Right and Wrong

​When I was 14, I began working in my father’s drug store during the two weeks leading up to
Christmas, usually selling cosmetics I never use. If someone needed help or to do odd jobs, I was
the person called on. I learned a lot about selling—when to push, when to draw back. I learned a
lot about how people acted under stress—yelling, cursing, accusing. I learned to observe, to
remain neutral rather than react.

One afternoon, about four thirty, a young girl, maybe 12 or 13, came into the store. Her
threadbare coat and raggedy wool hat could not have kept her warm in the bitter cold. There was
something strange about the way she looked around, as if checking out possibilities. She saw me
looking at her and turned away.

Maybe she sensed my watching her because she moved out of my sight, mingling with the crowd
of customers lined up to buy or pay for merchandise. For a brief time I was too busy to pay
attention to her but just as I freed myself from dealing with customers I saw her put an expensive
bottle of cologne inside her coat.

As casually as I could, I walked over to her. She started to move away but I grabbed her arm and
said, “Stop struggling or you’ll be in worse trouble than you are now. I was not moved by her
tears. Pulling her over to a space near the back counter, I said, “Give me the bottle of cologne.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“If you don’t give it to me now, I’ll tear open your coat and the bottle might drop and break.
Then you’re really be in trouble.”

Refusing to look at me, she said, “I’m already in trouble. What’s one more?”

“Shoplifting is a serious offense. The bottle you’re trying to steal costs over forty dollars. Give it
to me now!”

“I didn’t know it was so expensive,” she said, carefully putting the bottle in my hand.
“Why did you steal it?” I asked.

“My mom never gets presents. She’s always so sad. I just wanted to do something nice for her.”
“So, being caught shoplifting is a nice thing to do for her?”

“No.”

I held her arm as I walked her back to the display case where she’d taken the bottle. I couldn’t
help looking at her worn clothing. Her thin face. Her troubled eyes. I gave her the bottle and said,
“Put it back where you found it.” She did, with an obvious longing.

“Will you give me your word you will never shoplift again?” She nodded, ignoring the tears
wetting her face. I felt good about catching her, bad about her obvious misery.

Right or wrong, I gift-wrapped an inexpensive bottle of cologne and gave it to her. “This is for
your mother. You can tell her you earned it.”

“How?” she asked, clutching the present.

“All the trash cans need to be emptied into the big one out back. I’ll put the gift in a safe place
and give it back to you when we’re finished.
​
When she was ready to leave, I walked her to the door. She gave me a hug and quickly left.

What was it like if you chose to do something wrong that felt right?