Life, and Other Absurdities.

This is the story of the time I got caught shoplifting from Corte Ingles. Corte Ingles was the main Spanish department store, and the one in downtown Madrid was large enough to have its own area code. They had everything; hardware, appliances, records, gardening supplies, arts and crafts, clothes, shoes, groceries, handbags, perfume.... and they also had some very pushy salespeople, particularly at the Clinique counter.

I held a lingering grudge against the woman who had somehow talked me into paying 29 Euro for a mere few ounces of face cream. She had clearly taken advantage of my limited Spanish skills, and now I was seeking vengeance. I hadn't gone to the store for that reason; I had only intended to browse, but as I walked past the Clinique stand and saw all the bright-eyed salesgirls squirting bits of foundation into their customers palms as they chatted animatedly, my belligerence began to rise. I stalked back and forth past the counter a few times, like some creepy brooding ex-boyfriend.

Then I saw them. Sample packets, covering the side table. Each packet contained a bottle of face wash, clarifying lotion, and moisturizer, and each bottle contained an ample portion of product. It was ambiguous as to whether or not these samples were free for the taking. (Actually, it wasn't. It was pretty clear that you had to spend a certain amount of money to get the sample as well. But what if I didn't know Spanish? What if this was my first time in a department store? What if I was from a remote village in Africa where none of these rules or structures existed?)

Those are the thoughts of justification that were running through my head as I very nonchalantly lifted a packet off the table and trotted away with it. I disappeared behind a tall shelf, hummed a little tune, and pretended to be interested in the men's razors in front of me as I slipped the sample in my bag. I looked at a few more razors, and then began to meander at a leisurely pace to the front door. I stopped to ogle a few scarves, so intent was I on making the impression that I had done nothing wrong.

(Perhaps I hadn't! Perhaps they WERE free samples after all!)

Just as I reached the entryway, and buttoned my jean jacket in preparation for the cold, I felt a firm tap on my shoulder. My heart rate skipped a beat and I turned, slowly, around. It was two security guards, wearing matching red outfits and carrying walkie-talkies.

"Come with us," they said.

I was looking pretty adorable that day and I decided, as I followed the silent security guards through an unmarked door and down one hallway after another, that I would use it to my advantage. 

I didn't know if the female security guard, who kept shooting me suspicious looks, would buy a damsel in distress routine, but surely I could win her over with my spiel about never being in a department store before, or having been brought up in a remote village in Africa. I had about five different alibis ready in my head by the time we reached the end of the last hallway, and entered a room full of televisions and surveillance devices. There was a middle-aged man sitting behind the desk, and a few more security personnel standing, with crossed arms, against the wall.

I took a deep breath, and wished myself luck. Then I began apologizing profusely in what was hopefully charmingly broken Spanish.

"I'm so sorry!" I exclaimed. "Is this about the Clinique samples? I thought they were free! I wasn't sure, but I took them because in America they have things like this that are free all the time! I would NEVER steal intentionally! I'll give them back right now!"

The man gave me a concerned smile. "Just calm down, " he said. "Will you open up your bag, please?"

"He's asking you to open your bag," the disapproving female security guard translated.

The man shushed her. "She understands," he said.

He had a bit of a twinkle in his eye when he looked at me again. I wondered if he was single. I handed him the samples, and the shopping bag with Lancome purchases.

"These I really did buy," I said, and held out the receipt.

"I'm so, so sorry to put you all through this trouble!" I said again to the rest of the room, who were now directing apologetic looks toward me.

"Don't blame yourself... a simple mis-communication... it's true they do things differently in America..." the men assured me. Only the bitch security guard kept silent, glaring at me. She didn't believe a word I said.

I restrained myself from giving her a triumphant look when the man gave my shopping bags back to me, minus the Clinique. For a second I had thought I was going to get the sample packet as a present.

"Now, make sure you read the signs carefully in the future," he said, "We don't want you getting thrown in jail."

"Certainly not!" I agreed. "Thank you so much for understanding!" 

We all exchanged warm good-byes and then I was escorted back into the store by two different security guards, who wished me well as I trundled off into the night.

"Make sure you zip your jacket up. It's freezing!" One said. 

I thanked him, waved, and then I was off, a free woman. Soon Bonne called, and she suggested meeting on the first floor of Corte Ingles. 

"Anywhere but there!" I whispered loudly. I was doing the rest of my shopping in a nearby pharmacy. "I'll explain later!" 

"Oh God..." Bonne said. But when she and David arrived, they thoroughly enjoyed my story of my brush with the law. We decided that it was as good a cause as any to celebrate, and we headed home to touch up our make-up before going back out again.