"Five Finger Discounts" Submission #11

As my smoking habit increased, I knew that I couldn't continue to pilfer my mom's smokes from the cigarette drawer. Eventually, she would become suspicious. I had to find another source and it didn't take long.

About two blocks east on 21st Street and across Highway 17 was Elwell's Grocery Store. Sam and I frequented Elwell's quite a bit during the summer months whether we had scrounged up a few coins and wanted a pop or an ice cream or if we just wanted to duck into the air-conditioned store and escape the wilting, humid Midwest heat.

It was during one of those trips to Elwells that we made a very important discovery. Through the doors, past the cash registers, to the third aisle and a quick right. That is where they kept the ice cream treats.

As I rummaged through the freezer, mentally tasting all of the possibilities, I glanced up at Sam. He had a mischievous smile on his face as he stared at the rack that butted up against the ice cream freezer. I followed the path of his vision and cast my eyes upon the backside of dozens of cartons of cigarettes.

Hidden in the third aisle of a not-so-busy grocery store, Sam and I opened the backs of cigarette
cartons and began stuffing packs into our pockets, down our pants and in our socks. Wearing our stylish, early 70's bell-bottomed pants afforded cover for the packs that bulged from our socks.

Phase one complete, we now commenced with phase two; getting the stolen goods inconspicuously out the door. For affect and to not cause suspicion, we brought a single popsicle to the check-out stand and nervously completed the transaction. So far, so good.

We walked out the door, crossed the highway and headed west on 21st Street in total silence. About a block from our house we began to breathe again. We did it! Simple! We could do this again! And we did... many times.

We wanted cigarettes. We didn't have any. By stealing them, we obtained them. Shoplifting was a means to an end. But after a few rather large heists, we had enough cigarettes to last us weeks... maybe months. But we continued our thievery.

We began to steal a variety of items... candy, toys, tape... TAPE? Our shoplifting was no longer a means to an end, we now were stealing for recreation... just for the fun and the challenge of it. If we ended up with something useful... great! If we pilfered something that we didn't really want... no biggie because we got away with it. We got away with it... for awhile.

We fancied ourselves as seasoned criminals at this point. We didn't walk into the store with trembling legs and sweaty palms anymore.

We casually strode into Elwell's one hot summer day. I made an immediate right down aisle one and Sam continued straight ahead. Our game plan was to make this sticky, muggy day more enjoyable. I went for the water balloons, Sam headed for the ice cream freezer..

I slowly walked up to the turning rack that had all the cheap toys hanging on it. I began to turn the rack like a carousel, eyeing the merchandise... green plastic army men, super balls, plastic dolls. I casually glanced over my shoulder to make sure nobody was watching me. Play money, water color paint set... HERE IT IS... water balloons!

I pulled them off the rack and acted like I was looking at them as I kept my head still but rotated my eyeballs to the left and then to the right. The coast was clear and so I quickly stuffed them down my pants. Mission accomplished.

I found Sam still studying his choices at the ice cream freezer. I paced around a bit, looking at various items with feigned interest as my patience grew thin with Sam and his indecisiveness.

"C'mon Sam! Hurry it up!" I whispered impatiently.

"Take it easy! I can't decide what I want." He retorted.

"Look," I said sarcastically, "It's easy!"

I walked up to the freezer, spotted an orange sherbet push-up, grabbed it and shoved it down my pants. In my impatience, I forgot rule number one from shoplifting 101... look before you conceal.

I uttered a quick prayer before I lifted up my eyes... as though God was really going to honor such a prayer. As I scanned my perimeter, my eyes met the gaze of the store's assistant manager... standing about 20 feet from me. I quickly glanced away and then back at him. He was still staring at me.

"I'll meet you outside," I nervously told Sam as I set out for the door at a brisk pace. I could feel the assistant manager's hot stare as I walked past, afraid to make eye contact with him again.

Once outside, I quickly pulled the ice cream from my pants and hurled it onto the store's roof. Before I could grab the balloons, he was on my heels. He told me to stop right there and I froze, overwhelmed with fear.

He proceeded to inform me that he witnessed my theft. Further, he revealed that they had been watching Sam and I for awhile... suspecting that we were the ones tearing open the backs of the cigarette cartons.

I mounted my verbal defense but was less than convincing. Sam joined us as I bluffed that he could search me. He told me that he was sure I had enough time to ditch my stolen goods. He was only half right.

"I'm not going to search you." He said "But I NEVER want to see you two in this store again! Do you understand me?!?"

Any words just caught in my throat as my heart was pounding out of my chest. So I just nodded.

I was scared to death. This was an adult and he was mad! When I was a kid, children seemed to have a healthy fear and reverence for adults. Not so much today. Kids today would likely laugh in the adult's face. That fear and reverence seems to have all but disappeared somewhere along the way.

Having been thoroughly frightened and humiliated, Sam and I made our way across the parking lot. We were still too scared to talk. With every step, I felt the balloons sliding further and further down my pant leg until they finally fell out the bottom.

