Judgemental at the Checkout

This is an old piece of writing but one of my favourites. 

In the Hollywood Blockbuster movies a fairly popular storyline is one where innocent bystanders get caught in a bank robbery, a heist at a store or otherwise find themselves in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Masked and heavily armed perpetrators get a bit rude and crude in ordering the poor unfortunates to lie on the floor, keep their eyes down and shut up under threat of some quite nasty outcomes usually involving being provided with a bullet in the head or someone creating a new orifice that is not really required and would be more of an inconvenience than an advantage, in my perception.

There is usually an upstanding citizen who decides to be a 'have a go hero' and gets involved in a tussle and a wrestle with the gruffest of the villains and although seeming to have the intial element of surprise you can be assured that it will not end at all well for Joe Public. The staff are also a bit vulnerable especially those with the responsibility for a set of keys, a passcard or knowledge of the combination of a safe or vault.

A few shots get fired into one of those awful fibreboard suspended ceilings that characterise a downtown 1970's built establishment and everyone panics and screams as the getaway car screeches up to take away the gang and their bulging cash filled holdalls. There is invariably a witticism shared between the baddies and their victims and that makes violent crime acceptable - doesn't it ?

We generally accept this sort of scenario as fictional and do not therefore have too many concerns in this country of ours when queuing at the Post Office to renew the road fund licence, paying in monies at the local bank branch or just minding our own business in doing the weekly shop in the supermarket.

I was therefore a bit surprised and not a little concerned when the Manager at our small neighbourhood Spar Shop announced that he was locking the main doors and respectfully detaining all current customers.

He explained that he was about to confront two individuals whom he had been observing in plain sight in the process of filling their pockets and a selection of loose branded carrier bags with produce from the chiller cabinets in aisle 2.

Those amongst us with hand baskets and a commensurate amount of cash for purchase had nothing to worry about. A few well to do middle aged persons aired a degree of moral indignation but I was not entirely sure if it was over being, in their minds, the victims of false imprisonment or directed at those who had brought on the unsatisfactory situation which was now firmly engaging all of us.

From my position between the Off Licence section and the domestic cleaning display shelving I did not have a view of the main action.

My understanding of what was going on was based on the preliminary action by the Manager and a couple of muffled voices who expressed sincere denials that they were doing anything wrong.

The disembodied voices were of a man and a woman, clearly, although I would hesitate to actually identify who was who. The female intonation was hoarse and throaty from 40 smokes a day and the male a bit whiny and high pitched like my own tends to be after a few glasses of Pinot.

A shuffling sound was heard as the couple came forward in their own counter challenge.

I could see them now. An odd pairing. One had a faded blonde rinse with black roots showing through, pale and pinched rosey cheeked face, flowery shirt and bright overpowering trousers under a multi pocketed army jacket which would make a poacher's equivalent garment look frugal. The woman also was a bit world weary with saggy bags under the eyes which blended in with equally loose and uncontrollable jowls, an obvious wig and scruffy clothes beneath a Mackintosh at least three sizes too large but weighed down and bulging with contraband.

The stance of denial continued even with the Manager risking all to delve into the voluminous coats and fishing out a handful of shrink-wrapped packs of Danish Bacon previously occupying a prime position in the chiller cabinet, various spray cans of deodorants, two jars of Nescafe, a Kit Kat (singular), a four pack of strong lager and a packet of J-Cloths.

In the midst of this indoor performance I noticed that a crowd had gathered on the forecourt frontage of the Spar Shop. Angry faces were screwed up against the disabled automatic doors and from their contorsions and quite easily lip-read obscenities these were confederates of the unfortunate shoplifters.

I counted at least half a dozen motivated and aggressive individuals.

There were an equal number of us in the shop but I had low expectations of a good outcome if push came to shove. Decent types have, from my own experience, little street fighting skills.

More pilfered items cascaded onto the floor around Mr and Mrs Five Finger Discount ( a term I had heard on an episode of The Simpsons and felt quite apt in this situation) and the Manager completed his transfer of the goods into a nearby trolley.

The haul, if they had ever had a better gameplan or actual ability to implement it had potential to severely dent the profitability of the Franchisee for that particular week.

The unpleasantness dissipated quite quickly with the failing to come to fruition of the shoplifting trip. Voices attained a more normal, calmer tone and diction and the strange couple were now reasonably apologetic about the whole thing.

Confident in his policy and approach the Manager released the door.

A few choice insults were directed at the Manager by the partisan crowd which, to me, displayed a reasonable grasp of Consumer Law, Civil Liberties and the Rights of the Individual and I was impressed.

As quickly as the situation had developed it was completely defused and normal service was resumed. When it was my turn to pay at the till I commented to the Manager that he had indeed shown good judgement, authority and bravery in what I had feared could have easily escalated into a riot. He was modest and very matter of fact in revealing that his Thursdays would not be the same without a visit from the erstwhile members of the Conservative Club on their way home from a social evening. They were relatively harmless really and he always received a nice written apology by the middle of the Friday morning with an invitation to play Bridge and enjoy a glass of Port.