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Shoplifting is an art form.
After several years of dealing with it, I've realized that the range of a lifter's medium is not limited to comparing kindergarten crayon drawings to Picasso.
No, the lifter will rip open packets of garden seeds and pour them in a pocket, snack on crackers and smoked oysters only to leave the remains to be pieced together hours later by head-shaking employees of the establishment or boldly go where only an adrenaline rush supplies the proper fuel.
Sometimes they create works of art that they had not intended.
Self-service checkout stands are common now. When they were new features, many "what ifs" were circulating on both sides of the retail experience.
Take, for instance, the young gentleman who decided to stuff several cellophane-wrapped, family pack sized steaks into his trousers.
I was leaving for the day and (being a geek) decided to help check out the new equipment by using it for my purchase.
All of the terminals were occupied with customers who were willing to avoid the lines, make their purchases and go on about their business.
I heard something that sounded like a small caliber weapon being discharged and turned to see a young man doubled over with blood on his shirt near the waist.
My first impulse was to offer first aid. As several people and I rushed to aid, he waved us off and said that he had only dropped his change. At this point, heads were swiveling all around in search of "the shooter".
As the "victim" stood, another "crack" was heard and blood began running down his leg. Then I saw a bulge under his shirt. In my off-duty mind, that bulge was an intestinal rupture. I went in to help keep his guts in place until the paramedics arrived.
That's when I felt something that was oddly firm and too geometrically shaped to be protruding intestines.
He had stuffed cellophane-wrapped, bloody meat in a styrofoam tray into his pants, bent over to pick up a coin he'd dropped (from his legitimate purchase), snapped the tray (gunshot) releasing the blood from his pilfered cow meat.
It was difficult to shift from "concerned citizen" to "laughing clown" but I managed to get through the ordeal.
"Don't Panic"
I'm all over that philosophy.
After several years of dealing with it, I've realized that the range of a lifter's medium is not limited to comparing kindergarten crayon drawings to Picasso.
No, the lifter will rip open packets of garden seeds and pour them in a pocket, snack on crackers and smoked oysters only to leave the remains to be pieced together hours later by head-shaking employees of the establishment or boldly go where only an adrenaline rush supplies the proper fuel.
Sometimes they create works of art that they had not intended.
Self-service checkout stands are common now. When they were new features, many "what ifs" were circulating on both sides of the retail experience.
Take, for instance, the young gentleman who decided to stuff several cellophane-wrapped, family pack sized steaks into his trousers.
I was leaving for the day and (being a geek) decided to help check out the new equipment by using it for my purchase.
All of the terminals were occupied with customers who were willing to avoid the lines, make their purchases and go on about their business.
I heard something that sounded like a small caliber weapon being discharged and turned to see a young man doubled over with blood on his shirt near the waist.
My first impulse was to offer first aid. As several people and I rushed to aid, he waved us off and said that he had only dropped his change. At this point, heads were swiveling all around in search of "the shooter".
As the "victim" stood, another "crack" was heard and blood began running down his leg. Then I saw a bulge under his shirt. In my off-duty mind, that bulge was an intestinal rupture. I went in to help keep his guts in place until the paramedics arrived.
That's when I felt something that was oddly firm and too geometrically shaped to be protruding intestines.
He had stuffed cellophane-wrapped, bloody meat in a styrofoam tray into his pants, bent over to pick up a coin he'd dropped (from his legitimate purchase), snapped the tray (gunshot) releasing the blood from his pilfered cow meat.
It was difficult to shift from "concerned citizen" to "laughing clown" but I managed to get through the ordeal.
"Don't Panic"
I'm all over that philosophy.
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