It was 1981. I was in North Carolina on a weight loss program. I’d reached my goal weight, but at a cost of being without chocolate for three months. As I meandered throughout Eckerd Drug, I spotted a torn bag of miniature Mounds strewn across a shelf. Resisting the urge to grab one I attempted to distract myself by wandering the aisles, but temptation overpowered me and before I knew it I’d seized one of the Mounds and tossed it into my shopping cart. The moment I did it I froze with terror at the implications of my act. I knew I couldn’t pay for it because it had been part of a full bag, yet if I returned it to the shelf I might be accused of having opened the bag. With pounding heart and sweaty hands I drifted aimlessly through the store.
Eventually I approached the register and paid for my selections, leaving the tiny Mound in the cart, and rationalizing that if I were caught I’d simply plead innocent…….“What candy, Officer? That candy? Why, it’s so tiny I never even saw it there.“
I left the store and waited for alarms and whistles to sound.
I wasn’t disappointed.
As I stepped out the door I was grabbed firmly by the elbow, told that I was under arrest and lead back into the store.
I prayed for death.
“Try to understand, Officer, I’ve been on a strict diet,” I pleaded, “and without chocolate for three whole months.”
A woman would have taken pity on me but my male enforcer didn’t budge. Instead he asked embarrassing questions and wrote the answers on a pad. “How much do you weigh?” How dare he!!! “Hair color?” I pointed to the box of Clairol I’d just purchased.
I was told to get into his car and we’d go to headquarters. I cried, so he said I could follow him in my own car instead.
Once there I was lead to a small cubical where I sat shaking and listening to my heart pound in my ears. I was scheduled to fly back to Jersey, for Thanksgiving, in three days. Would bread and water be replacing turkey this year? Would I have a record? Would I get to eat the one and a half inch candy I was now paying for — big time?
I could hear laughing down the hall. “You arrested that pretty little thing for stealing what?” “Why didn’t you just buy it for her?” “You’re pathetic.”
My nemesis returned, and after signing some papers I was given a court date for two days later — one day before I was to leave for home.
Mortified and petrified, I cried all the way back to my motel room. Who could I call for support? Nobody. I was full of shame and deserved whatever fate had in store for me. I was a criminal.
Two torturous days later I appeared in court, properly dressed in a tailored suit and heels, amidst a sea of men in tattered jeans, faded flannel shirts and soiled work boots. There wasn’t another female felon in the room.
My name was called and I approached the bench.
The judge smirked. “I understand your craving for chocolate was of such enormity, it prompted you to steal. Correct?”
“Yes, Your Honor.” My eyes filled with tears, as every man in the room giggled. Women would never have giggled.
I was given a hefty fine and ordered to do several months of community service. It was then that the very undercover cop who had collared me, Officer Taylor, requested leniency explaining that I was scheduled to return to my family in New Jersey, the next day, for Thanksgiving. So, after a humiliating scolding and harsh warning, the judge approved Officer Taylor’s request.
Weak……I left the courtroom, with Officer Taylor in hot pursuit.
“Wait up,” he called. “How’s about letting me buy you a cup of coffee? You can even have a piece of chocolate cake, if you’d like.”
He was hitting on me. Talk about impertinence.
I turned and glared. “No amount of chocolate anything could entice me to socialize with you. Ever!” Outraged, I pivoted and marched to my car.
Close call. I’d have been hard pressed if he’d offered to buy me a Hershey bar.
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