Having been both the shoplifter and the retail employee, I've become something of an expert on the differences between a successful shoplifter, and an idiot facing 2 years probation and $1500 in fines over a couple of CDs. If you are contemplating leaving your debit card at home the next time you go shopping, then it would be to your benefit to pay attention. Some of this will seem like the most obvious thing in the world, but you'd be amazed at how many would be thieves get tripped up on them. The following advice is for those of you just getting your fingers wet, but much of it is good advice regardless of how long you've been "discount shopping".
Be Clean & Presentable
Do not go into a store wearing pajama bottoms and your hair a hot mess. The employees will take note of your trashy ass, if for no other reason than to make fun of you. You cannot steal shit if the employees are watching you, at least not while you're still getting your chops. Likewise, do not show up in ultra low rise jeans that remove all speculation about your shaving habits, or with a purple mohawk. Anything that draws attention to you is a big no no. Save the sexy clothes or the 20 piercings for people whose opinion you actually give a shit about. For shoplifting, you want to be clean and modestly dressed. Boring and unremarkable, in other words, the sort the employees will notice and immediately dismiss as not hot enough to flirt with nor ugly enough to laugh at.
Ignore Store Employees
Retail employees all know that shoppers only make direct eye contact when they want to be helped. Otherwise, shoppers tend to ignore staff, or even outright avoid them. Unless you want that employee to start staring back, avoid the urge to constantly sneak peeks at him. If you must keep an eye on the employees, learn to use the store mirrors if they have them, or your peripheral vision if they don't. Better yet, mark their position in the store, and then ignore them. After their initial interest in you wanes, they'll return the favor.
Be White, or Shop With White Friends
Oh shut the fuck up. You know I'm right. Employees will watch black and hispanic shoppers WAY more than they will white. It doesn't matter if you're well dressed and carrying a dozen platinum cards, they'll still watch you. I've had black co-workers drop everything to eyeball young black males coming into the stores, and they've been quick to tell me to keep my eye on the brothas as well. However, if you have some like minded white friends who can play the game, (and I don't mean a pack of head bobbing wiggers either) they'll go a long way towards assuring the retail staff that you're an oreo and therefore ok. Better still, be Asian and in the midwest! Everyone has this image of hard working, family honor upholding Asians in the midwest. Go ask the employee something in horribly broken English if you really want to make sure they avoid you. For the rest of you who are white... don't shoplift with your black or hispanic friends. While your presence will help deflect some of the attention they'd normally receive, it increases that directed at you substantially!
No Hams Between Your Thighs!
We've all heard the stories about hugely fat women who stuck hams, turkeys, and even TVs between their gargantuan thighs and walked out unaccosted. However, I strongly advise against doing anything that will affect the way you walk. This also goes for the fake preggo belly that people stash shit in. This is something for the pros, mainly because it's not easy to slip shit up under your dress or shirt and into that fake belly without a lot of practice, and it's nigh impossible to walk normally with anything clenched between your thighs. If you go waddling towards the door looking like you're about to shit yourself, it's going to attract attention, and if you have to make a run for it you will certainly lose your prize. Sliding a pack of ribeye steaks into your waistband and under your shirt is fairly simple and will go unnoticed as long as your shirt isn't form fitting. It also has the added benefit of being unlikely to fall to the ground at the worst possible moment.
Get Those Tags OFF!
If you are shoplifting in a store with security tags, be sure to peel off anything that can possibly be scanned, including price tags with bar codes. Don't be fooled into thinking there is only one per item. I got busted at Hastings for stealing a damn cassette (Derek & The Dominos, original Layla version) because while I did peel off the plastic wrap with the security thing on it, I didn't think to open the cassette and look for more... and apparently there was something in that damn thing because it set off the detectors. I still would have pulled it off, had it not been for my idiot boyfriend, and it was his idea to swipe the damn thing in the first place! I had $800 cash on me at the time. Rather than make a mad dash for the residential neighborhood just across the parking lot where we could have quickly vanished, that dumb fuck refused to break from a slow walk. This brings me to the next point.
