I’VE NOTICED A LOT OF SCOUSE COMMENTS ON HERE….


……And although I'm not a scouse, I feel I must defend our Liverpudlian friends.

I was once at an all night rave having just split from my c*nt of a boyfriend. I was pretty upset and fucked up when I met a crazy girl from Liverpool.

She introduced me to her friends who were all visiting the club from Liverpool. We made friends and spent the night getting trashed and dancing together.

The club closed at 8am and I must have been really off my head because I invited them all back to the posh house I shared with my friends. (I say shared – it was their house and I lived with them). They were on holiday & I was under strict instructions NOT to have anyone back.

We all piled into the house, very trashed, and chilled out in the living room for a few hours. After a while I was really tired and decided to go to bed. I said bye to my new buddies and told them to let themselves out when they were ready.

I passed out and awoke later that day and my Liverpudlian guests had gone. I realised what a stupid thing I had done and my heart sank.

I went downstairs and to my surprise everything was in order. Even some very expensive gold rings that were in the kitchen were still on the worktop. In all those guys could have fleeced me for thousands but they left everything clean and tidy and even wrote a note saying thanks and bye.

So there you go.

How’s that for fucking lucky!!!
( DUMBLONDE is a rubber lover girl, Fri 11 Jan 2008, 16:08, 16 replies)

Laura
When I was in my mid-20s I started seeing a girl I worked with. She was pretty, educated, intelligent and doing reasonably well for herself.

...And she regularly went shop-lifting for kicks.

I was FASCINATED by her behaviour. Still am, if the truth be told.
(Flickr_Freak is a figment of your imagination., Fri 11 Jan 2008, 15:57, 7 replies)

A 6 foot high folded-up Sigue Sigue Sputnik Poster
Half-inched, tucked inside a copy of the Sun, bought in John Menzies sometime in the 80s. I was scared as shit walking out and to this day have no idea why I pinched it.
(darfbozo, Fri 11 Jan 2008, 15:55, 2 replies)

Little Chef.
There are so many reasons why I shouldn't tell this one, but here goes.

This occured back when I was still a learner on my 125cc bike. I was making my way down the A1 to visit Mum to ask her about the man from France who contacted me out of the blue to claim he was my father (see what I mean now?).

It was very, very cold. And rainy. I wasn't enjoying myself. Halfway there, I stopped at a Little Chef to feed myself and warm up. I ate, I went to the bogs, I paid, I left.

Or at least, that's what I thought I did. Literally seconds after getting back on the road I realised; I hadn't paid. I count it as evidence of my character that I immediately started looking for a way of turning around to get back to pay. I couldn't just think "ah, sod it," and carry on. I'm not that kind of person.

With hindsight, I wish I were that kind of person.

Not far down the road is a massive roundabout. "Great," I thought. "I can turn around and stop at the petrol station opposite, then nip across and pay. Around the roundabout I went. The signposting was awful. I took the exit that appeared to lead to the A1 north.

Except it didn't. It was some odd little road that led around the back of a Travel Lodge. Bugger!

I made a quick U-turn and tried again, around the roundabout. I took the exit that must take me to A1 north. It must, there was no doubt, it had to be the one...

...back of the Travel Lodge. This is where everything combined at once. My frustration. The awful, bone-chilling weather. The idiot who decided that three foot from the back of a learner motorcycle is exactly where he should keep his bumper. I indicated off to stop in a gravel layby. THIS was the big mistake.

I skidded, wobbled, then came off. My head hit the ground, which wasn't a problem. Tiny bump. Crucially, though, my arm hit the curb, fist first, sending a very unpleasant shockwave up my arm.

I lay on the grass, cradling my arm, swearing. The driver stopped to help, but I waved him away. I had a mobile. I could get help if needed. And he wasn't exactly my favourite person at that moment.

The bike was okay, if adorned with a few extra scratches. I got it up and tested my ability to ride. My elbow was a mass of pain, but thankfully it wouldn't need to bend much. My wrist, though, really bloody hurt. Using the throttle was agonising, and the front brake wasn't fun to use. I limped back out onto the roundabout, carefully counted the exits, and made my way back up the A1 and into the petrol station.

