I was reading recently about petrol theft in Christchurch where thieves fitted a very large tank into their boot, put the pump nozzle through the rear window, filled up and made off with a grand’s worth of gas. This inventive and brazen heist started my brain whirring.
Five young lads gather at the pocket-sized shopping centre on the way home from School. We give the duffle bag to our red-haired mate, his turn. Inside the mart, we split up to be inconspicuous, but are like the giant gobstoppers on the counter. The duffel bag heads to the Willy Wonka aisle while some of us order lolly mixtures, ones where the shopkeeper has to fetch each item and place it in a little white paper bag. Like a school assembly drill, we soon meet outside at our bikes, lazily blocking the walkway. Eight eyes gaze towards Michael, but there is another pair that tower over us, “Give me your bag.” Michael’s face starts to match his hair as he hands over the bag. I think of the grounding and other punishments. The man opens the bag and then becomes frantic as he looks for secret compartments that don’t exist.
In that outing Michael had choked on the job, interestingly he still received a decent lashing from the boys for not loading up the ‘king sized’ loot.
Why did we shoplift as youths? Well, I guess ‘steal’ is a more pertinent word fitting the crime of these free shopping sprees. It was the pricier items sought, being very selective as the often-tricky operation always had the real risk of a frisk.
I feel I need to find some meaning behind these escapades in my somewhat disorientated past.
I fire up the computer and start to search the internet. I soon find that shoplifting stems from some psychological unfulfillment. Most shoplifters are not in desperate need of food or clothing but are destitute in other ways – emotionally, culturally, or lacking affection. Furthermore, the act of shoplifting is not an exotic deviance from normal behaviour. This would account for a high percentage of people having shoplifted at some stage, so odds are that you, yes you! have done some five fingered discount shopping in the past. Time to fess up, cosmetics? clothes? confectionery? a three-legged lizard from the pet shop with big adoring eyes?
Maybe I was destitute in some way? I did have a strict upbringing with a non-maternal mother who did her duty to have children, so perhaps I was lacking affection. But it feels like there’s more to the picture.
The school van pulls up at a remote diary nestled beneath the foothills. The older couple behind the counter are overwhelmed by such custom. Senior members of our ski team lead by example, creating decoys and distractions, then begin to pillage the shelves. Us younger guys always look to mirror our role models, so we join in the grocery grab. We walk out ‘barred up’ so to speak, soon back in the van comparing our heists, chocolate blocks being the common denominator.
Why did we do the après ski sting? It wasn’t detailed on the trip agenda. This dairy was no doubt run by heartland folk eking out an existence in the rural back blocks.
I think more research is required. I find the site of a reformed shoplifter, now expert and therapist, who details seven types of shoplifters: common thief/professional, drug/gambling addict, impoverished, thrill seeker, absent minded, kleptomaniac, and the addictive-compulsive.
Okay for us, it wasn’t because of alcohol or drug addiction, although a few of us did roll up the odd joint in the school field.
Although I have wandered out of shops and then had horror moments of realisation, rushing back in to covertly repatriate the stowaways, the ‘thrill seeker’ reason has set off the store alarms.
I was actually born with a handicap, the ‘thrill seeker’ gene. Those of you who have it know what an affliction it is, needing to throw yourself into dangerous and daring situations at every turn, just to feel whole. It’s as tiring as heck.
We decide to spend a week in the beat-up Ford Anglia van at Kaiteriteri. Our supplies packed include: gas cooker, loaves of bread, tins of baked beans, crates of beer, and a very nourishing bag of marijuana complete with hefty heads. Walter (name changed to protect identity) drives up a steep grass bank to get us onto the motorway after he missed the entry. We are now cruising towards paradise fuelled by THC. Our first stop is a random diary, a beacon with all its cut-price signage. Sun lotion is on the shopping list, an item well out of our unemployed budgets. We stride back out of the shop with our shorts bulging and it wasn’t because we’d been reading the Playboy mags.
Thankfully, I was sun smart back in those days. See kids, crime can pay – possibly don’t show this part to your parents.
The internet throws up some more clues – emotional motivations for shoplifting: anger, grief, depression, anxiety, acceptance, power and control, boredom, low self-esteem, entitlement, and rebellion. Well, it’s as obvious as walking out with a microwave up your jumper – I’ve always had problems fitting in, being born discombobulated (I always wanted to use this word). Also, I get bored easily with this hideously overactive mind. And I’m a rebel from way back, popsicle orange mohawk, boots and all.
Well, the retail trade didn’t have a chance with all that lot. I’m just surprised I didn’t take it up shoplifting for a career. Interestingly, my ancestors were Irish and sent out to Australia in the 1800’s.
So, after this episode of self-reflection I can put my shoplifting down to psychological and emotional circumstances absolutely beyond my control. However, to make amends for these past wrongs I will now shop more at dairies.
go pūkeko 