When Curt's mum called the second time, I really had no idea what the hell was going on. After all, Curt and I stole and we were busted on it. We hid the other stuff but as it ended up we were busted on that as well. But there was nothing else I was hiding from that day, and so why the second call? Furthermore, why was the issue so important that it warranted his family coming to my home to speak with my parents?
Curt lived a few blocks south of me, but the wait for him, his mother, and his mother's boyfriend to arrive felt like forever. I remember thinking "what else did I do?" and while the term "FML" had not yet been invented, I was certainly feeling it that evening. When Curt and company arrived at my home, his parents sat at the table with my parents while Curt and I sat at the kitchen bar. And then the reason for their appearance was made clear.
After Curt's temper tantrum at his home (which, if my reader recalls, caused his jacket to smash against the wall and thus reveal that he had stolen goods in all the pockets), something happened in Curt's mind. To this day I do not know why he chose this path, but it's neither here nor there for the sake of the story.
Curt called his father and explained what he did. Curt then proceeded to go downstairs with a garbage bag and filled it with all the crap that he ever stole. He took the bag upstairs to his mother and her boyfriend and confessed to stealing all the junk in the huge black garbage bag. WTF?
Even worse, the dude then told his mother that I had also been a part of the crime sprees and I had loads of stolen merchandise in my home as well! WHAT THE FUCK?
Basically Curt felt it was both his right and his duty to drag me under the surface with him. I won't lie...I wasn't going to steal again. The game was over. I played well but ended up losing. And the consequences weren't worth the rush. I'm sure Curt felt the same way. So WHY did he confess to stealing anything else? We could have easily unloaded it at the Salvation Army so that it would all go to the less fortunate (after all, we didn't care about any of it). All this "cleansing" did was as follows:
All the parents were quickly in agreement. Curt and I would have to return every stolen item that we had taken and pay for them as well. THEN the items would be donated. I was livid. I know, I know...it was the right thing to do to make us own up to our mistakes and the businesses deserved to be compensated for their losses. But we learned our lesson before Curt turned to the light side of the Force. So from the point of view of a kid, Curt succeeded only in costing him a fortune!
Once the parents finished their lecture, I was ordered to go downstairs and get everything packed up so that my parents could take me to all the stores to return everything the following evening. While I was in the crawlspace in the basement, I picked out several items that were really expensive and stashed them elsewhere. I was going to save as much money as I could! Curt came downstairs while I was getting everything out. I figured he came down to apologize for being such a twat, but I assumed wrong. The first thing he said to me was "what about the controller?" To elaborate, he saw the pile of stuff that I had taken out from the crawlspace and realized that a Sega Genesis controller that I stole from Game Dudes was not in the pile. The controller was used. For those of you unfamiliar with Game Dudes, it was a video game rental store. There was also a back room filled with televisions and video game systems. You would pay a small fee and get to play a video game of your choice in the game room for a half hour (or more, depending on how much you paid). I took the controller from the game room as there was a spare one at the time...impulse and opportunity were a bad mix. I was a big customer at Game Dudes at the time and had a strong rapport with the owner. The last thing I wanted was to have to face her and tell her that I stole from her...while every other store was faceless, I knew her quite well. It was an awful prospect. I asked him to forget about the controller...just the controller, but he outright refused. He was punishing me unnecessarily. I could have easily smuggled the controller back into Game Dudes and no one would have been any the wiser. But Curt wouldn't allow it and he had me by the balls. I either handed it in or he would tell on me and I'd have to hand it in anyway. I added the controller to the loot and turned it into my parents. A short while later, Curt and co. left my home. It was late, so I went to bed.