I made my trip across the road. The lady behind the counter looked very shocked. "Most people don't come back," she said.

"I wish I were one of them," I replied.

A friendly biker at the petrol station said, and I quote; "You look perturbed". After explaining my situation, he recommended asprin and Lucozade (how anyone could drink that stuff is beyond me). With both duly purchased and consumed, I carefully continued on.

I stopped at Peterborough hospital (there was no way I could continue on through the little B roads that bypassed the A1(M), not with the amount of throttle and brake activity that would be required). After putting up with waiting alongside the foul-mouthed yob with the bleeding headwound being escorted by two coppers, a strange little man gave me an X-ray and a friendly spherical nurse showed me the little dark mark at my elbow that "could be a hairline fracture, could be a bruised bone". Either way, it wouldn't matter, because they gave me a sling and an asprin and let me on my way to arrange for my sympathetic Mum to pick me up.

So don't go back to pay. Karma won't thank you. It'll put your arm out of action for three weeks and cost you £100 to hire a van to collect your bike.

Of course, I won't be taking that advice. I like to think that honesty pays, even if it didn't that time.
(Musuko, Fri 11 Jan 2008, 15:45, 2 replies)

Shop lifting
Literally
( I have run out of coke is a little sweaty, Fri 11 Jan 2008, 15:37, Reply)

I just stole £10 from Adobe
The bastards keep sending me emails about some online survey, and offering a £10 Amazon voucher if you complete it, but only if you 'qualify' -- i.e. you're in a position to purchase software from them in the future. So in order to a) shut them up and b) get a free voucher, I lied to make it seem like I qualified, and then just made up all the answers.

I'm like some sort of criminal mastermind, me.
( reallywittyname veraciously conspues lexiphanicism on, Fri 11 Jan 2008, 15:27, Reply)

As a student, my dad and his chums stole a 'Diversion' road sign and put it somewhere else,
laughing to themselves as they contemplated the traffic chaos that would ensure. Then they had an attack of conscience - what if a sweet little old lady got horribly lost and frightened? So they put the sign back.

I like this story -- they got to have all the fun of thinking up the prank and doing it, but nobody actually got inconvenienced.
( Bob Todd whee, Fri 11 Jan 2008, 15:24, 1 reply)

Late night Tesco munchies
a few months back when a group of friends and I had been happy smoking we decide its time to visit the local 24hr Tesco's for food
as we walk around looking at various items and giggling a scraggy haired smack rat takes a bottle of tesco value vodka upto the counter where he is told that it is too late for them to sell booze.
in a blink of the eye said junkie smashes the top off the bottle, spraying glass and vodka all over the till girl, in order remove the security tag and runs hell for leather to the exit where he is knocked down by the greeter but springs up and pelts out of the shop with, now empty, broken glass bottle

im still confused why he needed to remove the tag if he was running out with it anyway
lifes confusing sometimes, but we sure as hell laughed
(Joe Guevara is well known for stealing your biscuits, Fri 11 Jan 2008, 14:43, Reply)

I wish I knew who found it...
When I was probably about 5 years old, I was in the Early Learning Centre happily admiring the sheer number of plastic toy animals on display that were so popular amongst the 5 year olds of the time. When my mum told me we had to go, I knew I just had to have one. So I quickly placed one of the small rather lifelike plastic lizards into my pocket.

As soon as I was out the door I knew the police had been informed and would soon put me away.

I had to get rid of the evidence!

So in the next shop I had to placed my new friend where noone would ever find it. Unfortunately my mum had dragged me into the underwear section of Debenhams.

I reached into my pocket, wrapped my fingers around the life like looking lizard and shoved my hand it deep inside a pile of big cheap granny pants.

Only on my way home did I realise that giving old Gertie her second heart attack in as many weeks probably means more jailtime than stealing a plastic lizard.

I haven't had the stomach to steal anything else since that day!
(mikefergie, Fri 11 Jan 2008, 14:38, Reply)

Balls
I'm not sure if this is quite on-topic, but you won't know until you reach the end. So here goes.

It's December 1995, and I am a fresher. My hall of residence, along with those adjacent, throws a Christmas ball to see out the term. Having queued for hours to get tickets, my stablemates and I are keen to get our money's worth.

