Wednesday, February 22, 2012

Redeeming Myself

I do feel bound to write a few words of redemption after the numerous reactions I got after the Stolen Beer confession story. They all ranged from the bonhomous  yet patronising "Yeas, sure, it happens to all of us"  to "Hey, we're coming over to have a beer, it's for free anyway". Friends, it's been a misunderstanding, I am not the villain in this story and in reality I am a very nice and considerate guy who repents after such fortuitous actions. I do care for the well being of the supermarkets, the bigger they are the more shit I DO give. And I would come back to turn me in without any restriction, but I've heard some horror stories about that.

And when it comes to such stories, it's time I introduced someone in this picture: my mother in law. Don't jump to conclusions, she's far from being horrid, she's a very lovely person, but you wouldn't believe what she had to put up with. It all happened in a super/hyper/mega-market.

One day she filled up the trolley, went to the till, paid, and she headed to her car. You know how the supermarket trolleys have the bottom covered with all types of flyers in which you're told about the greatest discounts of the week, exotic holidays, or finding Jesus in only three steps. When she was chucking the goods in the boot of her car, she saw a foil of chewing gum among the spread papers, which she didn't remember to have paid for. When checking the receipt, she saw indeed that the chewing gum was not on. She must have seen the finding Jesus flyer as well (Jesus is watching you right now!), cause in a moment she decided to go back, present her deepest apologies to the supermarket staff, pay for the chewing gum, and go back home with a clean conscience.

She finished unloading the trolley, put it back, and went inside the supermarket with the receipt in one hand and the chewing gum foil in the other. Of course, she had to go to the service counter for that, where she queued up like the sacked miners on the dole used to. In front of her was a man sweating abundantly, who apparently had to return his big plasma TV for the second time. And he HAD to tell the story of his broken TV to everyone, but especially to the service attendant, which took about half an hour. Needless to say, he left the premises cursing and swearing and threatening everyone with the divine final punishment. He must have got a flyer, too, I presume.

The woman at the counter acted as if she was at least the vice president of the lesbian-by-urgent-necessity club, who hated all men in general, the sweaty ones in particular, and specially the ones with broken plasma TV's. Or LCD, whatever. And why does this always happen to her? When my mom-in-law got to the counter she was throwing flames already and she asked in the friendliest voice:

"DO TELL! What's your problem, madam?"

"I have this foil of chewing gum that somehow escaped my attention and I didn't pay for it, so I came back to pay it now"

"Whaaaat? Are you mocking me? Am I on the fucking candid camera? Are you crazy? First you shop-lift and then you come to pay?"

"I beg your kind pardon! I didn't shop lift, I think it's obvious, and I thought you'd appreciate my honesty"

"Oh, yeah, it's always people like you that act weird, so they get away with something more. I'll keep an eye on you from now on!"

A few days later, in the supermarket, just before going to the cash register, guess who did my mother-in-law meet? You're right, only that she'd been appointed the president of the I'm-a-bitch-and-you'll-see-it-soon club. She could have probably thought of waiting for a flagrant, but she didn't have the steady nerves to do it. Instead, she rushed to my mom-in-law's trolley and took a bag with 3 apples in it, which had been self weighed.

"So, you're trying to get away with it, aren't you?. Let's get to the scales and have these apples re-weighed, shall we? I've told you, I know your sort".

Leaving the politeness aside, how much would you think that someone could cheat on weighing the 3 apples? Two apples at most, but that you can easily assess without using electronic scales, can't you?

Anyway, hearing these stories, would you dare return the 26 crates?

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