Shop Alone
In my original draft, I gave advice on how to successfully steal in packs. A few hours after publishing it though, I realized that regardless of how tempting it may be to bring your friends on board, you're better off keeping your new found hobby under your jacket, so to speak. There are a number of reasons why, one of which is that it's difficult to coordinate actions/reactions with a group, thereby increasing the risk of a bust. My idiot boyfriend got me caught because he refused to accept we were busted when the detectors went off. His lack of reaction meant the store employees, who were fucking off in the very back of the store, had plenty of time to chase us down and get a hand on my purse. Had he run... or had I been smart enough to take off and leave his stupid ass... they probably would have lost all interest by the time they hit the doors. Then again, how many of us are willing to run off and leave our friends behind to take the heat?
Another, possibly more important reason, and certainly one that has led to many regrets for me, is the erosion of friendships. Shoplifting is contagious, perhaps because it's often viewed as a victimless crime. Many of your friends will join in, regardless of their personal feelings about the ethics of such things. Sooner or later though, they will stop viewing it as fun and exciting, and start looking at you in a different light. They'll begin to distance themselves from you, partly to protect themselves from developing the reputation of a thief, but also because they're starting to see the real you and wondering just how deep the rabbit hole really goes. It may not matter to you now, but years from now you'll look back and wonder, why did we stop hanging out? The moral of this is that if you intend to shoplift, or steal things in general, resist the urge to share your activities with those around you. Getting them to join in the fun does not validate what you're doing, and it will only cause problems later on.
Stick (it) to Corporate America
Keep your thieving to corporate businesses. Leave the mom & pops alone. Small, independently owned businesses are what built this country. Walmart, however, can go fuck itself, just like it does it's employees. I extend that sentiment to ALL big box stores and chains. The added bonus is that most employees of corporate owned businesses are FORBIDDEN to interfere with your nefarious activities, because corporate is terrified you'll sue them for racism or assault or some other nonsensical reason. If that's not enough, half of them don't give a shit anyway... because they're busy stealing out of the stock room.
Keep it under 20 for starters
For those just now entering the world of shoplifting, keep in mind that theft under $20 is a Class C misdemeanor, generally resulting in the cop writing you a ticket similar to a traffic ticket, rather than actually arresting you. If you're just boosting for kicks, or not yet comfortable with your shenanigans, keep your thievery to items under $20 total. The fine will FAR outweigh what that CD was worth (up to $1500 in some states), but it beats being arrested, finger printed, photographed, and subsequently bailed out. Plus, you can occasionally talk your way out of the store calling the cops at all for such a petty crime, especially if you're a good looking girl caught by guys, and you cry about how you've never done it before and you're sorry and you just wanted it so badly. Your first bust will pretty much determine if you like shoplifting enough to continue, despite the consequences. No sense in it coming with a $10,000 fine and 10 years probation.
Follow Your Instincts
This is the most important rule of all. If you listen to nothing else I say, listen to your gut. If you are walking along in a store, your purse stuffed to the gills with odds and ends, your pockets full of stolen treats, and all of the sudden that little voice in your head pipes up and says "Um, dude, something is wrong", listen to it. Humans are born with a strong survival instinct, but most ignore it because it's easier to pretend everything will be ok. This is why little kids get into vans with strangers, and girls go home with creepy guys. Learn to listen to your gut. Even though you don't realize it, on a subconscious level you may have noticed a guy following you around the store, or caught the whispers and glances passed between two employees as they looked your way. Your first few attempts at shoplifting will result in your instincts screaming "DON'T DO IT! WE'LL BE CAUGHT" no matter what, but as you get more comfortable with your techniques and surroundings, that will go away. After that point, listen to it should it reappear. Before I ever hit those detectors at Hastings, that voice was in high gear. "NO GOOD NO GOOD" it kept saying, and I actually stopped and calmly told my boyfriend, hey we need to go look at such and such real quick, thinking I could ditch the cassettes in one of the aisles. He ignored me and headed on out, and so I ignored my instincts and fell in line... right through the squalling detectors.
