Roger Rabbits with Jim Bunny

Never been a great judge of character. And she was living proof.

At first appearance, all chirpy, smiley, pleasant and polite when we collided negotiating a tight left-hander by the cucumbers, scallions, and celery in the supermarket.

She made light of it. “Are you racing me sir?” Sir? I hate honorifics. Especially that one. Makes me sound old and respectable. I try to be neither. Then by the dried fruit down aisle four, I banged into her again. “Are you stalking me now sir?” She was funny and infectious. I didn’t tell her I just needed beer and eggs, that I wasn’t seeking out creepy, unwanted contact.

She was dressed Saturday afternoon-ish – not too much effort. A bit unkempt. But a fizzy, effervescent personality was her asset. I liked her style. It would serve her well I thought. But, unfortunately, for only about five minutes.

Because just outside the supermarket front door, my new friend’s day had disintegrated spectacularly. She was now standing beside a police car, its lights flashing like fairground sideshow. And she was in handcuffs. All hangdog and miserable. Her parents had taught her well about manners, and being polite and nice to older people – but not the evils of dishonesty, the perils of shoplifting.

Gaping and Gawking 

I like to think the best of people. But I may have got this one terribly wrong. Perhaps. Because we don’t know her circumstances – we don’t know if she got pinged. But judging by the way the police ‘shopping squad’ was doing a stock take of her fat, and presumably unpaid for, shopping trolley, it didn’t bode well for her.

And what about the decency or lack of it, the manners or lack of them, of the rubberneckers who hovered, gaped, and gawked – reveling in her misfortune? The “serves her right” and “good show” comments. Who was worse? The alleged perp or those delighting in her humiliation? Shall we let her have her day in court, if that’s where it’s headed, before judging her. It’s possible nothing came of the incident. Why do I hope so?

We know nothing of her circumstances. Was she just cunningly trying to cheat the duopoly? Or was that bountiful basket essential for the survival of a three or four hungry kids at home. The alleged offending might be more about the state of the nation, the struggling have-nots, than one person’s dishonesty. However supermarkets aren’t foodbanks, they’re businesses. And while that may be an explanation for her behaviour, it’s not an excuse.

Mo of shoplifter

What was interesting in hindsight was the woman’s modus operandi – if someone’s going to shoplift, you would expect them be a bit furtive, a bit secretive, avoiding eye contact, a bit sneaky try not to attract attention. Perhaps even show signs of nervousness or guilt – like fidgeting with hair and body.  My new friend showed none of it. She was out there. But while she may have fooled me, she obviously didn’t fool the prying security systems and the trained eyes.

In retail stores, and especially grocery outlets, we’re all under the scrutiny of security cameras at every second and in every aisle. No doubt those cameras would have picked up my interactions with new best friend. So why didn’t I get the “empty your pockets and bags please” treatment. Thrown up against a wall and frisked.

When I shared my dodgy Saturday afternoon experience, a friend sniggered and said she struggled to muster an ounce of sympathy for the supermarkets. I wonder why?

Lowlifes at large 

Seems I attract shoplifters – like dog doo on the shoe – because on another occasion a couple of lowlifes swaggered into the supermarket chiller behind me – cocky and cheeky as all hell, and not the slightest bit concerned they were attracting attention. They each helped themselves to a couple of cans of high end, imported beer and hid them inside their jacket pockets. Shoplifters. Shameless.  But I had to acknowledge their appreciation of fine ale. When they caught me watching they just laughed. Now what should this brave defender of the public good, this fearless fighter of crime and or evil, do? Should I throw them both to ground and hold them in an Octopus Clamp until the cops arrive or run through the store shouting: “Stop thief”?

The Great Cop-out

I called on all my intestinal fortitude. And discovered I had none. I did nothing. Nowt! Chicken giblets. The shoplifters walked out of the chiller, out of the supermarket, out of my life. I didn’t want to get into a stink at the check-out, and I didn’t need a couple of villains seeking me out later for being a snitch. The wrong option probably, but for the right reasons. I figured no-one’s dead, and four pilfered cans of beer was unlikely have the duopoly resetting its profit forecasts for the next quarter.  

Meanwhile, I continue to amass loyalty points – I only need to spend $2000 more to get a $15 discount. The largesse of the duopoly is overwhelming. Shouldn’t that discount be incentive enough for shoplifters to change their ways?