Sunday, June 22, 2014

Thief of Hearts

Thievery is around me everyday. I have somewhat mastered the understanding of why people do it.
They didn't have things as a child and now they feel entitled. Or perhaps they need to keep up with the Jonses' or the Richardson's, but aren't in the same disposable income bracket. And in my opinion the worst: They simply don't care. I care, and as I've said before: I'll never really "get it" 
See, the man that sits on my shoulder would never let me live with myself. He would haunt my every living moment, and his good buddy Karma would eventually come calling and I would immediately make the connection.
I have stolen once.
I was between 8-9 years old. We only had one vehicle at the time and had to walk for groceries. I was embarrassed about having the neighbors know, but enjoyed the walk. I always, ALWAYS had to carry the milk home. To this day, I will never ever buy milk by the gallon jug. I prefer the glass bottles, and will pay more for them. I'm also severely lactose intolerant, so my milk consumption is quite small. So we were at the check out and even that early I was obsessed with pop culture and the glossy magazines. I wanted a picture in one of the glossies so bad, but knew my Mom would never buy it, and there definitely wasn't money for it. And I'm sure she would have questioned, what would an 8 year old girl want a magazine for ?!
So I carefully ripped the page out of the magazine. I folded it carefully just once, as to not disturb the image. I concealed it in my jacket quickly and grabbed my jug of milk to make the trek home. The entire time, The Entire time, I was panicking. I was sure the gates would come down before we left the store. I was expecting the manager to come through the parking lot, demanding the photo back. And if there was a siren that sounded on our way through the snow, I was positive the red and blue lights were for me.
It never happened. But what did after that has stuck with me until this day. I snuck out of the house, and made the trek back to the grocery store alone. And returned the page back into the magazine. I can't be certain it went in the right one. But I put it back. I should have never walked that far by myself across the busy highway. But I had to do it. My Dad was an officer of the law, and even back then I knew he wasn't raising me that way.
My best friend recently bought and paid for, by herself, a lovely vacation home. Emphasis on: By Herself. She is a recent divorcee, and lives on her own. She has been extremely successful in her business and is looking forward to an early retirement. She found the place, made multiple offers, and signed her, and No One Else's name on the paperwork. This is amazing! So after 3-4 trips up north to make it her own, she returned with her parents to show off the property. She unfortunately came to discover she had been a victim of thievery. Several thousands dollars worth. And it clearly wasn't the work of kids. This was the work of adults. Tackle boxes, marine oil, batteries, ect. There she was on a private lake in her new place, and wasn't able to escape the entitlement someone felt, to have her shiny new toys.
And even though I knew the answer to question of: "Who does That?", it still escaped my lips.
The answer: Someone who doesn't have a conscience.
Someone who doesn't feel like they have to pay for possessions.
Someone who doesn't think, or care, if they take something of someone else's'.
And apparently, someone who doesn't have the same guy as I, taking up a permanent residence on his or her shoulder.
Ring, Ring..."Hello? Yes, This Is Karma, I always come Calling"

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