I was thinking back to my criminal days at school – if you could even call them that. My whole operation was pathetic, really. I’d sneak out at lunchtime with a few mates, my pockets lined with pennies I’d scraped off the pavement all week. That was my funding: loose change for scraps and curry sauce from the chip shop, or my real addiction – Citrus Polos from the off-licence.
I got brave once. Stole a toy figure of Buck Rogers (the green Bugs Bunny). I think about the moment of my Mum finding it. After a brief lie that I’d been given it by an imaginary friend, I bottled it. Left the thing in a hedge on the way to school. It turns out my moral compass wasn’t calibrated for justice; it was calibrated to avoid a slightly uncomfortable chat.
Of course, I got caught eventually. Two blokes in plain clothes bundled me into their car – a Fiat Cinquecento, of all things. I genuinely wasn’t sure if I was being arrested or just given a lift by someone’s dad. The whole thing was so underwhelming, I could’ve been kidnapped and nobody would’ve believed me. Nearly wrote ‘noticed’ then realised that would reveal more about my self-perspective that I’d care to admit.
I wasn’t. Kidnapped. Here I am, still around. Still addicted to Citrus Polos. The struggle is real.
Thanks for reading Toby’s Substack! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.
