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In a rare bout of impulsive roguism, I shoplifted two candy bars and a bag of chips at Canada's Wonderland. I am not generally a stealer per se - I am not poor or starving and lifting shit is usually more trouble than it's worth. Most convenience store clerks keep a shotgun or a pistol above the counter, behind the bountiful displays of cigarette death. They get bored and like to shoot. Therefore it is often wise to avoid thieving their goods.

That said, I nonetheless thieved as I left the store - I didn't plan to and I'm not sure I even meant to, but sticky fingers and big pockets and adequate distractions were all in place. I felt elated and somewhat ridiculous as I stepped into the boiling sun, illicit snacks in hand. I hadn't shoplifted since high school.

[Tangent: Petty Theft. I don't recommend such activities (you'll see why in a minute) but if you're going to rip something off, it's better to punish yourself than have someone else punish you. This involves not getting caught. Getting caught sucks, and sometimes you get shot. Basically the key aspect of shoplifting victory is impulse. Don't plan, because then you look shifty as you idly flip through magazines or porn or whatever and wait for your opportunity. If you stall, you're being watched - even if you don't think so. Go about your business, look like you have to be somewhere. Don't force it. Don't care about taking something, don't consider it, just do it before your mind has a chance to catch up with your filthy thieving fingers. The mind is a slut and will betray you any chance it gets.]

So anyways, I didn't even really want the stuff I had taken, but there it was: two O Henry bars and some Baked Lays. It appears that I only steal things with bright yellow packaging. My enthusiasm for the catch faded quickly.

And as the sun glared down at me, I could only think "Oh shit, the divinities are really gonna be pissed about this one." For, you see, even if I don't really know Who or What God is, I still believe that there's a Benevolence out there who disapproves mightily of such crimes as that which I had recently and joyfully committed. I didn't even have a need! No justification. I was royally fucked. Oh yes.

Back in the Park (Wonderland, remember?), things predictably went sour. I was searched vigorously by a policeman and his overenthusiastic metal detector for many minutes. Then I lost all of my cigarettes and our locker key on the Spongebob Squarepants 3D ride. Then I was beset by a debilitating stomachache of the most painful persuasion. All the while, a spiritually judgmental sun beat down on my lily-white shoulders and fried them to a bacon-y crispness, bypassing the laughable resistance of SPF 45 sunblock. I knew, I KNEW that someone up there was dropping me on my head for a reason - a valuable moral lesson always needs to be learnt by the end of the day/episode. Nonetheless, I had had quite enough of the Punishment for my liking.

Chad and Jen agreed and we abandoned Wonderland to the teenaged tarts, of which there are a plethora during the hot summer days: all dressed down and ready to fuck in the wave pool. We also saw a large number of completely shitty and unoriginal tattoos, but perhaps that's a rant for another time.

Back home, I ate the last stolen candy bar in one final act of defiance. It was melty and sticky and a large portion of it fell on my keyboard. The rest mostly went into my beard.

I cursed the skies but secretly knew that I had it coming. I had asked for a beatdown, and the skies delivered in spades. My moral compass might be a little skewed, but it comforts/irks me to know that I'll always have God/Buddha/Doctor Zen/The Great Balance of Things to keep me straight.

Posted by Chris at 02:54 PM >> Commentations (6)