As a side note, you may be thinking that boyfriend wanted me to get caught. Perhaps, but I can't imagine why. He took to thieving with gusto, even pushing me to new limits, taking me out of the misdemeanor range and well into the felony one. He was also a cop... and one of many corrupt cops I've known over my lifetime. On two occasions that was what kept us both out of jail, as the first cop on the scene quickly let us go rather than bust one of their own. Perhaps one of my "basics" should include finding a dirty cop and making him your new best friend.
There's a lot more to being a successful shoplifter than what I've outlined, but this is enough to get you a good start. Dress conservative, ignore employees, shop alone, remove ALL security tags, stick to stores full of employees that don't give a shit, and listen to your instincts. Should you do all this, and still find yourself being followed through the aisles, ditch the merchandise. After all, it isn't theft if you haven't left the store with it.
Disclaimer. The preceding is intended for "entertainment purposes" only. It is not intended to set you on your road to a life of crime. If you get busted for stealing, don't even think you can use this article to get the judge off your ass. He'll just laugh at you, and I'll laugh at you for being such a fucking ignorant pussy.
Showing posts with label stealing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label stealing. Show all posts
Monday, November 16, 2009
Monday, October 12, 2009
The Great Jewel Heist
My holy roller parents raised me up to be an honest, God Fearin Christian Woman, but to their great dismay I went 180 degrees in the opposite direction. If it was dirty, I wanted to put my hands in it. Loud? Turn it up. Smelly, icky, or otherwise something only boys should be interested in? Count me in. In hindsight, they would have been better off using that money they spent on my classical piano lessons to put a good criminal attorney on retainer.
My first big crime was committed at the ripe old age of 4, and I still see it play out as if it happened yesterday, though many of the surrounding circumstances have long since faded into blur. I remember holding mom's hand as we wandered around a store, some 70s version of a Walgreens or perhaps it was a five and dime store, and staring at all the things I and my brothers were forbidden to have. Candy. Chocolate. Gum, the kind that had sugar in it and popped. We were only allowed to have Trident and sugary treats were absolutely off limits in our household, as was salt, butter, and everything else that made food worth eating.
At the counter, while mom paid for her purchases, my eyes landed upon a wonderous treat, one so enticing that I saw nothing else around me. A great red diamond shaped cherry sucker, mounted atop a yellow plastic ring, dangled right in front of me. To my mind, it was the goodie of all goodies available in that store, a tantalizingly sweet jewel the size of my fist, and I had to have it. Of course, asking mom was out of the question. The only answer that lay there was a stern, resounding "NO", or worse, an offer of roasted soybeans to snack on as an alternative. As if. However, mom wasn't paying any attention, nor was anyone else. Almost without thinking, I quickly palmed the candy ring into my pocket. For a moment, fear enveloped me as what I was doing sunk in. I was STEALING, and God himself had said Thou Shalt Not. However, it wasn't God's wrath I feared, but that of my father should I get caught.
Then the fear evaporated, and was replaced by an even more powerful feeling that to this day I am unable to fully describe. Euphoria, excitement, and a not insignificant amount of smugness washed over me as we left the store and I realized that I had not been caught, not been snatched by my shirt collar by an irate shopkeeper, had indeed made off with the prize of the day. Not only had I stolen something and gotten away with it, but I had gotten something NO one in my family was allowed to possess.
However, being only 4 years old I was neither skilled at deception nor particularly clever, and upon arriving at home I mistakenly believed I was in the clear. While in my room working a puzzle, I unwrapped my cherry ring and greedily popped it into my mouth. The sweet cherry taste was pure bliss to a child who had only been allowed honey for a sweet, and then only as a remedy to soothe a sore throat. It was right about then that my mother barged into my room and caught me. It wasn't that she knew I had it and was lying in wait. She just didn't allow any of us to keep our doors closed, lest we be doing something she didn't approve of. Go figure, I wasn't. She snatched the candy ring from me and demanded to know where I had gotten it. I lied and claimed someone at the store gave it to me. Of course, she saw through that and knew I'd stolen it.