Already half-cut by the time the meal was served, we noticed - we could not have failed to notice - the table laden with booze, just over there. Curious to know what it is, we investigate. Bottles of wine, Martini, Taboo (look: it was the '90s, OK?) call us like glass sirens. And, not being tied to the mast, we are helpless. They must be ours.

For the girls in their ballgowns, half-inching them is difficult, so S, A, O and the three Js don't get much. But G (of bank robbery fame), C and I are wearing tuxes; I am in a waistcoat, too. Borrowing a bottle is easy. Drinking the contents is easier.

But this leaves us with a problem: how to dispose of the empties? We don't know why the bottles were there, but even we can tell that they oughtn't to be here. The solution is to slide an empty back under the tux, then to go and speak to a vague aquaintance on the other side of the room. During the course of the conversation, the bottle could find its way under the interlocutor's table.

The plan works like a dream: as the meal is cleared away and the dancing starts, we lose all our empties.

From that point on, my awareness of events is hazy, except for two things. One is the realisation at some point that there is an attractive young lady attached to my face - I hadn't noticed before, but don't really mind. The second is an announcement over the PA as midnight strikes.

"We were supposed to be having a raffle now. But someone seems to have stolen all the prizes."



Ah. So that's what they were...
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Fri 11 Jan 2008, 14:17, 3 replies)

A day out
With a couple of friends, going shopping, all that girly stuff when we bumped into a couple of guys we knew. We took a seat outside HMV so we could have a catch-up, when one of the guys with us decided he was going to add to his CD collection by nicking as much as he could carry from the shop. We watched through the doors, not believing the casualness of what he was doing as he picked up handfuls of CD cases and stuffed them into his jacket. As he began his casual walk through the door, he was grabbed by a security officer and marched towards the back. Thinking this was hilarious, we stayed put to see what would happen. About 15 minutes later, this guy walked out, looking miserable, explaining that the security guy had given him a warning and a lifelong ban. Lucky for him, we thought, security tends to be complete bastards in those places.

Turns out, he hadn't learnt his lesson. He then decided to cross the road to the local Spar where he again attempted to shoplift, this time a measly Mars Bar. The irate shop keeper had a hold of him before he even left the store and this time, it took a trip to the station accompanied by several pissed off officers to stop him.

So now, whenever his name is mentioned, it's always accompanied by 'Oh, that idiot arrested for nicking a Mars Bar. Ha ha ha!'
(missc, Fri 11 Jan 2008, 14:16, Reply)

a lesson in English
I think I shoplifted for the first time when i was maybe 12. I was raised to know the difference between right and wrong, but that wasn't what had kept me on the straight and narrow.

No, it was my weak grasp of the English language; confusing 'prosecution' with 'execution' in the 'thieves will be prosecuted' sign that adornes most shop walls. The thought of having my head removed for stealing a Mars bar was just too much.

After crawling up the education system and learning the true meaning of the word a demon was released.

A good friend and I made our cash by taking 'orders' from our school friends and emptying the local shops of anything and everything for cash to pay for our filthy little cigarettes and cheap cider.

Perhaps our brashest ploy (and performed on a near daily basis) was to walk into our local supermarket with empty carrier bags, fill them up and casually stroll out. How we never got caught I just don't know.

We used to go the local Esso with our folk's Tiger Vouchers to exchange for some cheap tat, while the attendant was in the back retrieving said key-ring we leaned over and grabbed as many packs of fags as our grubby little mitts would allow.

My God, this confessional list could go on quite extensively. It seems that I was quite the thieving little b3tard in my youth, but let it be known that I no longer act on my five-finger discount impulses. I have learnt the error of my ways having been on the receiving end.

Stupidest thing ever stolen = zimmer frame (there was no old person attached at the time; I'm not a monster....)
(thebigcheese thebigcheese, Fri 11 Jan 2008, 14:12, Reply)

Ahem...Stock Replenishment
I used to work in a late night bar in Edinburgh (usual shite - loads of fights/people trying to have sex with each other in the toilets), anyhoo...after work I would walk home, stopping off at the local BP garage for a tasty (!!!) micro-burger.

