Marshmallows in... "Trouble With The Law!"

The counselor, the latest in a long string of counselors, had only a week earlier warned my mother that strong willed, hyper-active, intelligent kids who have problems with authority figures, (He meant me.) often end up having trouble with law.

I was hanging out at Jim's house and there wasn't much to eat. What we really wanted were rice crispy treats, but we didn't have any marshmallows, the most important ingredient.

"Go lift some from the Bel-Air." Jim suggested, referring to the grocery store that sat a few blocks from his parent's suburban track home.

We'd done a good deal of shoplifting that year, mostly from the Gas and Go. We'd ditch school to hang out there and play video games while stealing Twinkies, Ho-Hos, candy bars, Ne-Hi Blue Cream Soda, and whatever else we had a hankerin' for. We'd buy some fried chicken or jo-jo potatoes. Buying something threw off the shopkeeps radar. "Good paying customers didn't steal." seemed to be the logic. As if a thief were incapable of paying for anything. We'd sometimes sit and eat our booty with our chicken, right in front of the guy. We were magicians and our audience saw only what we wanted him to see.

Of course walking into the Bel-Air and leaving with goods was harder. They had plain clothes security and cameras. Not that we hadn't pulled off some fine illusions there as well.

Walking up the donut counter, and ordering a dozen and then walking right of the store with the bright pink box worked over and over. It was too brazen. The donut fetching lady assumed we were going to the main registers, and everyone else assumed we'd paid her. After all, who enlists the help of a staff member when shoplifting?

Jim's suggestion became a dare. "You can't do it. You can't lift a bag of marshmallows."

"I could, it's just not worth it. Let's go get some donuts."

"I'm sick of donuts. Dude, you're the best thief I know, but this, this would make you legendary, if you could just walk in there and get out with a full bag of marshmallows." We both understood why this would be a big deal. Marshmallows weren't little like a two pack of Twinkies or a candy bar, and I wouldn't be buying anything since we were both flat broke. I was sure I could do it.

"It aint worth it. Let's eat something else."

"Yeah, whatever, pussy."

"Fuck you."

"Hey don't get all upset. I don't care that you're a pussy. We're still friends."

This wouldn't have worked with any of my other friends, but right then I didn't have any other friends. I'd moved to Roseville, a suburb of Sacramento, just a few months prior and Jim, the big bully who was also a new kid by way of Texas was the only one I'd found to hang out with. He was smart but he was manipulative, pushy and mean also. I was desperate so I put up with it. And I knew that he would not stop until I left or until I grabbed the marshmallows. I pulled my coat on and made my way to the store.

It turns out I was going to be a bigger daredevil than I'd first planned. The only marshmallows Bel-Air carried were HUGE. I'd be shoplifting a pillow sized bag of marshmallows. To make matters worse I'd worn my grandpa’s leather jacket. I inherited it from him when he died. It was almost too small to wear as grandpa was not a big man and I, it seemed, someday would be.

I wandered around way too much, probably catching the attention of the store narcs as I did so. Finally, the tension was too much; I stuffed the bag in my coat and made for the door.

I saw them! What would amaze me for days after was the fact that I saw them; three big clerks, sitting by the door, looking at me. I kicked into auto pilot, and failed to abort the mission when I should have. With my head buzzing and my stomach churning I walked past the burly three and out that door. When I felt the hand on my shoulder I considered running, considered turning and throwing a punch, considered yelling about my rights, but instead I just let myself be led back into the store.

I was brought to an office located by the employee break room. I had a seat and a man in a shirt and tie sat behind a big desk. "What else you got on you." He asked.

"Nothing. I gave you the marshmallows, you caught me."

"We'll see. I've got to call the cops."

I started crying then. I wasn't so much afraid of the cops. I'd actually be curious to see what dealing them might be like. They couldn't punish me in any way that wouldn't be an adventure and an instant status maker amongst my peers. No, it was another authority figure I was worried about; my mom. Mom would cry, be worried, be disappointed. I was her good Christian son, but also her troubled boy, heading for a very rough life of crime. I knew this would crush her and I knew that would crush me.

