The world is full of criminals, at least among folks who read this column

A couple weeks ago I wrote about my early attempts to enter into a life of crime. I confessed to several misdemeanors, most committed while I was still a child and had yet to hear about what happens to guys like me in prison.

I was worried some readers might pen angry letters condemning me for my youthful malfeasance; I was instead inundated with confessions, some of which make my own crimes seem fairly petty.

I’d like to share some of those letters with you now. Since I’m a little fuzzy on that whole statute of limitations thing and can’t afford to lose any readers to the penal system, I’ll be using pseudonyms rather than the letter-writers’ real names. Don’t worry folks, I won’t rat you out to the coppers.

One of my favorite stories came from online reader “Francine,” who, as a 15-year-old girl swiped an unmentionable (I tried to get her to mention it, but she wouldn’t) undergarment while her friend and accomplice purchased an identical item. The next day, Francine returned the stolen frou-frou for cash, using her friend’s receipt.

Unfortunately, her accomplice’s mother discovered the purchased undergarment and demanded the girl take it back. (I don’t know what this undergarment was, but it must have been racy indeed to get all these moms in such an uproar.)

Having no receipt, the accomplice was forced to implicate Francine. A brief phone conversation between mothers landed Francine and her ill-gotten booty (by which I mean “cash” – just because we’re talking underwear here doesn’t mean this column is suddenly rated R) back at the lingerie store.

The store couldn’t accept the money, however, because the stolen item had been returned with a valid receipt. It would, they said, mess up their inventory.

Francine didn’t say whether her mother let her keep the loot, but my guess would be no.

Then there’s “Waldo,” who sent me a letter in which he confessed to stealing his father’s car in the middle of the night on his 15th birthday, crashing it into a tree, then walking home and climbing back into bed, bruised but otherwise unharmed.

Waldo’s old man died two years ago at the age of 87 having never heard his son’s confession. According to Waldo – now in his 60’s – his letter to me was the first time he’d mentioned the incident to anyone. The guilt had been haunting him for decades. If I were a priest I’d grant absolution.

Several readers confessed to swiping CDs – older readers swiped LPs or cassettes. Nowadays, music swiping is handled mostly online, I think, but apparently, the practice has been popular since Edison invented the phonograph.

Finally, one reader called me out on one of my own crimes – the comic book I confessed to stealing from Reagan’s Pharmacy on Michigan Street when I was in fourth grade.

Tommy (I’m using his real name, since unlike the rest of us, he’s not a crook) married one of Mr. Reagan’s granddaughters. Tommy pointed out that the revenue lost from that stolen comic book, along with regularly compounded interest, was money lost from his wife’s inheritance. The amount I now owe him will put his daughter through college, he says.

I’m not sure what collection methods Tommy plans to use, but I’ve started locking my doors at night.

It’s true folks, crime doesn’t pay.


Missed a week? More “Reality Check” online at http://mtrealitycheck.blogspot.com or www.milive.com. E-mail Mike Taylor at mtaylor325@gmail.com.