Learning About Laura…One Story at a Time: The Day I Became A Felon

You’re right. It has been a long time since I posted one of these. What with all the healthy recipe posts and daily encouragement there is to write about, I nearly forgot all about how I promised to embarrass myself over and over.

Now, I do need to let you know…and you may be disappointed in me after hearing this….but the upcoming story about how I shop-lifted is not the only time I’ve done something that is not in accordance with the law. 

No, in fact just last weekend, I’m ashamed to admit, I was involved in another sort of criminal activity. 

We had company all weekend, as you may recall, and two of my guests were riding in my van with me. We went downtown to do a little shopping (because that’s what we women must do when we get together, can I get an amen?). As I pulled out of the driveway, there was a truck blocking the alley, leaving me no choice but to turn around and go the wrong way out of the driveway. 

Yes, indeed. I drove out the in. I went right over that arrow painted onto the pavement showing me that this was the innie and the other side of the driveway had the outie. I know. I know. But it was an act of desperation.

If you haven’t already lost all faith in me…please do continue reading so that you can learn about the time I shop-lifted: 

It was my sophomore year in high school. You know how 15 year old girls can be. Especially when they are on a Mixed Ensemble Trip. Wearing a performance outfit. That matches everyone else in the group. 

We (about 15 of us kids, I think) had just finished singing and performing (beautifully, I’m certain) at some Lady’s Tea Thingy (I’m pretty sure that was the name of it) and had ridden the school bus a few miles toward home. The driver stopped at a gas station to let us all run in and get something to eat. 

I filled up a big cup full of pop (oh Pepsi, how I miss you) and picked out a candy bar and stood in line with everyone at the cash register. I began chatting with some of my friends (the ones wearing the same outfit that I was) while I waited in the long line. And waited. And I chatted..and said all kinds of intelligent things as most 15 year old girls do when they are standing around with a bunch of other 15 year old girls. (“oh my goodness, do you think my hair is like, you know, big enough?”) (Late 80’s you know)

Before I knew it, our ensemble director called us back to the bus, and the whole group walked out. And I went too. Because I was always respectful and obedient of my elders. 

We drove for about an hour and a half…my parents picked me up at the school and we drove another thirty minutes home and I went to bed.

Sometime within the next half hour or so as I was lying in bed drifting off, going over the events of the day…it hit me.

I sat up straight in bed and shouted, “MOM!!”

My mom came running in wondering what in the world was wrong with me. She thought I’d been asleep for a while.

“Mom,”  I said frantically and hysterically, “Ididn’tpayformypopandcandybar! I was standing there in line, andthenweallwentouttothebus…but I didn’t pay for mine!!!!!!!!!! I didn’t mean to. I just forgot!”

My dad had come into my room by then, to hear my shameful confession. Oh the guilt.

My mom and dad just calmly smiled and said that these things happen and that we’d be sure and take care of it.  I couldn’t see how they were being so calm.  I didn’t feel good about it at all, and I couldn’t believe I had done such a horrible thing. 

(Yes, I suppose I was capable of creating extra drama as a youth.)

The next day, my parents called the ensemble director to find out what town we were in when we had stopped at the gas station. Turns out it was the small town where my aunt and uncle live. How ’bout that? 

So they called my Aunt Millie and told her about the evil I had done, and she took $2 down to the gas station and explained the situation and paid for my stolen pop and candy bar. And then we paid my Aunt Millie back at the next family get-together. 

I wonder if my sweet Aunt Millie remembers doing that for me? 

Boy, I hope she knows that I’d go in and pay for something she’s stolen from my hometown gas station any day of the week. You can count on it.