In the morning, I was feeling embarrassed and pissed off. But I had to get to school, so I went through the morning routine. About ten minutes before I had to leave to walk to school, the phone rang. Oh no...no no no no...not something ELSE from Curt's mother. But it was actually Curt himself. Usually Curt came by on the way to school and we would walk the rest of the way, so I thought he was calling to say he wasn't going to stop by (good idea since I would tear his nuts off and feed them to the ugly smelly girl down the street). Sadly, I assumed wrong again. "What about the Halloween mask, Dave? What about the Star Wars miniatures too?" Thinking someone else may have been listening on the phone, I said I never stole anything like what he was asking. Those items (as with all the other expensive items I hid the evening before were now stashed above the hanging ceiling in my bedroom, so no one would find them should they have searched. Curt didn't argue. He just said okay and that he'd see me at school.
It was a long day at school...mainly because I was dreading the embarrassment of walking up to managers and other employees at a variety of stores and confessing that I shoplifted. I was also not looking forward to seeing the bill at the end. As I figured, it was very hard for me to return the controller to Game Dudes. I nearly cried because I felt so shitty about it. I never stole from anyone else I knew during my klepto-blitz.
In the end, the bill was quite large. Over $500 if I recall correctly...and that was in 1992 or 93. And that didn't include all the pricey stuff I omitted from the goodies I handed over. So in the end, my impulse control disorder ended up giving me a criminal record as well as costing me over $500. It also cost me a friend. Curt and I still hung out from time to time, but it was never the same. We were no longer the friends we were. Betrayal does that to a friendship.
I do recall one morning a few weeks after the bust. Curt had started to stop by in the mornings to walk with me to school again. On the morning in question, when Curt arrived he looked me right in the eyes and said "Can I get my Playboy calendar?" Yes, as I stated in the first part of this trilogy, I once stole Playboy calendars from a gas station from right under the nose of the cashier. One for me and one for Curt. But a lot happened since then. I still had the calendars safely hidden. I first flipped out and told him that I wouldn't give him a fucking calendar after he dimed me out the way he did. He dismissed his actions with a "whatever, what's done is done." I wanted to bite him in the spine I was so angry. But I also learned a lot about Curt and how he couldn't be trusted because of his betrayal. Therefore, I then told him the calendars were destroyed and thrown in the garbage the day after we were busted. With Curt thinking the evidence was destroyed, he wouldn't try and blackmail me into giving him one under threat of him reporting the theft to his parents. We left for school, all the while I struggled to restrain myself from punching him in the eye.
There you have it. A tale of adventure, a tale of suspense, a tale of betrayal, and a tale of mental disorder. Oh, and a tale of becoming bitch-ass poor. Curt and I drifted apart and barely even talked after a few months had passed since being caught. But I don't hold a grudge against him now. That was a long time ago and while I still don't understand his actions, hating him for them now seems silly and meaningless. However, while I forgive, I will never forget.
At the end of this story, some of you are probably wondering.
"Did he ever steal again?"
The answer is yes. But that's a story for another day!
Showing posts with label stealing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label stealing. Show all posts
Friday, September 10, 2010
Thursday, September 9, 2010
The Rush (Pt. 2)
Being in the back of a police car wasn't nearly as frightening or intense as I would have thought. While I was a little scared of what was to come (as I had never been arrested), I certainly wasn't letting it show. I was joking with Curt while we were driven to the cop-shop.
Constable Green was the chap who picked us up from Pharmasave and gave us the ride to the station. He was actually quite a nice gentleman. He was in his early 40s I would have guessed. He had short brown hair and a moustache. He was also a bit overweight. Imagine Chief Wiggum with his Be Sharps moustache and you've got Constable Green.
Upon arrival at the police station, Curt and I were carted into an interrogation cell. It was charming in its cliché appearance. Bars on the window, a table in the middle of the room, and the walls dingy with pieces of drywall missing here and there due to an irate prisoner. Even had the two-way mirror (though it should be called a one-way mirror since you can only see through it one way). Curt and I sat there for what must have been a half hour while Green was out prancing around or having a J/O in the parking lot...well, most likely he was spying on us to see what we'd say. But Curt and I had nothing to hide. We really, really, really had to piss though. At one point Curt told me that he had to go so badly that his teeth were floating. I felt his pain.
