Shoplifter

I knew there was a reason I kept stealing from that place. Despite the frequent warnings and the cautions signs taped everywhere mentally, I kept doing it, which is normal I guess. If you kept stealing from the same place over and over again, you're bound to get paranoid. Maybe they learned and set up something new, some new challenge, or are watching more closely. Either way, whatever I came up with just made me feel a whole lot more scared as time went by. And I don't tend to get scared. I was just walking down the refreshment aisle of the local gas station. It looked kinda old from the outside, but the inside was all modern shit. Slushie machines, Twinkies, you name it. I guess it was one of those corporation vintage things. You know, where they make it seems a lot older and glorified than it really is. So that whatever Joe and his minivan of family feel like they're going to, like, the first gas station ever. Like you expect to see a plaque or something outside the doors, which weren't automatic so that just added to the effect. Wooden and big handles. Cute stuff. Then as soon as you headed in, the 21st century hit you, you know? It was like a blast of plastic and metal that was too new to even exist. The top notch in consumer technology. Even then the Slushee machine never worked, but I guess you work with what you got.
Then again, no one really stopped by here. Not that it was in the middle of nowhere, it just was inconvenient. Or maybe that vintage thing backfired and people thought that it was abandoned or something. Pretty soon it became a teen hang out. The Death Valley of Coca-Cola and weed. The gas guys tried to shoo them away one time, but it didn't quite work. They would keep coming back. They called the cops one time, but that didn't work either. Gas station misfits are apparently low on their list of things to give a shit about. So time went on and the alley way beside the station became filled with coke cans and gum and condom wrappers. I've never seen anyone doing anything back there, but you could only assume. Who would want to do anything back there anyway? Though to be fair, it was cleaner than the bathroom inside the station. I guess the 21st century stopped at the restroom door. The keys to the back became a key to the city dump. I've heard of a few kids that went back a few times, but they were the ones who created the mess. I've heard of graffiti and blood on the walls and empty chip bags and rats on the floor. All of I've heard, never needed to go back there that badly myself. There's a myth of a junkie that went back there to smoke, he liked closed spaces or something, and he never came out. Of course this is only a myth and some of these airheads are very unobservant.
But I knew there was a reason why I stealing from that place. Even with my "Big Brother" phobia of the gas station attendants, if you'd even call 'em that, it was so easy to walk by. I might've been an expert at it, a guru of thievery. At that place at least. Lots of those teens that hung out around would try to snatch a soda or a bag of chips and have ended up wounded. Those cashiers don't mess around. I don't think anyone would be stupid enough to attempt an armed robbery of the register though. First off, there's probably no more than twenty bucks in it at a time and secondly, there's a handgun under the counter. I know, I've seen them whip it out occasionally.
I only stole small things, postcards that reminded me of the home I got kicked out of, packs of gum, things no one would miss. Things easy to hit and run with. Things that I could hide casually.
I remember one time during the attempted hijacking of a new postcard they had, they called out my name and I freaked. Majorly. I almost bolted to the door, but I built up my cool and casually stuffed the postcard in my hoodie jacket. I turned around slowly, but not slowly enough that they would think something's up. They asked me why I was so interested in the post cards. I could feel my heart pumping loudly. I don't react that well under this conditions. I lied, as smoothly as I could. I told them that they were really neat looking and reminded me of my grandmother's home before my family had to sell it because she passed away. Kind of a lie, but not really. They really did remind me of my grandmother's home, but she's still alive and all. They just kicked me out of it. About a year ago, so I wouldn't know now. They just said "oh alright" and went to the back of the store for a mop. They mopped that old forsaken place four times a day, I swear. I just looked at the postcards some more so they wouldn't be suspicious. I like to think I'm real sly, and went back outside to join the rest of the kids and their skateboards and Mary Jane. It really makes you wonder where they're gonna end up in five years. Even more than the people in the high schools that can't pass English.