my short thieving life 1

I suspect every postmodern outlaw considers himself some variation on jean genet (with the exception of patti smith whose reprobate-of-choice is arthur rimbaud) and I was certainly no exception. having read our lady of the flowers and a book of his letters, I set out in the mid-80s to remake myself as a thief.

I was going to say I was a very bad thief because I never made any money at it, but in retrospect I must have been a pretty good one--better even than genet--because I was never caught. in some twisted way I can claim my thievery was sort of benign since I never stole anything I couldn't use--food, primarily, sometimes clothes. but mostly I stole books.

when I was living in my car I picked up on the ways to shoplift, especially from large stores, pretty easily and quickly. the first time I did it, though, I wasn't homeless yet, just drunk, and I was in the market in new paltz around 2 in the morning after a night of wandering and drinking aimlessly. I was with shelley, I think, or it may have been denise. it was a woman, I'm certain of that. I wanted some ice cream and had just enough money to pay for it. but I also wanted something else, a slim jim or a pack of peanut butter crackers, and I wasn't exactly hungry for it, just wanted it. I slid it up the sleeve of my jacket and went to the register and paid for the ice cream and went out to the car.

hence was born in me a realization that it was easy to steal something if you were paying for something else, a sort of slight of hand. here is where I don't think I was very good at it because what I stole was almost invariably less expensive than what I chose to pay for. but no one ever confronted me.

when I was on the road my usual target was convenience stores and larger groceries where I'd wander the aisles, picking up and setting down things, then choose a jar of peanut butter (this was my staple on the road, no food is better for it--it's nutritious, delicious, doesn't need refrigeration or any packaging other than the jar it comes in, and travels well) and then at some point would slip a package of crackers or a loaf of bread or a packet of pitas under my jacket or my shirt and walk calmly and with a smiling face to the register, pay for my jar, flirt a little with the cashier, and walk out.

it's now a point of pride for me, many years on, that sometimes I have the opportunity to do these things again but now I have the means to pay for what I want, and so I do. it was a part of that whole genet-think I had that allowed me to do this in the past. but now I will even draw attention to myself as someone who is waiting to pay for an item, ringing the bell on a counter after waiting 30 seconds rather than simply walking through the doors, that distinguishes me now from then.