Closet Clepto or Thrifty Old Woman?

A few months ago, while shopping at the Goodwill Bins, I found a pair of diamond-studded boots. If you’ve never shopped at the Goodwill Bins, let me explain why this is significant. At the Goodwill Bins, everything is $1.59/lb. Clothes, shoes, toys, tools, linens, art supplies, and housewares and all dumped into gigantic bins that people sort through to find treasures. Shoes are rarely together, so finding a matching pair is challenging, if not impossible.

On this particular day, a sparkly diamond-studded boot caught my eye on my way in, but there was only one, so I walked on by. Then a while later, 75 yards across the warehouse in another bin, I saw its match. I grabbed the boot and, like a game of Memory, used my best guess to find the boot I’d seen on my way in. And, miracle of miracles, I found it! I was victorious and excited; it was as if I’d won the lottery.

When I was eight, my family was living in the era of 1976 free-spirit parenting. My sisters and I, along with all the neighbor kids on the block, went from house to house without supervision. We were all welcome everywhere.

We didn’t need to knock on anyone’s door to enter. We just went into whomever’s house and used the bathroom, got a snack or watched TV. Sometimes a parent would be there to check in, but often not.

Our neighbors, three houses to the south, had the nicest, biggest house on the block, with a fully remodeled kitchen and a big back deck. They also had a housekeeper who kept up on the shopping. Unlike our kitchen, theirs was always fully stocked.

In our house, sugar was forbidden. My mom did not allow anything sugary beyond raisins and these weird carob tubes we called “space food sticks.” I had and still have a major sweet tooth, so I was in constant craving. Once, I climbed up on the counter in our pantry to get what I thought was chocolate, only to discover that it was baking chocolate.

I was on a constant quest for sweets. Any money I got I spent at Harper Foods, the tiny grocery on the corner of our block. Even though I don’t really like marshmallows, I always got the Charleston Chew because it was the biggest and felt like the greatest value for my money.

I regularly let myself into the kitchen of the neighbors with the nicest house. Unlike the dregs at my own house, they had a pantry full of goodies, including seemingly infinite packages of Trident gum. At the time, I didn’t realize that Trident was sugarless. I just knew it was sweet and forbidden in my house.

A few times I helped myself to a package or two of Trident from the neighbor’s pantry. I assumed that they wouldn’t notice since they seemed to have some kind of grocery fairy restocking everything all the time. But then one afternoon, the mom of the house asked to talk to me. She led me out to the back deck for a private conversation, where she invited us both to sit on a step.

“Laura,” she asked kindly, “have you been taking gum from the pantry?”

I have no idea how she knew, but she clearly did. I had no choice but to answer honestly. Well, almost honestly. “Yes,” I said, “I took a pack once.”

“Well,” she replied, still kindly, “that’s okay and you can always have whatever you want, but please don’t sneak it, just ask. Okay?”

Filled with shame and confusion about how she knew about my petty thievery, I walked back to my own house and ate a carrot. Humiliation is indeed the best teacher, and I learned my lesson that day. I have never snuck gum or anything else from someone else’s home. But I do still sneak.

A few days ago, I went to help a friend set up for an event at a community center. When we got there, I noticed a big open case of Diet Pepsi on the counter in the kitchen. Diet pop (as we call it in Chicago) is one of my guilty pleasures. I know it’s terrible for me, but I love it. I rarely buy it, so when I go somewhere that it’s offered, I always indulge.

This community center had lots of different uses — as a theater, a youth center, a church. The Diet Pepsi could have belonged to any of those groups, but I didn’t consider them. I didn’t think of it as stealing. As my friend and the other helpers were setting up in the main area, I snuck into the kitchen, grabbed a can of Diet Pepsi, and hid it in my purse under my water bottle.

Later, back at home, I cracked the warm can open and drank it. “It’s so weird,” I thought to myself, “that I do this kind of thing when I could have just asked if I could have a can or bought some at the store on my way home.”

It’s the ‘getting away with’ feeling that I love. I’m not a deviant creature by nature. In most situations, I’m kind of an annoying rule follower, even when I think the rule is dumb — like waiting for the walk signal when there are no cars for miles around.

But there’s a thrill in getting away with something that I have always loved. A free appetizer because the cook at the restaurant over prepared? Yes! Even if it’s eggplant, which I hate. The Alaska Airlines flight attendant delivers me a frequent flyer chocolate bar by mistake? Why, thank you very much. The rush of excitement of getting something for free or getting something that you normally wouldn’t is like no other.

I’m at the age now where I don’t need to take the free shampoo and conditioner from the hotel, but I do. I can afford to shop at regular stores and avoid the Goodwill Bins altogether. But I don’t want to. Why would I when I might find diamond slipper boots for $1.59/pound?

I don’t think that anyone at the community center missed the Diet Pepsi I pilfered. That’s part of the thrill. No harm, no foul, and I got a free drink! And drinking that free warm can of Diet Pepsi was ten times more satisfying that buying a cold can at the store.

As I get older, I am more aware and accepting of my quirks. Those strange habits I’ve always had live on. Even though I can afford to buy any food or beverage I want, I seem to be more inclined than I used to be to take the free granola bar from the promotional basket at the grocery store.

We used to go to Sarasota, Florida, with my Nana and Papa every year. We always went to a fish restaurant right on the beach. On every table was a black plastic basket filled with cellophane-wrapped saltines and breadsticks. My sisters and I loved those crackers and Nana used to always tell us to control ourselves before dinner. But every time we ate there, as my Papa paid the bill, Nana would unabashedly take the entire basket of crackers and shake the remaining crackers into her purse.

I remember being so embarrassed when Nana did that, but I know that if I were at that restaurant today, I would do the exact same thing. I’m at the age now that she was then. When Nana poured the entire basket of crackers into her purse, she wasn’t ashamed, she was taking a snack for her grandkids for later. That makes total sense to me now. I am kind of a closet clepto. But I’m also a thrifty old woman.