As the months went on, I got friendly with the guy who worked nights in the garage...I started to refill the sweets in the shop (this was in the 80's when Petrol stations shops were open rather than that "shouting through the little hole they opened near the till" stuff). He was grateful as he couldn't be arsed with it and was glad of the company...so occasionally I would nick a Marathon (yes I am that old)...then I realised that the stock room held much much more than just sweets...oh my!

Soon I was helping myself to packs of 200 Malboro, packets of 35mm film, tins of baked beans (hey I was taking home £60pw!) - then it got really messy, as drunkenly I would tell my mates...fast forward to a night on the bevvy...4 drunks in enormous coats stumbling around the stock room stuffing anything they could lay their hands on into their pockets...

Strangely that was the last time I was let in the stock room again...although later the dude who worked there showed piccies of his girlf naked...not sure why...Oh and he didn't get sacked or anything (phew)

And I am now sensible and grown up and responsible and all those other things (apart from spending too much time on the interweb...)

Length? manly but soon shrivels when I think of the guilt...
( JockyMcSporan has a pointy head but no pointy chin..., Fri 11 Jan 2008, 14:00, Reply)

Christmas shopping in Newcastle one year
as me and the then-missus step in to a department store we spot an ideal present for a friend. I pick up this small wicker basket with a selection of single-serve bottles of wine in and we wander off into the shop to look for socks for her mother.

We didn't find any socks so we headed off to Halfords for something else. It was only when we got to where halfords used to be that I noticed I still had a wicker basket in my hand that we'd forgotten all about, so we head back to the store.

I get stopped by a store detective on the way in so I tell him I've come back to pay for it. He didn't quite know what to do, so he walked me to the front of the queue and made sure I paid.
( CowJam, Fri 11 Jan 2008, 13:54, Reply)

Attack of Conscience
Thanks to EMA and other such government lark I spent my College years a damn site richer than I should have been, so me and my chums were often caught milling round Nottingham buying inane rubbish in an attempt to woo girls with how 'cool' we were and get a big DVD collection.

So one time milling was in full swing down at MVC, when we see a man in his thirties run out of the shop carrying a bundle of merch, alarms blaring and a security guard in hot pursuit. However soon after the security guard comes back looking dejected. However, another five or so mins just as we are leaving we see the man return to the store, tears in his eyes and he throws the stuff back saying "I just can't do it, it isn't right" before legging it again.

How odd.
(Pimms'N'Lemonade thinks you are a twat, prove me wrong., Fri 11 Jan 2008, 13:33, 2 replies)

well
I have never shoplifted anything.

Have been asked to leave a job for borrowing* things though, fucksocks.


*look alright, stealing, but I was young, even more stupid than i am now, broke and being threatened with nastiness from Coventry Uni housing association at the time.

If i am ever given too much change nowadays i always give it back, gawd bless my still tarnished honour
(Halfy By light alone, Fri 11 Jan 2008, 13:28, Reply)

My mate Bod works for a building firm...
...and travels all over the country, getting pissed in the evening, then during the day he installs counters and...

Oh.

Shoplifting. Sorry, I thought you said Shopfitting!
(Professor Kenny Martin Hmm? What?, Fri 11 Jan 2008, 13:16, 2 replies)

I know quite a few gay blokes...
...and they're all very straight-acting, not camp at all.

My mate 'Gayboy' on the other hand is dead straight, but acts so camp that many many people think he...

Oh.

Shoplifting. Sorry, I thought you said shirtlifting!
(Professor Kenny Martin Hmm? What?, Fri 11 Jan 2008, 13:15, 5 replies)

T'internet
Last night I stole the internet from one of my neighbours who has an unsecured wireless router with what would appear to be a very fast (for broadband over phoneline) internet link. Downloaded a couple of gig last night and might do the same tonight.

Also, when I was (a lot) younger I would nick a milkybar on the way to school.
( gareth_alien will be human again at, Fri 11 Jan 2008, 13:11, 4 replies)

sticky shit
Whence I was knee high to a grass hopper (lets say 7 yrs of age) I remeber being on holiday with the Folks in the good ol' US of A. Fuck knows where, all I knew it was better than being at home (nr Selby, a particularly shit part of Yorkshire)

Don't remeber the details too much as it was but a fair few years back now, but I seem to recall pocketing a pack of bubble gum as I was leaving some god awful bigger than the earth supermarket. I then proceeded to try out my new acquisition, something that had never crossed the lips of the poofly in previous years.

