I shall start this by saying hand on heart that I have never ever deliberately stolen from a shop. In fact I would love to say that I've not stolen anything but that really would be an lie. My bathroom contains hotel toiletries and a couple of towels and a quick check of the kitchen reveals several glasses surreptitiously removed from a trendy bar I frequented as a student (and was eventually banned from after my friend was sick on the bouncers trousers- 'bad pint' she claimed - number 11 usually is!)
As a teenager my friends and I were definately not the kind of girls to spend Saturday afternoons in town making off with 'ice candy' lipgloss from Boots or a sneaky Kola Kube from the pick n mix in Woolies. We were far too respectable and scared of our parents to ever entertain the idea. And as an adult well I had money to pay for things and if I didn't have enough well there was always the plastic. I pride myself on being honest and law abiding and shop without guilt or fear that someone would discover a cashmere jumper I've hastily shoved down my pants.
Apparently not all people live by this code and I'm not just talking about those desperate souls who steal to feed an addiction or in these increasingly harsh times their family. My husband once worked with a well paid educated gent who mounted his own form of protest against supermarket chains by pinching one item every time he used a self checkout. I always kept my eyes peeled for him in shops just incase 'Giving it to the man' resulted in a firm hand on his shoulder and a ride in a police car.
I have to admit though that in the years since having kids there have been a few accidental slip ups with my 'no nicking' policy. The odd bag of sweets picked after long deliberation (just chose the 10p cola bottles we've been standing here for ten minutes) might not have made it out of my sons hands and through the till. There was even an occasion when wrapping a speedily purchased handbag for my mother in law's birthday I discovered a bonus bridesmaids headdress hidden inside (didn't suit her unfortunately). Yes I could have taken these items back and admitted my mistake but I was generally far away from the shop by before I discovered the mistake.
I am lucky to have a supermarket close to my house which I frequent on an almost daily basis. Not the most economical way to shop I know but having a small daughter a walk there and back it means bit of exercise (for me) and fresh air (for her) and I can carry back my 'messages' (as my granny used to call them) in the basket on bottom of her pram - all good.
A few weeks ago I was merrily heading into the supermarket to pick up a few essentials we'd run out of (probably satsumas and milk - as a family we seem to consume so much of these items I have quite seriously considered moving to Cyprus and getting a cow). Approaching the door I pushed open the hood of the pram (where I balance my basket) and to my horror revealed a large cucumber. This had been purchased on my previous visit a few days before when I had started off with great intentions of healthy eating which had mostly evaporated by the time I got to the biscuits. In my usual vacant state I must have forgotten to transfer it to the fridge when I got home and it had been there ever since.
By this point I was at the shop door hold my basket at the point of no return. If there had been a handy bin I might have thrown it in but there wasn't and I really didn't want to end up paying for it twice (it had got a bit soft and yucky after two days in a pram hood so was unlikely to be edible). In a rare flash of quick thinking I had an idea I could secret it somewhere and then dispose of it later. Now if this were a 1970's sit com I would have put it down my trousers or up my sleeve where it would have fallen out at an awkward and embarrassing moment but even my life isn't 'Some mothers do have em'. So I put it in the pram basket and covered it up with the raincover.
For the next ten minutes I scurried round the shop with a guilty look on my face hoping that nobody would peek at my pram. I was speed shopping big style terrified that an announcement would come over the tannoy 'the lady in the black puffa jacket curently in the bread aisle go straight to the manager office to be searched'. With heart pounding at the check outs I did a swerve of the chatty ladies and joined the queue of the sullen one with the barcode tattoo on her wrist (something I was always curious about but never dared to ask - was it an ironic comment on her profession and what did it scan as - a crusty loaf perhaps or a bottle of bleach). I quickly unloaded and didn't meet her eye as my items moved along the band. Then to my horror realised that I was facing a final obstacle to getting away with larceny - a charity bag packer!
Now usually these helpful folks are usual only there at weekends when a bored looking teenager will squash your sliced loaf with tins in return for a small donation towards their scout trip to France or new cheerleading pom poms so this was unexpected. This guy was a bit older and given that midweek the shop was pretty quiet very keen to give me a hand (no idea what he was collecting for either I don't think scouts wear golfing jumpers and grey slacks). My breathing was fine when he was helping to bag my shopping but when he bent down to put one of the bags in the pram basket I let out a squeak and nearly collapsed. Poor guy must have wondered what on earth was wrong when I grabbed my bags, threw 50p at him (I was in a panic but still polite) and sprinted away with a startled look on my face. If only he knew how close he had come to revealing the illicit cucumber and the shame of my family when the headline 'Mum arrested for vegetable theft' appeared in the local paper.