After a half hour or so, Green came into the room, sat down in silence, folded his hands on the desk, and stared at us...one at a time. Long uncomfortable leers. When he finished undressing us with his eyes, he piped up and gave us the "stealing is bad, mkay" speech.
Thanks, tips. I know stealing is bad. But it's damn fun!
Once he finished his speech, he asked us how long we'd be up to our no good thieving. Of course, Curt and I lied through our floating teeth and said it was our first time. Then Green continued his spiel. More spiel. More spiel. More spiel. When Green finished his torturous and incessant blabbing, he told us that he hoped we learned our lesson. Curt and I said emphatically that we did...mainly because we just wanted to get the hell out of there. But it was not meant to be. Green informed us that we had to get our photos taken and our fingerprints recorded. Green got up and walked to the door. Green then told us to take off our jackets for the photos.
Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!
If you recall in part 1 of this entry, I mentioned that Curt and I "hit the mall" before we went to Pharmasave, and it was a real big hit. Every single pocket was filled in both my jackets, and I had tonnes of crap stashed in my denim overshirt (all around my torso). Terrified of being busted, I don't think anyone in the entire history of humankind took off jackets more slowly or carefully than Curt and I did that evening. It was a work of grace, like trying to weave one's body through a maze of laser trip wires. Once we got our jackets off, we ever-so-gently rested them over our metal chairs, desperate not to clank our stolen goods against the metal piping. Strangely enough, Green didn't inquire as to why we were removing our jackets as though we were practicing Tai Chi Chuan.
My denim shirt was not an article that I could remove, but fortunately it was baggy enough that the stolen objects lacing my body were not obvious. Curt and I walked in to the criminal processing area of the police station and had our portraits and prints recorded. Once we had finished, we returned to the interrogation room where we waited another fifteen minutes or so. We threw our jackets back on and then waited patiently in our seats. Green returned and told us that we were free to leave and that our parents were waiting in the lobby.
My dad handled the situation quite well considering his track record. He was usually a positive punishment sort of fellow (spanking weren't common but they did happen when I was younger). I was too old to be taken over his knee but maybe he would punch me in the head or something. I didn't know. But he was pretty cool about it. Clearly disappointed but wasn't freaking out. When we returned home, my mum and dad sat to the table with me and lectured me about what I did. I had already suffered through a lecture at the cop station...how many lectures did I have to endure?
However, while I was receiving lecture #2, the phone rang. It was Curt's mother. As the story went, when Curt got home with his mother and her boyfriend, Curt's mother told Curt to call his father in Saskatchewan to tell his father what happened. Curt became angered, as Curt had a very short temper, and violently took off his jacket (which was also filled with stolen shit). Curt threw the jacket up on a hook and the items in the jacket smacked the wall, thus alerting his mother that there was something in the jacket. Busted. So his mother called my home to ask if I had stolen any other things earlier in the day too. I took a gamble and said no, but it was a bluff easily called by my father. "So if I go down there and check your jacket, I won't find anything?" I had no choice but to cave. After the phone call, my mum expressed her disappointment in my behaviour and the lecture continued.
About twenty minutes later, the phone rang...again. It was Curt's mother. There was even more to the situation now, and Curt, his mother, and his mother's boyfriend were all coming to my house to discuss it. What it was I had no idea. At least not until they arrived...
Stay tuned for the third and final chapter!
Constable Green was the chap who picked us up from Pharmasave and gave us the ride to the station. He was actually quite a nice gentleman. He was in his early 40s I would have guessed. He had short brown hair and a moustache. He was also a bit overweight. Imagine Chief Wiggum with his Be Sharps moustache and you've got Constable Green.
