Grandpa or Grand Theft Paws? You Decide

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Cf. 2 Tm 1:10 Our Savior Jesus Christ destroyed death and brought life to light through the Gospel.

I’m no perfect person, yo. Clearly.

I make more guffaws, blunders, and mistakes than “Sex and the City’s” Carrie Bradshaw has Jimmy Choos in her oversized walk-in closet, you dig?

It’s just that, even a dunderhead like me knows that you don’t steal. Like anything. Ever. It’s a pretty big rule; carved in stone, one might say.

I confess that one time in my life –and only one time in my entire life, not that it makes it okay— I took something that didn’t belong to me. It haunts me to this very day.

The gaggle of teenage girls I was with were on a mission to decorate football players’ front yards when it happened. “Just go grab it ... Come on, hurry up!!” they chided.

So, against my better judgement and with Catholic guilt oozing from every pore … 16-year-old Patty snatched a spare roll of TP from the Burger King bathroom. #SorryKing
 
I begged beforehand: “I’ve got money, can’t I just buy some?” But, shamefully, I caved. Even now I wonder if I left some poor unsuspecting lady high and not-so-dry…or far worse? Shudder.
 
And, although I went to confession, I never forgot that awful feeling of taking something for which I did not pay. To this day, I will not so much as eat a grocery mart grape prior to checkout.  
 
Which is why, when my wallet got stolen last Saturday at a Buffalo casino, I didn’t want to believe people are that crummy. #TheyAre
 
At first, I convinced myself it wasn’t really gone, like when I “lose” my cell…or my credit card…or my Ray Ban bifocals…and they’re just buried at the bottom of my steamer trunk, er, I mean purse ---along with half my medicine cabinet, ¾ of my pantry, and Jimmy Hoffa’s last known shoelaces. #MyPurseIsAMenace
 
It slowly dawned on me that I’d briefly had it on my lap then slipped it back into my bag (or, as it turns out, onto the floor under my chair). It all happened within a matter of seconds as I swapped machines.
 
Realizing my error, thought, “I’ll just ask that nice older man next to me if he’s seen it….” But ironically, both he and my wallet vanished simultaneously. Hmm.
 
I remember him well. He was a tall, slender, seemingly pleasant though, in hindsight, he never looked me in the face. And now, of course, I realize why. So I wouldn’t spit in his ... or ID it in a lineup.
 
Man, he appeared as a sweet Grandpa but was really Grand Theft Paws. Hmpf.
 
Did “Ocean’s 11” teach you nothing, Mr. Pants-on-Fire? There’s always someone watching in a casino. #Duh
 
You know all those little black bubble thingy mabobbers (yeah, that’s a technical term) on the ceiling and dotting various other wall beams, etc.? Those aren’t disco balls; they’re security cameras, stupid face. Oh, they caught him.
 
The entire incident took 17 minutes, start to finish, thanks to the stellar security team at the casino who not only returned my wallet … but also refunded the cash Senor Sticky Fingers swiped from me.
 
And though it meant for some tense moments and canceled cards, I sure was lucky.
 
Ah well, maybe the infamous TP Incident of ’84 is now squared. Here’s hoping Grampa Greedy winds up square-less on HIS next men’s room trip, Capisce?
 
Kimerer is a Tribune Chronicle columnist who’d be happy to describe that unforgettable old face to a police sketch artist in the greater Buffalo region. Check out her true art form at www.patriciakimerer.com

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