All the way home I kept looking over my shoulder and only within the safety of my house with the door double locked did my heartrate returned to normal. I then made haste in disposal of the evidence by chopping it into small bits and putting half in the food bin and the other half in the compost. My brush with crime really had shaken me to the core and knew from now on honesty was the only way to go. Shame I had to go straight back though - I'd forgotten the bloody milk.
As a teenager my friends and I were definately not the kind of girls to spend Saturday afternoons in town making off with 'ice candy' lipgloss from Boots or a sneaky Kola Kube from the pick n mix in Woolies. We were far too respectable and scared of our parents to ever entertain the idea. And as an adult well I had money to pay for things and if I didn't have enough well there was always the plastic. I pride myself on being honest and law abiding and shop without guilt or fear that someone would discover a cashmere jumper I've hastily shoved down my pants.
Apparently not all people live by this code and I'm not just talking about those desperate souls who steal to feed an addiction or in these increasingly harsh times their family. My husband once worked with a well paid educated gent who mounted his own form of protest against supermarket chains by pinching one item every time he used a self checkout. I always kept my eyes peeled for him in shops just incase 'Giving it to the man' resulted in a firm hand on his shoulder and a ride in a police car.
I have to admit though that in the years since having kids there have been a few accidental slip ups with my 'no nicking' policy. The odd bag of sweets picked after long deliberation (just chose the 10p cola bottles we've been standing here for ten minutes) might not have made it out of my sons hands and through the till. There was even an occasion when wrapping a speedily purchased handbag for my mother in law's birthday I discovered a bonus bridesmaids headdress hidden inside (didn't suit her unfortunately). Yes I could have taken these items back and admitted my mistake but I was generally far away from the shop by before I discovered the mistake.
I am lucky to have a supermarket close to my house which I frequent on an almost daily basis. Not the most economical way to shop I know but having a small daughter a walk there and back it means bit of exercise (for me) and fresh air (for her) and I can carry back my 'messages' (as my granny used to call them) in the basket on bottom of her pram - all good.
A few weeks ago I was merrily heading into the supermarket to pick up a few essentials we'd run out of (probably satsumas and milk - as a family we seem to consume so much of these items I have quite seriously considered moving to Cyprus and getting a cow). Approaching the door I pushed open the hood of the pram (where I balance my basket) and to my horror revealed a large cucumber. This had been purchased on my previous visit a few days before when I had started off with great intentions of healthy eating which had mostly evaporated by the time I got to the biscuits. In my usual vacant state I must have forgotten to transfer it to the fridge when I got home and it had been there ever since.
By this point I was at the shop door hold my basket at the point of no return. If there had been a handy bin I might have thrown it in but there wasn't and I really didn't want to end up paying for it twice (it had got a bit soft and yucky after two days in a pram hood so was unlikely to be edible). In a rare flash of quick thinking I had an idea I could secret it somewhere and then dispose of it later. Now if this were a 1970's sit com I would have put it down my trousers or up my sleeve where it would have fallen out at an awkward and embarrassing moment but even my life isn't 'Some mothers do have em'. So I put it in the pram basket and covered it up with the raincover.
For the next ten minutes I scurried round the shop with a guilty look on my face hoping that nobody would peek at my pram. I was speed shopping big style terrified that an announcement would come over the tannoy 'the lady in the black puffa jacket curently in the bread aisle go straight to the manager office to be searched'. With heart pounding at the check outs I did a swerve of the chatty ladies and joined the queue of the sullen one with the barcode tattoo on her wrist (something I was always curious about but never dared to ask - was it an ironic comment on her profession and what did it scan as - a crusty loaf perhaps or a bottle of bleach). I quickly unloaded and didn't meet her eye as my items moved along the band. Then to my horror realised that I was facing a final obstacle to getting away with larceny - a charity bag packer!
Now usually these helpful folks are usual only there at weekends when a bored looking teenager will squash your sliced loaf with tins in return for a small donation towards their scout trip to France or new cheerleading pom poms so this was unexpected. This guy was a bit older and given that midweek the shop was pretty quiet very keen to give me a hand (no idea what he was collecting for either I don't think scouts wear golfing jumpers and grey slacks). My breathing was fine when he was helping to bag my shopping but when he bent down to put one of the bags in the pram basket I let out a squeak and nearly collapsed. Poor guy must have wondered what on earth was wrong when I grabbed my bags, threw 50p at him (I was in a panic but still polite) and sprinted away with a startled look on my face. If only he knew how close he had come to revealing the illicit cucumber and the shame of my family when the headline 'Mum arrested for vegetable theft' appeared in the local paper.
All the way home I kept looking over my shoulder and only within the safety of my house with the door double locked did my heartrate returned to normal. I then made haste in disposal of the evidence by chopping it into small bits and putting half in the food bin and the other half in the compost. My brush with crime really had shaken me to the core and knew from now on honesty was the only way to go. Shame I had to go straight back though - I'd forgotten the bloody milk.