I was at the mall with my little sister. At fifteen, my parents deemed me responsible enough to go from store to store with just the two of us. In other words, I was the babysitter. Unlike most teenagers I didn't care for spending every weekend at the mall, but my preteen sister lived for it and often bribed me with allowance money (which she'd later borrow to shop).
One Saturday afternoon as I followed her through the narrow isles of the store, my patience began to wear thin.
"We have been here for 45 minutes," I said. "If you want to go to any other stores you better hurry up. Dad is picking us up in an hour and I still want to go to the music store."
"Just wait, I wanna try this on," my sister insisted.
After ten more minutes or so I finally lost my cool.
"You have five minutes or I'm leaving without you," I snapped.
"Wait," my sister whined from the dressing room.
I would never actually abandon my little sister, but I'd make her think I had by going outside the store. A few moments later she came running out.
"You're mean," she fumed.
"Come on, it's time to go," I ordered and we left the mall. I didn't get to stop by the music store, because I knew our dad would be waiting.
My wheelchair had a habit of snagging onto things. Normally, I would check before I left any store to see if my klepto-chair had stolen anything. Once, I found a whole rack of bracelets hanging on the side of my wheelchair. This time however, I had forgotten to inspect my wheelchair for snatched inventory in my rush to be on time.
As I used the power arm to load my chair in the back of the van I noticed a pair of jeans hanging on the under side by the back wheels. I took them off, unfolded them and saw that they were exactly my size. How had the alarm not been triggered when I left the store? A rip in the side made it clear that the tag had torn off. I knew I had to return them.
I unloaded my wheelchair, folded the pants into my bag and hurried back into the store. I went to customer service where I saw an older and not very pleasant woman. She seemed stressed and as I approached the counter, I felt I may have made a mistake.
"Excuse me, I think my wheelchair accidentally took these," I said, and pulled the folded jeans from my backpack. Timidly, I handed her the folded pants.
She unfolded them. Immediately I registered the accusation on her face as she noticed they were possibly my size.
"Yeah, I know they probably fit me, but I promise I didn't steal them," I said. I started to feel nervous because I realized how guilty I sounded, but I was just scared. I am not a thief and I was afraid of being labeled one.
"Do you mind if I check your bag?" she asked.
Eager to prove my innocence, I allowed her to go through my stuff. She also checked my wheelchair, 'Just to be sure.' I felt shaky as if any moment a secret compartment in my wheelchair would open up and reveal a treasure trove of items. Satisfied that I had nothing to hide, the sales lady returned to the counter.
"Thank you for returning the pants," she said. "You need to be more mindful in the future."
I smiled and quickly returned to the car. Once inside, I allowed myself to breathe. Tears spilled out of my eyes and it was then that I felt the anger and injustice of what happened.
"I didn't steal those pants! I didn't have to return them, I probably shouldn't have." I sniffled.
"You did the right thing." My sister said. "God knows, we know. She was just a cranky old lady."
I felt comforted by my sister's words. Still, I avoided going into that store for a long time. Yet to this day every time I go shopping, before I leave, I always inspect my wheelchair.
After ten more minutes or so I finally lost my cool.
"You have five minutes or I'm leaving without you," I snapped.
"Wait," my sister whined from the dressing room.
I would never actually abandon my little sister, but I'd make her think I had by going outside the store. A few moments later she came running out.
"You're mean," she fumed.
"Come on, it's time to go," I ordered and we left the mall. I didn't get to stop by the music store, because I knew our dad would be waiting.
My wheelchair had a habit of snagging onto things. Normally, I would check before I left any store to see if my klepto-chair had stolen anything. Once, I found a whole rack of bracelets hanging on the side of my wheelchair. This time however, I had forgotten to inspect my wheelchair for snatched inventory in my rush to be on time.
As I used the power arm to load my chair in the back of the van I noticed a pair of jeans hanging on the under side by the back wheels. I took them off, unfolded them and saw that they were exactly my size. How had the alarm not been triggered when I left the store? A rip in the side made it clear that the tag had torn off. I knew I had to return them.
I unloaded my wheelchair, folded the pants into my bag and hurried back into the store. I went to customer service where I saw an older and not very pleasant woman. She seemed stressed and as I approached the counter, I felt I may have made a mistake.
"Excuse me, I think my wheelchair accidentally took these," I said, and pulled the folded jeans from my backpack. Timidly, I handed her the folded pants.
She unfolded them. Immediately I registered the accusation on her face as she noticed they were possibly my size.
"Yeah, I know they probably fit me, but I promise I didn't steal them," I said. I started to feel nervous because I realized how guilty I sounded, but I was just scared. I am not a thief and I was afraid of being labeled one.
"Do you mind if I check your bag?" she asked.
Eager to prove my innocence, I allowed her to go through my stuff. She also checked my wheelchair, 'Just to be sure.' I felt shaky as if any moment a secret compartment in my wheelchair would open up and reveal a treasure trove of items. Satisfied that I had nothing to hide, the sales lady returned to the counter.
"Thank you for returning the pants," she said. "You need to be more mindful in the future."
I smiled and quickly returned to the car. Once inside, I allowed myself to breathe. Tears spilled out of my eyes and it was then that I felt the anger and injustice of what happened.
"I didn't steal those pants! I didn't have to return them, I probably shouldn't have." I sniffled.
"You did the right thing." My sister said. "God knows, we know. She was just a cranky old lady."
I felt comforted by my sister's words. Still, I avoided going into that store for a long time. Yet to this day every time I go shopping, before I leave, I always inspect my wheelchair.
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