover of the chocolate shelves and gently slid a Mars bar into the breast pocket of his blazer, about twenty people were looking over his shoulder, has evaded his attention. He appropriated the property belonging to another (rather dishonestly, too), as the Theft Act 1968 would say, but the real challenge, namely getting away with it, lay still before him. Not the least due to the inspiration of his witnesses, who, and not necessarily motivated by helpfulness, suggested to him that Thomas Crown would actually walk past the shopkeeper and say hello, rather than sneak out surreptitiously, he now had to think of an exit strategy. This, somehow, escaped his attention when he planned his first heist. So, in the haste of the moment, he decided that the best way to steal a bar of chocolate and not be suspicious would be, well, to buy another bar of chocolate legitimately. So he grabbed another Mars bar, and leisurely walked up to the cashier's.

"Is that all?" - asked the cashier, as he laid the bar of chocolate on the counter. He answered in the affirmative, to which the cashier asked him whether he was sure. At this point, he ought to have realised...

...that about half an inch of the bar, with wrapper and all, was poking out of the breast pocket of his blazer.

The rest is history. He turned the sort of red people only turn when they know they blew something big time, and muttered some lame excuse along the lines of 'oh, I forgot, yes, of course, this one, too, please, sir" etc. The cashier was kind enough not to have raised the issue to the police or, worse, the school, so he was only (only?!) mocked by us for his spectacular failure at crime.

You will be delighted to hear that he went on to lead a perfectly respectable life and apart from a few fines for driving over the speed limit, he has stayed clear of the law.

Or maybe they just never caught him.
(adelie discovered the joys of a board sig on, Thu 10 Jan 2008, 17:34, 2 replies)

Computer game

Back when was fifteen, I stole a computer game (Final Fantasy IX I believe), worth about £40, from the Sainsbury's store I worked at. I wouldn't have done it but the cunts didn't pay me for working a Bank Holiday Monday (double pay!) when they phoned me in the morning specifically and begged me to come in. When I complained they said I wasn't on the rota, so I took it as compensation. Still didn't get my money's worth...
( Turquoise Hexagon Sun has just dropped acid on, Thu 10 Jan 2008, 17:34, Reply)

Shopgifting
A tale of reverse shoplifting from Ikea. I bought a 4-place dining table, four chairs and four cushions for the chairs.

Seems easy enough, right? You stack your goodies on a flat trolley, the assistant wanders round the trolley with a scanner, scans everything, and you pay for it.

Somehow, this assistant didn't seem to think there was anything out of the ordinary in buying a four-place dining table, four cushions and three chairs. So that's what I got charged for.

I realised when I was in the car park, but decided not to go back. Not because I was mildly annoyed that they charged 70p for the privilege of using a credit card, nor because of the times I've had to return something that one of their monkeys has thrown across the warehouse. Simply put, I couldn't see any way of paying for the extra chair which wouldn't involve being sent to the back of some epic-length queue. I don't think the profit on an extra chair was going to help solve their pitiful staffing levels.
( le brian, Thu 10 Jan 2008, 17:22, Reply)

Shoplift... Storeslift.. its all the same Sport.
Worked in engineering stores of a West Sussex based airline, they go belly up owing me a months wages. In a twist of fate/irony I blag a security-guards job and get stationed in my old place of work ,alone ,on nights, to keep the insurance guys happy till the receivers have secured the firms assets.
These stores contained everything needed to run an airline, to the huge stencilled logo’s that go down the side of the aircraft to some really rather expensive looking engine parts.

Anyhoo, at 19, embittered about lost wages I decide to extract the same value owed by lifting an item of stock for my own use.

My parents had a swimming pool with one of those inflatable bubble things over the top, and being a spoilt brat, I was always in the doghouse for wrecking the Lilo’s they used to relax in due to the fact me and my rough-neck mates would trash them. Wait a Mowment, solution!!

I loaded the 25-man inflatable liferaft into the boot of my car, finished my shift, got some sleep then called my mates to start the summer fun. We unpacked it, feelings of trepidation slowly leaking into our enthusiasm as we discovered our haul consisted of “No-messin-about” survival equipment, Rambo knives, a medi-pack that could stock a casualty ward, long-life food and some worryingly meaty distress flares.

We chucked the raft in the shallow end and I pulled the inflate string, my boyish smile steadily fading as this rubber monster awoke hissing angrily as it kept unfolding and unfolding till the edges of it weren’t even in the pool, it also began to stretch and deform the shape of the inflatable dome making it resemble some kind of grossly pregnant blimp. But the thing that really made my bowels loosen, was the urgent flashing strobe on the top of it. “Wow Is that a distress beacon?” my in awe mate enquired.

I had visions of a blip appearing on some Coastguards watchscope, their confusion at a life raft screaming for assistance 28 miles inland. I was so naïve, We promptly made the decision not take the chance, jumping in and using the survival knives to destroy the thing, not easy as its all compartmentalised, took us ages. My dad arrived home in perfect timing to see half a dozen “jumpy” young blokes with knives in his pool and the shredded remains of something big and orange floating forlornly under the surface.

As for what happened to the distress flares, I’ll save that for another QOTW.

Length? Oh yeah, Length AND width of the pool and then some.
(Eeeza bit Tidy A blink, a pause, a blush and then I knew., Thu 10 Jan 2008, 17:20, 5 replies)

Repost: Free munchies in Sydney
Reposted from here

After a night on the piss in Sydney I decided the 24hr convenience store was beckoning for a snack on the way home.

Upon entering the store I noticed an unusual sound... turns out to be the loud snoring of the store assistant who was face down asleep on the counter, puddle of dribble and everything.

SO spying that other shoppers had left piles of coins on the counter for their purchases I did what any normal person would do....

I helped myself to:

1 "Mrs Mac's" steak & cheese pie (hot)
1 large bag of dark choc maltesers...
1 bag of milk choc too! :)
1 Tube of pringles
1 500ml bottle of "Solo" traditional lemonade
1 pron mag
1 not so pron mag
pair of cheap sunglasses (disguise)



With my booty of drunken "essentials" I considered my position... Yup, here I am... door is that way! So went home to enjoy my spoils!

Would have been rude to wake him, plus this way I got all this stuff for free!
So my lucky streak, the 10 minutes of drunken shopping while the shop assistant slept.

I discovered he was regularly sleepy and visited the store regularly over the next few weeks :)


In my defence I did resist the urge to pocket all the loose change on the counter.
(golddust QOTW now revolves around being a cunt, Thu 10 Jan 2008, 17:12, Reply)

Foiled...and it wasn't even intentional
Ambling around my local bloated corporate giant emporium just after Christmas - I espy a special, nay half price offer on bubbly,plus buy a case discount etc etc. I think to myself "that's the party juice sorted for a bit" and load up the trolley.

Over I trundle to the manned checkout, where the cute but dim till monkey scans the code on the outside of the box...beep... £not a lot flashed up: cue World's Most Nonchalant Face as my brain does a little somersault and runs round in circles waving it's arms going "FREE BOOZE" and "WAHEY" and so forth.

And then my dear lady wife brings herself to the very edge of immediate painful and bloody death by piping up "hang on, that's wrong, you've only charged us for one bottle".

Cue Innocent Face: "really, sorry, wasn't watching, good job you noticed (clenches teeth) dear"

Okay, it was still a good deal, but I nearly lifted loads of fizzy knicker-loosening juice for bugger all with no criminal intent.

Sigh.
(osok Rebel without a clue, Thu 10 Jan 2008, 17:02, 7 replies)