Thieving from a supermarket? I'd get shopped, that's for sure
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You stole £3.2billion last year. Not you, singular (probably) – all of you... and not in cash, in food. I know, boring.
Research has found that theft from supermarkets using self-service tills has doubled over the last four years.
Plus now you’re not just ­“forgetting” to swipe some items, you’re selecting the option for a cheap vegetable when weighing an expensive one, and swapping barcode stickers over.
The people getting up to this kind of behaviour would never dream of stealing from a shop normally, but this has somehow become acceptable shoplifting. And I’ll tell you how.
For however long you’re in a supermarket, scanning and packing, how are you any different from the store’s employees? Exactly – you’re not.
You’re working for them. So why shouldn’t you get paid, like you would for any other job? ­Obviously only in line with the hours you’ve put in – which, let’s face it are probably minutes at best – but still.
Quid pro quo... or less than a quid, if it wasn’t your big shop.
(Image: iStockphoto)
I think this is fine... but I won’t be joining you. Not because of morals, ethics or anything worthy like that – because whenever I do anything I shouldn’t, I get caught.
Immediately.
If I pretended avocados were carrots, or even selected one bag when I really had two, that would be the day they were doing a spot check at the door and sending the offenders straight to death row.
And they wouldn’t even need to check my shopping, either, they would know just from looking at me, because along with terrible luck, I also have a guilty face.
This is not a winning combination for a life of crime. I have never successfully lied to my mum – ever.
Not when I was an innocent child or a ­calculating teenager or anywhere in between... she could always tell instantly.
(Image: PA)
When all my ­school friends were nicking stuff from Woolworths, I got caught by the store ­detective the first time I joined in.
She decided to make an example of me, so called the police to tell them about my haul (a can of ­hairspray, one pink frosted lipstick) who gave me a caution after seven hours in a cell.
When I got a bad school report age 14, I knew I was dead meat if my parents saw it. I had to get rid.
Why I decided I had to burn it I can’t quite remember, but that’s what I did, under a bush in the garden, stamping out the ashes and literally covering my tracks with mud. I remember being quite pleased with myself.
That feeling wore off when my dad got home from work and asked if I had any idea why a bush and the garden fence were currently on fire.
Needless to say, my mouth said no, but my stupid old face instantly made a full confession.
(Image: REX/Shutterstock)
And to think, if I’d have just thrown the report in a bin on the way home, my parents would never have known about it and been able to get that copy from my teacher.
So enjoy the fruits and ­cut-price vegetables of your ­supermarket labour, while I toil away next to you for free. You’d better not even meet my eye, to be on the safe side.
Guilty face syndrome could well be contagious.