The Confession Box

mars bars
CONFESSION…they say…is good for the soul. Honesty…they say…is the best policy. A few weeks ago I asked aloud who “they” were, and I’m afraid to say I still don’t have the answer. In this case though, “they” are absolutely correct – honesty is indeed the best policy.
It’s time to “fess” up. What little crimes and misdemeanours are you guilty of but wouldn’t be so forthcoming in telling the world? Do you steal the occasional sweet from the pick ‘n’ mix? Do you wash only one hand after going to the toilet because you only used one hand to wipe? (Dirty) Do you pee in the shower? Actually don’t even attempt to deny that one – everyone does it and with the introduction of water charges, it now makes economic sense.
I had to make a confession to my dentist recently. I was having some problems with a tooth that needed filling so in a desperate attempt to avoid him at all costs I filled the tooth myself with some kind of pharmacy-approved Polyfilla. That was never going to work so I inevitably ended up on my back in the dentist’s chair – possibly the most vulnerable position there is. “You tried to fill this yourself didn’t you?” Mr Dentist asked. He knew damn well I tried to fill it myself. I would have taken it out with a black and decker drill and some whiskey if the pain got any worse. He made me confess. And then he made me confess to not brushing three times a day and eating the occasional Kinder Bueno. And the intermittent sip of coke. I left a broken man.
For my next confession, I have to revisit my teens, and a time in my life, which seemed pretty dark back then but frankly, when I look back now, it’s bloody hilarious. But first, some background.
My very first job, that I can remember anyway, was travelling around in the back of van renting videos to people. I’d go up and knock on a door, ask if you wanted to rent a video, and out they’d come to look at the selection in the back of the van. A few nights later we’d come back and collect the video before giving them the chance to rent another. If you were a trusted customer you might even rent two. My next job is where the confession comes in. I was about 15 or 16 and I started working in a fairly high profile supermarket in the town. I was a self-titled trolley technician – in other words, I collected all the trollies from the car park and arranged them in a nice convenient line. The pay was chronic – something like 1.76 an hour, which was crap, even for the mid 90s. I remember buying some kind of double album with my first pay packet – the best driving anthems in the world ever, or some rubbish like that. Anyway, a few months into the job I discovered that there was quite a culture of theft taking place in the supermarket. CCTV wasn’t as prevalent as it is nowadays and apparently “everyone was at it”. One Friday night the chap I worked most closely with – my trolley technician superior if you will – decided that he fancied a box of Mars Bars. “It’ll be easy,” he said. “Just fling them over the gate to me and we’ll collect them in the bin after work.” I haven’t a notion why I went along for the ride, I mean who really needs a box of Mars Bars, but hey, I was 15 and impressionable. Anyway, just as I was flinging the box over the gate, the manager just happened to be walking past the entrance to the stock room – I can still remember his ugly face catching me rotten. We were both flung into the office and I was accused of being the ring leader, just because the other chap was quiet and I was a mouthacán. So, we were sacked and it was all anyone could talk about in school on Monday. For about three weeks I had the nickname “Skelly Mars Bars”, mainly by the other people in my class who also worked in that supermarket. They called me that constantly, until they were sacked a few weeks later themselves for stealing a box of baileys. They became “The Baileys Six” and the Mars Bars were forgotten about forever.
I haven’t stolen anything since that incident, but I have to admit, until the day I die, I’ll always be tempted to throw a bag of sticks and a bale of briquettes into the boot of the car. I mean come on, they leave them sitting outside of the shop! I will of course never do such a thing because that would be theft and highly immoral – I’m just confessing to the temptation. Okay I lied there. I’ve stolen a bit more since the Mars bars – mainly tiny segments of butter in cafés and the occasional raspberry jam. Sorry about that.
Here’s another one for ya. Did you know that supermarkets are trying to clamp down on people who open up their groceries along the way and then scan the empty bags at the til? This is particularly common with parents who give their child a bag from the multi-pack crisps to keep them quiet on the spin around the aisles. Apparently there has been an increase in people just dumping half eaten doughnuts and biscuits before they get to the til. Down with that sort of thing.
Confession is good for the soul

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About deisesupes

Creative Writer, part time journalist, part time Graphic Design enthusiast.
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One Response to The Confession Box

  1. socialbridge says:

    Absolution for making me laugh!

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