It was near the beginning of my senior year of high school. I'd turned eighteen near the end of my junior year. (I'd started school a year late due to an illness which prevented me from making the deadline for registration, and suffered for that illness ever since.) I'd had a job working at a local pharmacy for almost two years, originally starting out doing janitorial-type work, and stocking shelves, but eventually working my way up to running a cash register. I was still expected to occasionally be the first one at the pharmacy to do some clean-up work: vacuuming, sweeping, and general tidying up before the business opened for the day. Since I was often the only person in the building for an hour or more on those mornings, it wasn't uncommon for me to occasionally swipe a candy bar, or some other snack as I worked, without paying for it. I was usually pretty good about paying for things, but during those hours I was alone in the store, I just didn't see the harm in what I did. I never took anything that was high value, and never stole anything from the pharmacist's shelves. But after a while, I guess I became complacent about hiding what I was doing. It wasn't like I was trying to get caught, but I suppose I started to feel like I was invulnerable from discovery. It was almost inevitable that I eventually did get caught. The owner of the pharmacy found a box of condoms in the pocket of my jacket as it hung in the employee's break area. He demanded to see my receipt, which of course I didn't have, and I was sacked on the spot.
I wasn't aware of how many items typically turned up missing, due to employee pilferage and actual shop-lifting, but he produced a list with all sorts of stuff on it. The list totaled several thousand dollar's worth of merchandise, for which he claimed I needed to provide restitution or he'd have me arrested and prosecuted. I was in a panic. I knew that the things I'd taken over the years I'd worked for him couldn't have added up to more than $100-$150, but he wanted to make me cough up money (which I didn't have) for every little thing he claimed was missing from the store's inventory. Frankly, I suspected he'd gone so far as to add things that he himself had "brought home."
I should point out that I was generally a pretty good kid. I got good grades, was active in the seasonal athletic programs (football in autumn, basketball in winter and track & field in the spring), and was even a member of my high school's band program. I admit that stealing anything was wrong, but I didn't think it was fair for me to be penalized so heavily for thefts that I hadn't committed. I also didn't dare tell anyone in my family or even my friends what had occurred. The one person to whom I thought I could go was my high school's Guidance Counselor, who also happened to be a neighbor in the condominiums where I lived with my mom and older sister.
Pamela Noble was the one person I believed could both keep this incident private, and possibly offer me advice on what to do. Let me take a moment to describe her. In a young man's fantasy, the women involved are typically voluptuous sex-kittens. Busty, sexy vixens who always wear revealing clothes designed to entice. That would not describe Miss Noble at all. Miss Noble just over 30 years old when she came to my school. She was extremely short—about five foot one. She was also very slender and not very well endowed. She had a face you'd have to describe as "cute", with glossy, wavy dark-coppery-colored hair that hung down to just below her shoulders. She also wore thin designer eye-glasses that had the effect of making her look slightly older and more serious than she really was. She tended to wear clothes that reinforced her image: that of an administrator in the education system. They were stylish, but in a not in a way that attracted stares—typically either quite bulky, or very loose-fitting to disguise her figure. With her small size and tiny, delicate features, combined with her choice in clothes and the fact the I'd never seen her in more than minimal makeup, she was not someone whom you would typically describe as your "dream girl". The overall effect was of a younger woman wearing mature clothes. If you didn't know her already, you might have mistaken her for a student in our school, instead of our guidance counselor.
When I got home that evening, it was already getting dark outside (dusk comes quickly to Michigan in early October), and instead of going to my townhouse (technically, the two-story apartments were called 'town-houses' before the apartment complex went condo), near the front of the complex, I took the chance and detoured across the parking lot to Miss Noble's building. Her own townhouse was at the far end of the complex, in the last building in the winding row which faced a woodland ravine. There were 10 buildings scattered through the complex, and they were built to afford a degree of privacy from one another. Landscaping added to the privacy factor, with lots of trees and bushes placed to screen them further from one another.
It seemed to take forever to walk the cold sidewalk that wound around between the parking spaces, carports and enclosed garages of our complex, but all too soon, I was standing in front of her condo.
I took a few deep breaths before knocking on her door.
I knew she was home, as I'd passed her sensible Volvo sedan on my way in. I was still a bit surprised when she answered the door in something other than the clothes I was used to seeing her in during the school day. She was dressed in a loose-fitting red t-shirt with a college logo on it, equally loose grey gym-style shorts, and comfortable gray fleece house-slippers.
"Jeremy? What is it? I was just getting ready to unwind for the night. Today was pretty exhausting," she said, surprised to see me. "Is this something that can wait until tomorrow morning at school?"
"Um, sorry, Miss Noble," I answered her. I was suddenly at a loss for words. I didn't know what to say, and it must have shown on my face. "Actually, this is something that probably can't wait. I have a problem and I can really use some advice. I don't think I can wait until tomorrow at school. I'm sorry to bother you, but..."
"It must be pretty serious, judging by your expression. All right then, come on in. Would you like some water, or a soft drink?"
I shook my head no, as she gestured for me to come inside, then closed the door behind us. I spared a glance to see that her condo was very nicely furnished. It was tastefully decorated, and the furniture wasn't what I'd have expected to find based on what I guessed her income would be. I suppose I'd assumed that the salary of a Guidance Counselor would keep one in a somewhat lower income bracket than seemed to be the case here. After leading me down a brief hallway to her living room and offering me a seat on the sofa opposite her own seat on a loveseat, she leaned back, crossed her arms, and told me to go ahead.
"Um. Well, Miss Noble, my boss at the drug store let me go this afternoon," I began, took a deep, calming breath, and tried to continue. "He found an item in my coat, while it was hanging up, and I hadn't paid for it. He... He..." I'd like to say that I kept my cool, and that my voice didn't waver as I told her my predicament, but the truth is that as I began to spill my guts to her, I could feel my throat starting to constrict, and my eyes to water. 'This is not happening!' I admonished myself. 'You are NOT going to cry in front of her.'
"He told me, as he fired me, that I'm going to be responsible for paying him restitution," I was blushing furiously—both from the embarrassment of admitting to this authority figure that I had stolen from my employer, and from the fact that despite my best attempts at controlling my emotions, several tears had rolled down my cheeks. "I wouldn't argue about paying him for what I'm responsible for stealing. That's only fair. But he's ...he's trying to blame me for all sorts of items he says are missing from the store. Thousands of dollars worth of things. He's warned me that if I don't pay him this restitution, he's going to turn me over to the police, and I'll have a permanent criminal record."
"Jeremy, what was that item he found in your coat? You haven't said yet."
I'd been embarrassed admitting to shop-lifting, but now I really began to blush.
"It was a box of condoms."
"Oh..." she said after a long pause. "And were they for you, or were you taking them for someone else?"
"What?" I hadn't seen that question coming.