Fifteen minutes later I was at the store, tears streaming down my face, handing over my stolen treat and apologizing for the theft. Of course, the only thing I was sorry about was that I got caught, and privately I chided myself for being so stupid as to pull it out where mom could catch me. I told myself, next time I would not be so easy to catch. Even the terrible beating I got from my father after he got home and was informed of his young daughter's criminal exploits did nothing to disuade me from planning out my next candy jewel heist.
Later that evening, I was afflicted with a headache of enormous proportions. My mother triumphantly exclaimed it was a punishment from God, for my wicked deeds. I didn't know about that, but I did know I felt as if my head were about to explode. Years later I recognize that headache for what it was... and any drug user or caffine addict would to. I was crashing from the adrenline rush that I'd gotten from stealing that .50 candy ring. The high I'd gotten from that simple act of disobedience was so intense that it far outweighed the fear of being caught, of being beaten, or even of incurring the wrath of God, and even while lying in bed on my side unable to sleep on my back from the painful bruises my antics had earned me, I dreamed of the next time I'd be able to steal a piece of candy.
The Great Jewel Heist of my toddler years is decades behind me now, but it was the start of a long, and often very profitable, career in criminal behavior that I did not grow out of until my mid 30s. During that time, many tried to put a stop to my exploits, but neither God, my parents, or the police had any success. What stopped me was waking up one day and realizing it just wasn't cute any more. It wasn't funny, and it wasn't really that much fun either. Having my name appear in the local paper under the Police Reports was embarassing, and the quality of your friends greatly declines when word gets out that you're a theif. Do I miss the rush? You bet your ass. I see things on a daily basis that I could boost, and often things I could really use since apparently honest work doesn't pay shit unless you're an AIG exec. However, these days I have a lot to lose, including a great husband, some fantastic friends and neighbors, and a life I'd like to live out without the meddling of a probation officer with half my IQ. The addiction to crime is still there, and I try to satisfy it with obsessively reading true crime stories, watching CSI and Law & Order, and planning a myriad of crimes in my head. It helps, a little. The guys from TLC's To Catch A Thief are my idols. They have my dream job, the ability to b&e without fear of prosecution.
Then again, without the fear of getting caught, I suspect the thrill would be gone.
My first big crime was committed at the ripe old age of 4, and I still see it play out as if it happened yesterday, though many of the surrounding circumstances have long since faded into blur. I remember holding mom's hand as we wandered around a store, some 70s version of a Walgreens or perhaps it was a five and dime store, and staring at all the things I and my brothers were forbidden to have. Candy. Chocolate. Gum, the kind that had sugar in it and popped. We were only allowed to have Trident and sugary treats were absolutely off limits in our household, as was salt, butter, and everything else that made food worth eating.
At the counter, while mom paid for her purchases, my eyes landed upon a wonderous treat, one so enticing that I saw nothing else around me. A great red diamond shaped cherry sucker, mounted atop a yellow plastic ring, dangled right in front of me. To my mind, it was the goodie of all goodies available in that store, a tantalizingly sweet jewel the size of my fist, and I had to have it. Of course, asking mom was out of the question. The only answer that lay there was a stern, resounding "NO", or worse, an offer of roasted soybeans to snack on as an alternative. As if. However, mom wasn't paying any attention, nor was anyone else. Almost without thinking, I quickly palmed the candy ring into my pocket. For a moment, fear enveloped me as what I was doing sunk in. I was STEALING, and God himself had said Thou Shalt Not. However, it wasn't God's wrath I feared, but that of my father should I get caught.
Then the fear evaporated, and was replaced by an even more powerful feeling that to this day I am unable to fully describe. Euphoria, excitement, and a not insignificant amount of smugness washed over me as we left the store and I realized that I had not been caught, not been snatched by my shirt collar by an irate shopkeeper, had indeed made off with the prize of the day. Not only had I stolen something and gotten away with it, but I had gotten something NO one in my family was allowed to possess.