Now when you are about 7 and you've never had the chance to experience bubblegum before, one can find it a little tricky to blow bubbles, especially if you have no clue about it. So young poofly proceeds to take the bubblegum in hand and kinda stretch it out over my mouth and blow.

Thing is it had now stuck to my hands. Luckily (well not really) we were staying in a motorhome and it was close by, so off I went to cover every single door knob and handle in the fecker in an attempt to get the shit off my hands.

So I got away with the five finger discount, but one hell of a bollocking from the folks ensued when they saw I'd buggered all door handles with gobs of bubblegum.

Apologies for length but it took me hours to get the stuff off all surfaces...
(poofly, Fri 11 Jan 2008, 13:06, 3 replies)

wow
i can't believe how many people here have never stolen anything.. what it must be like to have parents with some sort of morals to impart on their children i'll never know.
(brotagaia, Fri 11 Jan 2008, 13:05, 2 replies)

Walnut
It so happened, that early one crisp winters morn, i went out with my mother, of the time (since disowned),and happened upon a small stall selling fruit and veg. Amongst this treasure trove of fresh produce, was featured a small box of nuts. The most impressively sized of which, i felt an urge to procure.

I didn't know what it was.
All i knew was that i wanted it.
(ShitBitch, Fri 11 Jan 2008, 13:02, Reply)

I must have passed it on in my genes
My daughter age 4. In the local convenience store. I am selecting yoghurts she wanders down the aisle. I hear laughter coming from the guy behind the counter.
Apparently she has tried to get a packet of cheese n onion crisps and a can of coke (things that are not freely available at home) into her coat pocket.
The moment I turn round she is trying to hand the shopkeeper a 2p piece saying "Its OK Mom, I've got money."
(Siouxfan I'm not staring at you, I am just short sighted, Fri 11 Jan 2008, 12:56, 2 replies)

A friend of a friend...
Who worked in a petrol station, decided to tell us that the CCTV cameras didnt work, and that if anyone drove off without paying for petrol then all they had to do was press a button on the till to say "drive off". As they had no working CCTV there was no evidence against the culprits. So they couldnt even call the police.

So of course word gets round and every c*nt in the town was doing it!

They had to switch to pre pay in the end.

Length? A few hundred freebie miles!
(Miggyman, Fri 11 Jan 2008, 12:44, Reply)

HMV was a goldmine to work in
a couple of xmas's ago. I was one of the labelling gimps that worked upstairs.

My job consisted of scanning the codes on the parcels we got in, then printing the labels out, putting them on said items, and some other lackey would ship them off downstairs.

After a few weeks of being made to do ridiculous overtime by the boss, I decided to take advantage of the system. I was the one who had to put the security tags onto items that bleep if you try and run out the door with them.

Funnily enough, anything I liked ended up not being tagged. Even stranger, it tended to end up in my sports bag. Yes, of course I was going down the gym after work..

Even better was using the stock system to order expensive and rare items, box sets, consoles, all of which mysteriously disappeared..

And as for actual shoplifiting, I even managed it whilst working on the floor! Glancing across the room to the games section, I noticed one young chav being very unsubtle whilst peeling the security tag off a game, so I marched over, grabbed him by the hood, held him til the security guard got over, and pocketed the game myself during the confusion!

Even better was him being held in our stockroom by said guard, then the cops, then his mum coming in and belting him one across the face!

Length: 8 weeks, and about £600 of xmas shopping free..
(fantomex, Fri 11 Jan 2008, 12:38, 5 replies)

Woolworths in Kings Heath, I am sorry...truly
18 months old, in pushchair with Mommy.
She got me home to discover her little darling had brought a huge screw driver with her - under her blanket. Sorry Woolies.