I didn't want to leave evidence on the ground and at the same time, I didn't want to stoop down and pick them up in plain sight of the assistant manager. So I started kicking them casually as I walked. Eventually, I glanced back at the store and saw that he was no longer watching us. I picked them up and stuffed them into my pocket.

So traumatized was I for getting caught shoplifting that I couldn't even enjoy making water balloons. I never even opened the pack. I tossed them into our backyard incinerator and lit a match to them. Evidence gone!

I learned my lesson. No more stealing! At least not at Elwell's. I never stepped foot in that store again... until it was bought out by a new owner and became "Dunne's Sure Save" some years later.

But... I did continue to take advantage of the lax supervision of most other business establishments in Madrid. My "lesson," though traumatic, was short-lived.

"Smokers" Submission #10

Mom had smoked pretty heavily for as long as I could remember. Three or four packs a day. She would buy cartons of cigarettes at a time. We had a kitchen drawer designated for her stash.

I can remember playing with all of those packs of cigarettes on our kitchen floor... building little structures with them and then bombing them from afar with the leftover packs. Or setting them up in bowling pin formation and then in shuffle-board fashion, hurling a pack to see how many I could knock over. Taught myself how to keep a bowling score this way.

Looking back... that sure was an odd plaything for a child. But then again... much of my childhood could be accurately labeled as "odd."

She smoked Winston 100's. Gold and red pack.

"Winston taste good like a cigarette should" the advertising jingle would joyfully proclaim. So, at the age of 11, I decided to see if they were right.

This decision to take my first puff was the culmination of years of curiosity about smoking. Many, if not most of the adults around me smoked. Mom and dad smoked. Most of their friends smoked. My two oldest brothers smoked. Society, in general, seemed to encourage the habit.

With a drawer full, surely mom wouldn't miss a single pack. So I tucked a pack into my pants pocket and headed out the back door.

Not wanting to experience this "coming of age" event alone, I tracked down the one friend I knew would partake in the great smoking experiment with me, Sam Smiley. We knew better than to ask his brother, Rod, the "good son."

Hidden safely in the recesses of our backyard shed, Sam and I puffed, sputtered and coughed our way through several cigarettes. We did our best to maintain our new found "coolness" but in reality, our first experience inhaling the tar and nicotine made us sick. But not sick enough to keep us from doing it again and again and again.

We smoked in my basement, under the railroad bridge, in cornfields, at the elementary school yard and anywhere else where we thought we could get away with it. If mom didn't miss that first pack I took from her cigarette drawer, she wouldn't miss a second and a third and a fourth pack.

One day, Sam and I were walking over the viaduct on Highway 17, above the railroad tracks that ran east and west through town, when we decided to duck under the bridge and have a smoke.

With style and grace, we took long hits and practiced blowing smoke rings. Sam, the kid with bizarre talents, quickly mastered the art of smoke rings and then graduated to blowing two rings at a time out of both sides of his mouth. No joke! He had the ability to seal his lips in the middle while holding small openings on either side of his mouth as he looked like he was grinning, awkwardly. He'd then tap quickly on both cheeks at the same time as small smoke rings shot out. I tried and tried to do it with no success. I was unable and envious.

We both sat on cement blocks as I had finished my cigarette and stomped it out in the dirt. Meanwhile, Sam was still in the process of sucking his last few lungs full of smoke.

With no time to react, we both froze as somebody strode quickly down the hill and interrupted our little party. It was a cop. One of Madrid's finest. He made up half of the mighty Madrid police force.

Luckily for me, my cigarette had been extinguished. But Sam... well, the best he could do was stick the cigarette under his right thigh as he innocently folded his hands in his lap. Yes... his cigarette was still lit.

The cop figured we were up to no good. No shock there.

In a monotone voice, not unlike Sergeant Joe Friday from the old "Dragnet" TV show, he questioned us brilliantly as he probed about our unseemly and likely, illegal activity. He skillfully inquired as to why we were there and what we were doing. We, with equal brilliance, responded with "I dunno" and "Nuthin'."

And... Sam's cigarette continued to smolder under his right thigh with his blue denim jeans serving as the only barrier protecting his tender skin.

Frustrated by the fact that he didn't actually catch us committing a crime and no doubt craving a malt from Farley's Dairy Sweet, the officer gave us a final stern look as he turned to go. Unfortunately, at that exact moment, Sam's pain tolerance exceeded it's maximum capacity as the cigarette's ember burned through the pants and began working on the bare skin of his leg.

"YEOW!!!" Sam screamed as he jumped up, slapping the back of his leg, while he awkwardly ran in place.

"Now.... we are busted for sure!" I thought. But much to my surprise, the bored cop told us to go home and tell our parents what we were caught doing. Yeah right!

After assuring him that we'd do just that, he left.... and we laughed.

This smoking thing turned out not to be just a brief phase nor did I limit my smoking to conventional tobacco. This had marked only the beginning and as the habit took hold, the more drastic measures I took to support my craving...