WWWD?
Oct/091
I 
believe that there is a coming-of-age event that each and every one of us experiences during the course of our lives. The outcome, of which, is completely dependant on the skills of the individual who performs the act. It can lead to joy and happiness or regret and despair. You may do it once and decide that it’s not for you, or you may choose to partake in the deed mere moments after you’ve completed the initial endeavor.
“Drugs?” You ask. No.
“Sex?” Not on this post.
Let’s reminisce. Sit back in your chair, close your eyes, take a deep breath, and take yourself back to the day when you first took shit from a store without paying for it.
I started out with a comic book. Most kids that I knew had a decent enough collection of comics that were merely another form of reading material. I wasnt one of these kids. During the moments leading up to my larceny era, comics had a hefty price tag of $0.75. Probably cheaper with a subscription. Unfortunately, during the course of my upbringing, this added cost was not part of the budget. I did, for a single year, recieve a year’s subscription to my beloved pre- Michael Bay, not yet completely fucked up with Shia LeBeouf, Transformers comic book series. That was a one time only gig, though, and my request for a renewal was denied. Thus, I was required to find alternate means to support my terrible reading habit. I turned into a criminal.
Initially, my shoplifting was limited to something that I really wanted but just couldn’t afford, but it didn’t take long before I was shopping around for things to steal. There was a Safeway across the street from my sixth grade middle school where, before and after school, I would browse for things that I may or may not have needed. Comics and magazines made up a large amount of my booty for they were probably the easiest to get away with, but sometimes something else would catch my eye.
I swiped a Far Side desk calender once. The score seemed easy enough and I hardly thought twice as I crammed the small box into my pants and calmly made my way out of the store. I think the thing was on clearance anyway, so it shouldn’t have even been that big of a deal. The manager, having somehow suspected my crime, thought otherwise. This guy was either extremely busy or extremely slow, though, because I had escaped completely across the parking lot when he finally popped out from behind the storefront doors. I heard yelling, and turned to see him pointing and screaming at me.
“What did you take?” he yelled. Now, I’d like to pause for a moment to explain my reaction to this question. I was raised with a complete fear of adults. My father was not the time-out type of guy, so when adults talked, I naturally payed attention and responded. Having been trained as such, I simply held up the calender and showed him. He must’ve sensed my moment of mesmerization and followed up with, “Get over here!” I actually contemplated it. Fortunately, however, I was able to break my dad’s voodoo spell and run the opposite direction. Needless to say, I opted to stay away from the grocery store for awhile.
When I finally did return, it was to jack a package of Binaca. This wonderful, banned from school for stupid reasons substance was way out of my price range, but all of the other kids had it, so I needed it as well. Imagine my frustration when I discovered that they were sold out of the sprays and only carried the small dropper bottles. Now, as any seasoned kleptomaniac knows, the smaller the package, the easier it is to hide. This particular item was vaccuum-wrapped against roughly a six inch by four inch piece of cardboard. That had to go. I quickly removed the small bottle, shoved it down my pants, and hurried out, anxious to acquire fresh minty breath. Instead, having somehow unscrewed the bottle cap whilst removing the packaging, I managed to acquire the freshest, mintiest, BURNINGEST dick, this side of the Mississippi. The effect was terrible, and I ended up ditching school for the rest of the day.
This, unfortunately, didn’t deter me from my life of crime. I had become accustomed to the finer things in life, and a single bad score wasn’t about to scare me away from other jobs. Plus, a Walmart had just been built, and the vast amount of treasures that were calling my name made it impossible for me to stop. My cassette tape collection was growing exponentially with the likes of Slaughter and Ratt and Cinderella. My SNES collection was growing a little slower, about as fast as the rotation of stock on the bottom hangers inside the plexiglass security case that I could barely reach after prying open the bottom a little. Speaking of which, the SNES itself was purchased with refunded cash from stolen scientific calculators.
I stole and stole and stole, yet never got caught. It wasn’t until I turned eighteen that the fear of actual jail scared me enough to stop. The life was over. I had it all. Games, music, magazines. It was all there for the taking. It didn’t matter. Whatever I wanted I just took. Today everything’s different. There’s no action. I have to buy things like everybody else. That’s the hardest part. I’m just an average nobody. I get to live the rest of my life like a schnook.