However, being only 4 years old I was neither skilled at deception nor particularly clever, and upon arriving at home I mistakenly believed I was in the clear. While in my room working a puzzle, I unwrapped my cherry ring and greedily popped it into my mouth. The sweet cherry taste was pure bliss to a child who had only been allowed honey for a sweet, and then only as a remedy to soothe a sore throat. It was right about then that my mother barged into my room and caught me. It wasn't that she knew I had it and was lying in wait. She just didn't allow any of us to keep our doors closed, lest we be doing something she didn't approve of. Go figure, I wasn't. She snatched the candy ring from me and demanded to know where I had gotten it. I lied and claimed someone at the store gave it to me. Of course, she saw through that and knew I'd stolen it.
Fifteen minutes later I was at the store, tears streaming down my face, handing over my stolen treat and apologizing for the theft. Of course, the only thing I was sorry about was that I got caught, and privately I chided myself for being so stupid as to pull it out where mom could catch me. I told myself, next time I would not be so easy to catch. Even the terrible beating I got from my father after he got home and was informed of his young daughter's criminal exploits did nothing to disuade me from planning out my next candy jewel heist.
Later that evening, I was afflicted with a headache of enormous proportions. My mother triumphantly exclaimed it was a punishment from God, for my wicked deeds. I didn't know about that, but I did know I felt as if my head were about to explode. Years later I recognize that headache for what it was... and any drug user or caffine addict would to. I was crashing from the adrenline rush that I'd gotten from stealing that .50 candy ring. The high I'd gotten from that simple act of disobedience was so intense that it far outweighed the fear of being caught, of being beaten, or even of incurring the wrath of God, and even while lying in bed on my side unable to sleep on my back from the painful bruises my antics had earned me, I dreamed of the next time I'd be able to steal a piece of candy.
The Great Jewel Heist of my toddler years is decades behind me now, but it was the start of a long, and often very profitable, career in criminal behavior that I did not grow out of until my mid 30s. During that time, many tried to put a stop to my exploits, but neither God, my parents, or the police had any success. What stopped me was waking up one day and realizing it just wasn't cute any more. It wasn't funny, and it wasn't really that much fun either. Having my name appear in the local paper under the Police Reports was embarassing, and the quality of your friends greatly declines when word gets out that you're a theif. Do I miss the rush? You bet your ass. I see things on a daily basis that I could boost, and often things I could really use since apparently honest work doesn't pay shit unless you're an AIG exec. However, these days I have a lot to lose, including a great husband, some fantastic friends and neighbors, and a life I'd like to live out without the meddling of a probation officer with half my IQ. The addiction to crime is still there, and I try to satisfy it with obsessively reading true crime stories, watching CSI and Law & Order, and planning a myriad of crimes in my head. It helps, a little. The guys from TLC's To Catch A Thief are my idols. They have my dream job, the ability to b&e without fear of prosecution.
Then again, without the fear of getting caught, I suspect the thrill would be gone.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Origins
It would be easy to excuse my misspent youth (and not so youth) to the influence of those around me. "Peer Pressure" was something my mother was convinced was the root of all evil. "Don't give in to peer pressure!" she shrilled at me on a near daily basis, though she of all people should have known that if I did something, it was because it was my idea to start with. If anything, I was the unintentional leader. From that cherry jewel ring at the impossibly young age of 4 up until the last thing I ever stole in my mid 30s, I did it all not because some goofy friend was egging me on (though I did have my fair share of those), but because I WANTED to.
When I planned out my first B&E at the age of 14, I did it all by myself. There were no friends to encourage or goad me forward. My idea, start to finish.
The first car I jacked, a 57 Chevy truck with a bad paint job and, as I found out the second I tied the wires, no mufflers, was my idea. Oh I was coached by a boyfriend with a long history of car theft, but in the end, I and I alone crept up to that truck in the wee hours of the morning, wire cutters in hand, heart in my throat. Not once did I consider turning and running back to our truck.
My best friend in college, who elevated stealing shoes and electronics to an art form and helped me hone my shoplifting skills to a degree I never thought possible, can't carry any of the blame either. She may have helped me improve my technique, but I'd have kept boosting crap without her guidance and encouragement. She also smoked and drank like a $2 whore, but I didn't pick up either of those tricks from her simply because they held no interest for me.