8 years old - keen marble player - off to Woolies to top up supplies, home made marble bag in hand (thanks Mom). Moments later a burst bag on the marble shelf I am approaching, kind hearted staff member spotted me with my marble bag and said 'O you poor thing, here let me help you pick them all up.' Then promptly filled my marble bag to the brim. Thank you lady. Sorry Woolies. Really.

Mothers Day presents age 13 with mates. I choose a box of chocs and some bath cubes (remember them?) for my marble bag making Mom (RIP Mom - miss you) and head back to my mates, ready to go? Yup off we go. Heavy hands on our shoulders and off we drag to the Managers office.?? what the buggery bollox is going on - Young Siouxfan. Store detectives- turn your bags and pockets out....

I sigh and happily turn it all out, bit of string, broken pen, bus pass, picture of The Banshees snipped out of NME...
Mates - twenty lipsticks, 12 eye shadow pallets, 16 lip liners and 4 eye pencils and a blusher.....WTF?!
Ironically, they never told me the plan as apparently I look so beautifully innocent. O great, thanks for that.

Sorry Woolies.
(Siouxfan I'm not staring at you, I am just short sighted, Fri 11 Jan 2008, 12:36, 2 replies)

Too good to shoplift...
not me (I have nothing exciting to report at the moment) but an alcoholic tramp. I was working in Tescos on night shift filling the freezers in the aisle next to the drink. Tramp comes in gets a carton of orange juice and heads straight for the Vodka. Being late at night it can't be sold due to licensing laws which he knows. He opens the Vodka and quickly takes a good slug followed by a drink of orange juice. At this point security shows up, as they had had their eye on him, and grab him. The tramp then digs into his pocket and brings out money to pay! He then explains (amazingly coherently) that he is an alcoholic and was desperate but didn't know what else to do. Luckily management used common sense and did not ring the police but quielty dealt with it. Couldn't help but feel strange admiration for the poor guy.

Can't help but think some people on here could learn something from this story
(Studentken is looking for motivation on, Fri 11 Jan 2008, 12:35, 1 reply)

Pointless
Last year I was at the hairdressers for a quick trim when in walks the local druggie carrying a heavy object under his arm. He's well known in the area and is usually quite pleasent as he's constantly trying to sell you the latest items he's shoplifted so he can get his smack as quick as possible. The hair dressers tolerate him as he doesn't hang around too long and he's entertaining enough.
This time he sits down next to me and starts showing everyone the vacuum cleaner he's just nicked.

"I've just lifted this vac from the window of Curries," he exclaimed proudly. "Top of the range, yours for............fifty quid".
"I don't think so," came the reply around the salon.
"Alright........twenty quid".
Still no one was entertaining him.
"Watch this, all this hair on the floor, gone."

He lent over to the plug sockets and plugged it in. A light appeared on the front of it and a quiet whirring sound started up. Our druggie friend couldn't find the nozzel so he just pushed it across the floor through all the hair clippings, nothing was happening, but he persevered.
As I watched this bizarre demonstration I began to feel cold, so I took a closer look and realised his problem.

"That's not a vacuum cleaner," I said.
"what do you mean?"
"It's an air conditioner...to keep your house cool".
"................a fiver then".

He ended up leaving it behind. There's not really the market for air conditioners in Glasgow.
.
(sparks , oh, I don't know., Fri 11 Jan 2008, 12:35, 2 replies)

Legless' story reminds me
I lived in a small Greek town that experienced the most inept bank robbery in history.

So one day, the robber, Yiannis, screeches up to the town's bank in his car and storms in with a gun and a balaclava , shouting for them to give him the money. The teller in this small community recognises him straight away and says "Hi, Yiannis! Is this a joke?" But the gun persuades him to hand over the money.

Oddly enough, Yiannis was tracked down to his home, about 500m from the bank, the very next day. The clues are compelling: Yiannis was the only man within 100 square miles (possibly in the whole of Greece) who owned a black Pontiac Firebird (think Burt Reynolds in Smokey and the Bandit) - the car used in the robbery and now parked outside his house. And the police didn't have to look far for the gun - Yiannis had borrowed it from the town's single policeman on the morning of the robbery and taken it back the same evening.

Only in Greece.
(frankspencer, Fri 11 Jan 2008, 12:34, 3 replies)