The other day I was getting ready to go to work and realized that my hair product was inside of the cute little vintage medicine cabinet at Jamie’s [our] house. In the hustle of trying to look presentable for work, I had this brilliant idea: go to Wal-Mart [because you have something to buy there anyway] and use a nickel sized amount of hair product, they’re Wal-Mart I’m sure they will not miss one can of product. Plus, who will ever find out about this? Other than the dude who purchases that specific can of hair product, only to feel violated and taken advantage of when he needs to use it for the first time.
I leave my apartment which happens to be across the street from our friendly neighborhood consumonster, I prowl aimlessly until resting in a parking space and forward I march. Rather than going to get the item that I actually needed, my jittery footsteps took me directly to Hair Care. First, I go around to the “black hair” products to see if they have any Murray’s, it’s like $2.00 and can easily last as many years as it’s price tag. I second guessed my scheme for a bargain but, when I couldn’t find brother Murray I rounded the corner and the first thing that I see is a little gray tub with a yellow cap that reads, Short SEXY Hair, and that’s exactly what I was going for. In compliance to my goal and mission to reach my goal, I grab the little plastic gray container with my left hand, with my right I turn the bright yellow cap to the left until it falls into my hand, I place the cap under the container in my left hand and use my right pointer finger to extract some of the stone blue compound from its home. Now I have a few drops of perspiration stating to fall in the sleeve of my shirt so I take the cap from between the little gray housing and the palm of my hand and with burning speed I twist the cap on using my thumb, middle and ring fingers on my right hand. Not so calmly placing the sexy maker back on the shelf I walked away from the main shopping aisle. Following the directions, of course, rubbing the product between my palms and then working it through my hair evenly. I had ended up in place that I started, walking swiftly by the Jerry curl juice. Just as I entered the main aisle I felt like Bruce Wayne going into the phone booth only to exit as “The Beav” from the 1950’s sitcom Leave it to Beaver. “What are ya doin, Beav?” I thought to myself as if I was my own antagonistic older brother. With sweaty palms and shaky limbs I made a b-line for the exit, “Um, I can’t buy what I needed to buy now… what if I’m on camera?” …. “You’re an idiot! Just go back and buy the product.” This is what took place in my head as I made a U-turn at the intersection of Exit and GetOutOfTheWay. Alternating steps take me back to the place of my depravity, I make eyes with the little gray tub from hell and as my eyes sink to the metal shelving that has it elevated from ground level, my eyes find what they are looking for, a price. $15… FIFTEEN DOLLARS!? I didn’t even know that Wal-Mart sold anything that costs $15, I was so mad at myself that the one product that I tried to steal was literally the most expensive product for short hair styles. With angst I took the yellow headed demon from its place and continued on shopping with peace. Since, I have held resentment towards my new friend, when I purchased it, when I use it, when I look at it, frustration. The moral of this story is, if you’re going to steal and then feel bad about it, at least steal from a cheap product so your consequences aren’t doubled.
I hope that you understand… I’m sure that I am not the only person who has done something silly like this. Thank you for reading and finding likeness in our stories.