It was never about the stuff I obtained, though I won't pretend the money I made from selling it wasn't sweet. Being able to wear high end designer clothing that I could never have afforded was a nice perk as well, but all that was just the icing on the cake. The real goal was the incredible rush I got during the planning and execution. Compare it to Christmas, if you will. All excitement and fun up until the moment you're sitting on the floor, surrounded by wrapping paper and now empty boxes, and you realize it's all over. The real fun wasn't in the gift, but in the anticipation of it.
Adrenaline junkies are nothing new. Extreme sports are full of them, people who travel the world in search of their next high in the form of base jumping, snow boarding out of helicopters, racing motorcycles, etc. Had I been more athletic I might have turned to sports instead of crime, but back then my only experience with sports was being forced to play basketball by my mother. Being very short and very white, I was an abject failure on the court and the subject of much derision by my teammates. Depriving my teammates of their valuables whilst no one was watching went a long way towards easing the pain, but I still hate team sports like basketball, softball, and above all, volleyball. I know, fuckin wah, but unless it's a sport where I'm allowed to beat the shit out of the other players (god I love boxing and hockey), I'm just not interested in playing. There's no rush in it for me.
Actually I begged my mom to let me take martial arts as a kid, but she refused on the basis that it would teach me to fight, and therefore make me an aggressive kid. She enrolled me in more ladylike pursuits, such as piano lessons, "safe sports" like softball and basketball, and art lessons. Perhaps if I'd gone to wu shu classes instead of 15 years worth of mind numbingly boring piano, I might have gone a different path.
Or maybe not.
When I planned out my first B&E at the age of 14, I did it all by myself. There were no friends to encourage or goad me forward. My idea, start to finish.
The first car I jacked, a 57 Chevy truck with a bad paint job and, as I found out the second I tied the wires, no mufflers, was my idea. Oh I was coached by a boyfriend with a long history of car theft, but in the end, I and I alone crept up to that truck in the wee hours of the morning, wire cutters in hand, heart in my throat. Not once did I consider turning and running back to our truck.
My best friend in college, who elevated stealing shoes and electronics to an art form and helped me hone my shoplifting skills to a degree I never thought possible, can't carry any of the blame either. She may have helped me improve my technique, but I'd have kept boosting crap without her guidance and encouragement. She also smoked and drank like a $2 whore, but I didn't pick up either of those tricks from her simply because they held no interest for me.
It was never about the stuff I obtained, though I won't pretend the money I made from selling it wasn't sweet. Being able to wear high end designer clothing that I could never have afforded was a nice perk as well, but all that was just the icing on the cake. The real goal was the incredible rush I got during the planning and execution. Compare it to Christmas, if you will. All excitement and fun up until the moment you're sitting on the floor, surrounded by wrapping paper and now empty boxes, and you realize it's all over. The real fun wasn't in the gift, but in the anticipation of it.
Adrenaline junkies are nothing new. Extreme sports are full of them, people who travel the world in search of their next high in the form of base jumping, snow boarding out of helicopters, racing motorcycles, etc. Had I been more athletic I might have turned to sports instead of crime, but back then my only experience with sports was being forced to play basketball by my mother. Being very short and very white, I was an abject failure on the court and the subject of much derision by my teammates. Depriving my teammates of their valuables whilst no one was watching went a long way towards easing the pain, but I still hate team sports like basketball, softball, and above all, volleyball. I know, fuckin wah, but unless it's a sport where I'm allowed to beat the shit out of the other players (god I love boxing and hockey), I'm just not interested in playing. There's no rush in it for me.
Actually I begged my mom to let me take martial arts as a kid, but she refused on the basis that it would teach me to fight, and therefore make me an aggressive kid. She enrolled me in more ladylike pursuits, such as piano lessons, "safe sports" like softball and basketball, and art lessons. Perhaps if I'd gone to wu shu classes instead of 15 years worth of mind numbingly boring piano, I might have gone a different path.
Or maybe not.
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