A Fugitive From Justice

Don't tell M that there is a reward on my capture dead or alive. I'm probably safe from a deadly encounter because I'm just too big for the slight M to drag my corpse to the sheriff.

My crime was inadvertent. At least that is my story. It is not advisable to be a shoplifter and work in a Mall. I'm a Mall worker at Toronto's Eaton Centre and I get the store discounts to prove it. One would think that regular discounts would discourage absconding of merchandise without tendering currency in exchange for goods and services.      

I thought that I got away with it until my co-worker noticed a reward sign in the store. They were looking for a middle aged man with what she thought was luxurious hair. But it turned out to be ludicrous hair. While there are a few middle aged men in the Mall with bad haircuts, it does narrow the field somewhat.

My crime was small and went unnoticed. I'm not going to give a full confession here as it may be used against me. Let's just say that I purchased a series of items and one of the smaller items was hidden from the view of the checkout person. It left the store unpaid for. Now I didn't notice the crime until much later and by then the item was already gone. It was too awkward at that time to fess up. I can tell you as a small consultation that the item was less than $3 and I have dropped $hundreds in that store.

Word of my crime has spread in the office. It has increased my street cred. Let's just say that the underwriters in my office are giving me a wide berth in the cafeteria. It reminds one of the bad George Costanza from Seinfeld.

Living in downtown Toronto you hear a lot of police sirens. I have to confess that every time I hear a siren I get a little jumpy. Being a fugitive from justice is not all guts and glory, but you may want to cross to the other side of the street if you see me coming.