Vidhya Nagarajan/The Globe and Mail
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A short time ago, I saw someone steal a whole box of chocolate bars. The brazen heist took place in a busy downtown Toronto chain grocery store at high noon, adding some unanticipated drama to my midday shopping trip and giving me a new appreciation for the expression "picking up something for lunch."
I was on a mission for something ridiculously nutritious to counterbalance the significant dietary lapses that occurred on my summer vacation. My remedy for getting back on track included probiotic yogurt, granola, apples and avocados.
I had deliberately walked in the opposite direction from the fast-food restaurants around the corner from work despite the siren song of sea-salt fries. No, I was going to be good.
As I entered the grocery store, I saw a grand display of nature bars and similar granola-head snacks screaming out: "We're healthy! Stop here!"
So I did, mesmerized once again by the myriad ways that dried fruit, seeds, nuts, honey and agave syrup can be combined into little mosaic rectangles.
As I stared at the pretty packages with colossal price tags, a guy walked in front of me, temporarily blocking my view of the snack mecca. I thought him a bit rude for disrupting my nutritional study, but then he stepped to the side and joined me in examining the options. I wondered if he might have a recommendation as he scanned the shelves.
A moment later, he dropped down on one knee, whipped out a big reusable shopping bag and dumped a whole box of peanut-butter cups into it. The naughty treats had been hiding on the bottom shelf, begging some effort to opt for them instead. The man lost a few of the bright orange packages, which fell to the floor. Then he very nimbly whizzed past me, the cashiers (who were facing in the opposite direction) and oblivious other customers. I caught one final glimpse of his back as he left the store with his contraband.
There was a moment I could have called after him, "Hey!" or alerted a staff member about what had transpired, but it was all a bit surreal. By the time I had processed the "did I really just see that?" thought it was too late.
No alarm went off, and I didn't feel inclined to go after him and make a citizen's arrest in my pink summer dress. Frankly, I was feeling rather peckish and running low on energy. Had it been my handbag or phone, I would have found my voice. But this just seemed kind of weird and strangely fascinating.
And what would I have reported? I only saw the back of him, really: slim build, medium height, short dark hair under a baseball cap, a T-shirt, maybe green, and dark pants. No doubt he blended right into the crowd outside.
So I left it, turned and continued to mind my own business on my quest for healthy food. While I was finishing up at the checkout, I noticed someone had picked up the fallen chocolate bars from the floor and placed them back on the shelf. The thief had missed out on at least six. I wondered if that represented two days of meals, or one giant binge. Were they for him alone, or to be shared? It was hard not to ponder both the event and the reasons behind it.
There are the sad and obvious possibilities, like the man being homeless and desperately hungry. But perhaps he was conducting a random test of store security? Maybe it was a dare or a lark, or such a tremendous craving that it simply couldn't be denied or delayed by going through the queue. Maybe he was part of an underground force of nutrition superheroes bent on removing temptation from our weak-kneed, impulse-purchasing, sweet-toothed society?
But really, I knew it was the first scenario. Some will still argue that I should have reported it on principle. Principle, indeed. The very same chocolate bars were being handed out free not once, but twice, earlier this summer in the same neighbourhood as part of a charity promotion. Obviously, they are not that much of a valuable commodity to society.
Beyond that, of course, is the fact that the guy was hungry and that this is what he was doing to survive. I doubt peanut-butter cups are a gateway item leading to the theft of something more serious, like coffee cake.
A great pounding of fists and bellows about consumer prices going up will no doubt echo in certain quarters. All I can say is that this store must have experienced a few similar heists, given the premium prices on many of its items.
I regaled a few other people with my story, and they all laughed, then developed a more sombre mood when I asked what they would have done.
The answer? A resounding "nothing."
I pondered the criminological aspects of the whole thing, as that's part of my educational background. But I ultimately felt, as a witness to this event, simply grateful: grateful for the luxury of being able to engage in a silly debate with myself about whether to go for fast food or probiotic yogurt; grateful for not being in the position of stealing chocolate bars to live.
I hoped they wouldn't melt in the heat.
LouAnn Buhrows lives in Toronto.