Tag Archives: Christmas tree

Our holiday crime spree.

28 Nov

It is true that when my husband and I were younger we were on the rebellious side, but neither of us were ever criminals  (youthful indiscretions aside).  Well, we weren’t, unless you did not buy the late 1980’s/early 1990’s sloganeering that, “SKATEBOARDING IS NOT A CRIME”.  In that case, Rich was a sponsored criminal and I was a criminal groupie.

We must look shady.  Nothing says dangerous like a relatively short couple in their late 30’s schlepping two little kids and an overstuffed diaper bag with their coat pockets full of used Kleenex, lollipops, and a couple of pacifiers.  At least that must have been what the cashier at the Christmas tree farm thought when she insisted on seeing my husband’s identification when he tried to pay for the tree we lovingly picked out.  I don’t know how she saw through our plan.  I thought it was fool-proof:  we steal a debit card, drive (our minivan) outside the city to a tree farm, take 2 hayrack rides, freeze, pick out a tree, take 2 hayrack rides back, freeze again, pay for our frigid fun with stolen funds, and disappear into the night with a diabolical laugh.  It could have been Alastair’s fault.  I warned him that his over-the-top adorable act would draw unwanted attention.  The kid has got to learn to tone it down if we are going to make it as a crime family.

The joke was on her though.  We thought of every possible scenario.  We had the proper identification and completed the purchase.  Some young farm boys tied it to the top of our van and I restrained myself from correcting their inappropriate language.  I needed to remain calm and low-key. We were almost home free.  I had it in my head to belittle these wholesome boys to the point they would watch their mouths around children in the future, but then realized they would probably just insult me back and then Rich would defend my honor, a physical brawl would ensue and the police would surly be summoned.  I didn’t want to make that memory. I wanted to get home and decorate our ill-gotten prize.  I rolled up the window, turned up the radio, and held my tongue.  Soon enough we had our tree and made a clean get away. 

Drunk on Friday’s success we decided to up the stakes on Saturday night.  We loaded up the get away van and headed to Target under the guise of needing dishwasher detergent.  No matter how often I tell the boy, Alastair blew our cover almost immediately.  I just know that security saw him chatting up the elderly wheelchair bound woman right inside the front door.  Their mental alarms must have gone nuts watching him on video surveillance holding up his pant legs and dancing around her so she could see how his cowboy boots light up.  The minute she smiled and clapped for him it was all over for us.  For the next 30 minutes I noticed that no matter where we were in the store a certain young female security guard was never far away.  She kept a keen eye out when I picked out lotion (our criminal escapade at the tree farm did a number on my skin), she watched as we debated what to pick up for dinner, she was ever vigilant as we joked with another mother about the chaos that comes with having two young sons, and she was front and center at the exit as we all shrugged back into our coats to make our escape.  We eluded capture once again.  No alarms sounded as we passed through security.  What cunning! What luck! What skill!  How did we do it again?  Here is the secret.  We paid for our stuff like we always do with our own hard-earned money from the jobs we take quite seriously.

 

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