“Much of the world is dominated by systems that attract and promote corruptible people.” Brian Klaas, Corruptible: Who Gets Power And How It Changes Us
She came into the store at 8:30 p.m. I saw her in the whole body section, reading the label of a hair care product. She had a small cart with no more than half a dozen items in it. Her own hair is dirty blonde, tucked under a beige wool cap. She’s dressed as she was the last time I saw her, also a Thursday night, in a bulky sweater, leggings, heavy wool socks and hiking boots. I remembered her because that night she didn’t check out until after 10:00, and I had to wait for her before I could lock up the carts for the night. I helped her load two bags into the cluttered back seat of a Lexus SUV. When she drove off the Lexus made a horrific screeching sound. Good, I thought as I passed on my way to the back of the store, she’s got a head start.
I went about my rounds, cleaned out the floor drain by the olive bar, another in the cheese section, and three behind the bakery counter. On my last inspection of the evening, at 9:45, just as the closing announcement came over the intercom, the woman was still in whole body, in the same spot, reading labels as if she had all the time in the world. She had the same few items in her cart. I swore silently, knowing that I was going to be standing outside with the cable and lock, waiting for her to check out. Maybe shopping is her hobby I thought, or perhaps she suffers from insomnia. She could be lonely. I’m not great at guessing ages, but she looks to be in her late sixties. She could be widowed, with children living far away. All these thoughts ran through my head. I see all kinds of people in the store, from the obviously affluent to those who haven’t bathed in weeks. Though I haven’t seen it myself, I’m told that shoplifters are common, repeat offenders even, despite all the surveillance cameras. A few nights ago, during a final inspection of the women’s restroom, there was a woman sitting in one of the stalls eating an orange. Before I saw two filthy feet in rubber beach sandals beneath the partition, I caught the scent of citrus; after she left I found peels in the sanitary napkin receptacle.
The woman came out at 10:05. Her Lexus was the last car in the parking lot. I wondered if she had tended to the screeching sound. She took her time loading two bags into the back seat. I didn’t help her this time. It had been a long shift and I was tired. I wanted to lock the back gate, collect my gear, punch out, and bicycle home. The woman finished loading her bags and came toward me with her cart. “Can I roll it to you?” she asked. “Sure,” I said. I was only six feet from her. She gave the cart a push and it came toward me, curving slightly on the slope of the parking lot and into my waiting hand. I then made the mistake of saying, “Hey, that was like a golfer playing the break.” When she said “You know,” and began walking toward me I knew I was in trouble. “I played golf when I was very young. My dad taught me and I used to beat all his friends. I could drive the ball 160 yards with a 5-iron. I should take it up again. I did it all wrong, starting so early. Have you ever played golf? It’s a wonderful game.”
I pushed her cart into place and locked the padlock. I began moving away, telling her that she should take up golf again. For a moment I was afraid she might follow me. “Enjoy the rest of your evening,” I said with a wave. When she drove off there was no screeching sound from her Lexus.
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