I stood in the courtroom as Judge Jacobs decided my future. My freedom was in his big hand that held the gavel. It was the first time I had been in front of a judge. I had been in front of my judge mother, my judge teachers, and my judge friends. They all decided at some time my fate. They all at some time gave me punishment. But I had never been in a courtroom and stood in front of a judge where people carried guns filled with ammunition and handcuffs. The courts charged me with shoplifting goods of value. You might be wondering what or why did I steal? I wasn’t a thief. Honestly, I did not do it. I remembered that day as if it was yesterday. Let me tell you what happened.
So, it was Sunday evening my friend asked me to accompany her to one of those big box stores. My friend was from a wealthy family. Her father was the CEO of his CPA firm, and her mother was the editor of a magazine company. Although she told me she’d be there in 20 minutes, she didn’t get there until almost an hour. Her red convertible came to a halt at my feet. I wasn’t upset; after all, I had nothing to do at home, so why not go out. I was used to her frequent lateness. I met her two years ago. We met when she drove into my mother’s car. I was the driver.
At 25 mph, I cruised down Pappas Street to get to the highway. As I neared the end, I saw a car turned onto the street headed towards me. I panicked and started to honk the car’s horn. There was nowhere for me to go; it was a narrow street with cars parked on both sides. I forgot to tell you that it was a one-way street. I stopped my car, unsnapped my seat belt, but I had problems opening the door. I felt a big jolt when her car crashed into mine. I was so upset and fumed with rage. I spewed profanities and called her mean names like stupid, idiot, dumb, can’t read Bozzo. I was not hurt, but my mom’s car was damaged. She came out of her car and apologized profusely. To make a long story short, she didn’t want me to call the police. Instead, she gave me her number, and her family took care of the expense incurred to get Mom’s car to its former state. Over time, I became her friend, and we did many things together, just like this shopping trip.
We walked into the store, and I grabbed a shopping cart. We strolled down the aisles while my friend picked up items she needed. I didn’t need to buy anything. She asked if I wanted something, her treat. I choose a Michael Kors pocketbook. While she stood at the cashier, I went to the bathroom. On my return, she waited for me by the door. I took the bag with my gift, and we walked out together.
As soon as we exited the front door, a man called out to us, “Excuse me, ladies. Can I see your receipt for a minute? I turned to look, and a tall man in uniform gestured for us to get back inside the store. He wore an embroidered badge that said security. We stepped toward him and into a small room where a female security guard sat behind a desk. I wasn’t nervous or worried. I didn’t steal anything.
My friend gave him the receipt. “Place your bags on the desk, please,” he said. I placed my bag closer to me, and my friend put hers in front of the woman. The door was wide open, and shoppers watched us with interest. I became a little annoyed because my friend had money; she paid for the items. Why did he stop us?
He inspected the contents of each bag and compared them to the receipt; there was no mention of the pocketbook. My girlfriend did not pay for the bag. And remember that I was the one who chose the bag and carried it outside of the store. Therefore, I was liable because the stolen good was in my possession. The woman said she had to call the local police. Their policy stated that if the stolen items were worth over $100, they must notify the authority. The bag cost $158. I was devastated by the news about the police and protested. I did not steal the bag. I pulled out my credit card and offered to pay for it, but they did not listen. They let my friend go and held on to me. There I sat like a criminal. And I felt horrible and disappointed in the way my friend betrayed me. They took a picture of me for their wall of shame and banned me from ever entering their store. But they did not have to do that because I would never go back there because of the embarrassment I felt about the label I carried – thief. I wouldn’t even enter another location to spend my money.
Two policemen came, and I walked to the patrol car with them. They did not handcuff me. At the station, I got fingerprinted, and they took my picture. They took my personal information and charged me $158 for bail and a date to appear in court. I paid the fine with my credit card. “Why didn’t you just buy the bag?” He asked. “You had money,” he said with a puzzled look after the card transaction was approved.
Fast forward back to to the courtroom; judge Jacobs found me guilty of the crime. I became a criminal with a misdemeanor on record. My punishment was to perform ten hours of community services at a local soup kitchen. The person who supervised my case broke down the time to two hours per week. Every Monday afternoon, I had to report to the center to help prepare and serve dinner to hungry people. The people at the center did not know what my crime was. But they knew that I was a convict, and I was there to learn morals and values. According to an elderly lady, Miss Anton, “You young people need to see the lives of other people to appreciate your own and not create a setback to your lives.”
I removed myself from the friendship. Even when my so-called friend tried to apologize that she got scared and was disappointed in her actions. She cried tears of remorse. It did not move me to accept her apology. How could she have done such a heinous and inconsiderate act to someone she called a friend? I would revisit her apology later. For right now, I had to evaluate our friendship. What were your thoughts?
So, you see. I did not commit the crime, yet I had to suffer the consequence. This experience taught me never to carry someone else’s bag out of a store. And for you readers, do not carry anyone’s packages. You could get caught holding “the bag” with whatever is in it.