He let me cry for a bit, and he left the room, presumably to go call the cops. While I sat in his office, employees walked past the open door. I could hear them talking as they took turns poking their heads in to have a look at the punky haired kid crying in the office.

"What'd he take?"

"WHAT? MARSHMALLOWS?! Bwa HA HA HA!"

I was humiliated and worried and it felt like forever that they let me sit there. Finally tie guy came back. "I'm not going to call the police, but your parents will need to come pick you up. Write down your name and home phone number."

He put a pencil and paper in front of me and again I considered bolting, wondering how much effort they'd really put into catching a dumb kid who'd already given back the marshmallows. Then I considered writing down Jim's number. He was pretty smart. He might have pretended to be my big brother, as he looked a good two years older than me. I wrote down my name and number. Tie guy dialed.

"Yes, Mrs. Jensen? I have your son here at Bel Air on Curby way. We caught him trying to shoplift... No, we're not going to call the police. We need you to come and get him." I started bawling knowing that my mom was on the other end of this conversation. I wanted to make it stop, to reverse what I'd done. I could do nothing but sit and wait.

I think tie guy actually started to feel bad. He left me in the office alone. I started turning my fear into anger and I looked around to see if he'd left anything in the office that I could steal. They'd never suspect that, and it'd serve them right, self righteous pricks. There was nothing but the large water cooler, which would be a worse fit under my jacket than the marshmallows had been.

And then, after an impossibly long period of listening to men laughing and women saying "Ohhhh, he's just a little guy." my mom showed up in the door way. I knew she'd be hurt and disappointed, but I'd forgotten about humiliated. I'd embarrassed her publicly and she was pissed about it. I would've gladly exchanged a ride home with her for one in the back of a cop car at that moment.

The tie had both of us sign some papers one of which banned me from ever entering a Bel Air store again and then I was made to walk five feet ahead of my mother to our blue mini-van.

She yelled and she cried and she was borderline hysterical. "Why?" She asked.

"We wanted to make rice crispy treats." I answered, as if this was a logical explaination.

"RICE CRISPY TREATS! You Wanted To Make RICE CRISPY TREATS!" I didn't say another word. I glared out the window. I felt bad, but I also felt she was over-reacting. I could forgive her this as something like shoplifting really was foreign to her. She's been such a good kid herself. She didn't have the best parents in the world and rather than acting out in response, she went the other way. She was an angel. She loved the nuns, even planned to be one. She'd never ditched school, she'd never stolen. I wasn't sure if she'd ever even cursed. So, she was pretty sure I was officially damning myself to a life of crime.

Once home I went straight to my room. I punched and broke a novelty mirror I'd won at the county fair. It said "Kill a Commie for Your Mommy" on it. My dad came up.

"Marshmallows?" Dad's response was a bit more rational, but strange none the less. "Why the hell were you stealing marshmallows? I could understand something small and valuable. Jewelry or money I'd understand, but MARSHMALLOWS!"

"Yeah. I'll try to better next time." I mumbled, unfortunately just loud enough for him to catch.

"THAT'S NOT WHAT I'M SAYING! I suppose this is the first time you've ever stolen."

"It is."

"Isn't it funny? People always get caught their first time."

"Yeah, well, the first time is when you're still learning."

"YOU WANT TO KEEP SMART MOUTHING ME?"

I stared at the wall.

"How'd you're mirror break?"

I stared some more.

"Fine, god dammit. You're grounded.You've really upset your mother." I knew that dad knew that it wasn't a big deal. That it was something kids would try out. I think he was more concerned with dealing with mom than with me.

He left me alone and I cried some more, and wished I could undo it, some more. I didn't just visualize not doing it, I visualized doing it right; punching the guy who grabbed me, or running full speed through the door after I'd seen the big burly guys watching me, giving Jim's number instead of my parents. I replayed the scene over and over again, adjusting and wishing and regretting.

It was six years before I stepped foot in that Bel Air again, and I was still nervous doing it. I never shoplifted again.