Upon arrival at the police station, Curt and I were carted into an interrogation cell. It was charming in its cliché appearance. Bars on the window, a table in the middle of the room, and the walls dingy with pieces of drywall missing here and there due to an irate prisoner. Even had the two-way mirror (though it should be called a one-way mirror since you can only see through it one way). Curt and I sat there for what must have been a half hour while Green was out prancing around or having a J/O in the parking lot...well, most likely he was spying on us to see what we'd say. But Curt and I had nothing to hide. We really, really, really had to piss though. At one point Curt told me that he had to go so badly that his teeth were floating. I felt his pain.
After a half hour or so, Green came into the room, sat down in silence, folded his hands on the desk, and stared at us...one at a time. Long uncomfortable leers. When he finished undressing us with his eyes, he piped up and gave us the "stealing is bad, mkay" speech.
Thanks, tips. I know stealing is bad. But it's damn fun!
Once he finished his speech, he asked us how long we'd be up to our no good thieving. Of course, Curt and I lied through our floating teeth and said it was our first time. Then Green continued his spiel. More spiel. More spiel. More spiel. When Green finished his torturous and incessant blabbing, he told us that he hoped we learned our lesson. Curt and I said emphatically that we did...mainly because we just wanted to get the hell out of there. But it was not meant to be. Green informed us that we had to get our photos taken and our fingerprints recorded. Green got up and walked to the door. Green then told us to take off our jackets for the photos.
Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!
If you recall in part 1 of this entry, I mentioned that Curt and I "hit the mall" before we went to Pharmasave, and it was a real big hit. Every single pocket was filled in both my jackets, and I had tonnes of crap stashed in my denim overshirt (all around my torso). Terrified of being busted, I don't think anyone in the entire history of humankind took off jackets more slowly or carefully than Curt and I did that evening. It was a work of grace, like trying to weave one's body through a maze of laser trip wires. Once we got our jackets off, we ever-so-gently rested them over our metal chairs, desperate not to clank our stolen goods against the metal piping. Strangely enough, Green didn't inquire as to why we were removing our jackets as though we were practicing Tai Chi Chuan.
My denim shirt was not an article that I could remove, but fortunately it was baggy enough that the stolen objects lacing my body were not obvious. Curt and I walked in to the criminal processing area of the police station and had our portraits and prints recorded. Once we had finished, we returned to the interrogation room where we waited another fifteen minutes or so. We threw our jackets back on and then waited patiently in our seats. Green returned and told us that we were free to leave and that our parents were waiting in the lobby.
My dad handled the situation quite well considering his track record. He was usually a positive punishment sort of fellow (spanking weren't common but they did happen when I was younger). I was too old to be taken over his knee but maybe he would punch me in the head or something. I didn't know. But he was pretty cool about it. Clearly disappointed but wasn't freaking out. When we returned home, my mum and dad sat to the table with me and lectured me about what I did. I had already suffered through a lecture at the cop station...how many lectures did I have to endure?
However, while I was receiving lecture #2, the phone rang. It was Curt's mother. As the story went, when Curt got home with his mother and her boyfriend, Curt's mother told Curt to call his father in Saskatchewan to tell his father what happened. Curt became angered, as Curt had a very short temper, and violently took off his jacket (which was also filled with stolen shit). Curt threw the jacket up on a hook and the items in the jacket smacked the wall, thus alerting his mother that there was something in the jacket. Busted. So his mother called my home to ask if I had stolen any other things earlier in the day too. I took a gamble and said no, but it was a bluff easily called by my father. "So if I go down there and check your jacket, I won't find anything?" I had no choice but to cave. After the phone call, my mum expressed her disappointment in my behaviour and the lecture continued.
About twenty minutes later, the phone rang...again. It was Curt's mother. There was even more to the situation now, and Curt, his mother, and his mother's boyfriend were all coming to my house to discuss it. What it was I had no idea. At least not until they arrived...
Stay tuned for the third and final chapter!
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