Saturday 12 February 2000

Barely covered

Pic of the day: Believe it or not, I stole this plastic bag!
(Oh ... and we don't want those pesky women staring at our chest, do we?)

Stop thief!

Who woulda thunk it? Me, a common thief?! How could I sink that low, and that fast?

It all started as I went to the shop to secure my groceries for the weekend. 9 boxes of yoghurt, a small milk, a plate of chocolate, a box of spaghetti wheels, some pasta spices, and probably one more thing because I usually forget some minor detail. Anyway, I paid in cash and put my hand in my pocket to fish out the two plastic bags that I always carry there for all my grocery shopping convenience. Once you have two bags, one inside the other, they become more than tough enough for repeated use. I can use the same two plastic bags for weeks or months. If I remember to put them back in my pocket, that is.

My pocket was empty of bags. I had left them to dry, and forgot to put them back. What to do? I had ca 20 minutes to walk and there was no way I could get it all (or half) in my pockets or hand. There was already a line of people waiting with their own stuff to pay, so I could not go back. And only one cash register was in use. Then I saw, by the checkout that was not in use, a stack of brand new plastic bags. So I walked over, conspicious as all marmelade, and picked one of those. I know they cost money - this is Norway, after all, and we don't have free plastic bags with groceries here - but how could I possibly pay for them? There was this line of people stretching way back to Pleistocene. I could not possibly disturb them all by running around insisting to pay for a plastic bag. It being Saturday afternoon, the stress level would already be high enough... blah ... blah ...

So I stole it.

***

I argued with my conscience while walking home with my stolen plastic bag and my non-stolen groceries. It wasn't my fault, really. Yeah, right; that's what they all say. The prisons are filled to bursting with innocent victims. You are responsible for your own life. What would Jesus do? Well, yeah, what *would* Jesus do? I asked my Inner Voice. "He wouldn't" was the sobering reply. "Not on a Sabbath. Though he did let his student grab some grain from the field one Sabbath when they were hungry." Well, great. I'm not Jesus anyway. And it probably wasn't their field of grain either.

It's funny, isn't it? I'm just not used to stealing anything more tangible than time. You are not likely to find me stealing software, or even a kiss. Of course, if I live long and prosper, I may go back another Saturday and buy another plastic bag, then sneakily leave it. That would probably satisfy my conscience. Or I might forget it, and start thinking about something that really counts. Other people, if worst comes to worst.

***

Oh, and another notable event today: I cried. Well, wept actually. But that was not because I stole a plastic bag, really. Sorry. It was because I listened to a song by Britt Viberg and Rolf Løvland. The song is in Norwegian and is called "Danse mot vår" ('dance towards spring', though I have no idea if it is ever translated into English. It certainly deserves world fame). I remember that my old friend used to love that song (the one whose marriage I wrote about last year). But that's not why I wept, trust me on that. :)

The song made me cry because I remembered a short short story I wrote a few years ago. Actually a chapter in yet another novel I never got off the ground, "unequally yoked", about a Christian and a Witch who fall in love. (I said I never got it off the ground.) Anyway, I did not weep over not writing the novel, either, but over the death of a completely fictional character who wasn't even a main character in the story. Then again, it was a beautiful death.

Perhaps I should go out more.

Pleasantly mild day. No snow! :)


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