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Something curious comes over me whenever I pass security on my way out of large department stores. I can’t walk properly. This has nothing to do with too-tight jeans or high stilettos. It has everything to do with not having bought anything from the store but feeling that I might be suspected of shoplifting.
Just when you should look carefree and innocent – because you are – you start strutting like a North Korean soldier on military parade.
Shoplifting is rife at your local bottle-o, and there’s not much they can do about it.Credit: iStock
It doesn’t help, either, knowing that the Australian Institute of Criminology claims the average shoplifter is middle-class, educated and more likely to be a retiree or white-collar female than a teenager.
While not all of us shoplift, it seems a heck of a lot do. According to the website of security tag company VITAG, shoplifting is costing Australian retailers $2.3 billion a year. Put another way, shrinkage, due mainly to shoplifting, is expanding. (The Yanks call it shrink.)
Nicking stuff from shops is an age-old crime, yet the methods of the lifting and the attitudes of perps today shock me to the core. Shoplifting just isn’t what it used to be.
I know this first-hand because I have my own secret informant. My son Josh works part-time in a bottle shop in a cosy middle-class suburb. At the end of every shift, he reports back to headquarters (me) on the day’s activities. “How was your sesh, darl?” I ask. “Ah, no biggie. Just three thefts and a smashed six-pack. Ya shoulda seen the glass!”
Say again? Three thefts?! Yep, it’s all part of the cut and thrust of working in a liquor store.
In this particular outlet, individuals, rather than gangs, are hard at work. That means clutching a couple of whiskey bottles to the inside of a puffer jacket (black, it’s always black) or stuffing a bottle of Johnny Walker down one’s trews.
And the talk goes like this. (Calmly) “Put that back, mate.” “Put what back, smart arse!” “Put the bottle that’s in your jeans back on the shelf.” “F--- you, mate.” And off he marches. Out the door and into the car park. Sometimes, the perps even stop to say goodbye or give the CCTV a little wave of thanks with one finger. Mercifully, there are no masks or balaclavas worn. It’s all so smooth. Like a trip to the park.