The Bewitched Butterball

What would you do for a premium turkey?

I've seen a lot of things in my illustrious life. Some things good, some bad. Some just plain ridiculous. But one lesson that seems to keep smacking me in the head like an empty donut box is that humans will always find new ways to surprise you. The will of people in general is quite strong and, right or wrong, if we want something bad enough, we'll usually find a way to get it.

This lesson was never more evident to me, in my earlier years, than the day I witnessed a feat so mind-boggling that, to this day, it still haunts me. I mean REALLY haunts me. The setting was a crisp, sunny afternoon stretching into a blustering evening. The wind picked up outside and inside, I was on the hunt for shoplifters in a local Albertsons grocery store. As I prowled the aisles looking for the next would-be offender, my mind wandered to a previous encounter that had actually happened only recently to this one. (Check my recent post on pants)

It was an uneventful run up to that point and I found myself with all kinds of good citizens around me, nary a one of them seemingly ill-intentioned. However, at that moment, when I'd written off the evening, she walked in. I'm not sure why she caught my eye upon entry. Perhaps it was the overly large mumu dress she wore with bright floral patterns that couldn't help but inflict pain on sight. Maybe it was massive empty handbag she carried that didn't even jingle with keys and which she didn't even bother rifling through. Or maybe, it was the determined way she beelined to the meat section and started inspecting turkeys. Not just any turkeys. The real big ones.

Now, I hear some of you saying, ‘Come on, Mike. Maybe she truly wanted to find the perfect turkey for Thanksgiving.’ That's fair. I will comment though, times today are not like they were back then. But I've always considered myself a fair judge of character and one who extends the benefit of the doubt. So, I extended said benefit.

Friends and neighbors, I was wrong. She eventually grabbed a hefty bird and began walking the aisles with it. I followed discreetly, knowing full well this was going to be a grab and dash as there really was no hiding a prize of this size. She fumbled with her bag for a bit but never really made the attempt to try and squeeze it inside.

Then, things got odd. She began meandering up and down every aisle. This was not an uncommon method for trying to see if someone was following. Naturally, I cottoned on to this pretty quick and decided I’d disguise myself among the floral display near the exit, giving me a straight shot out the door to nab her as she left. I watched. She meandered. I watched some more. She continued to casually stroll, never picking up anything else. How could she with that massive bird in her arms.

Now, you’re not going to believe this but, all I can do is tell you and let you simmer on it. As she came out of the last aisle, to my shock and utter dismay, she no longer held the turkey. I was baffled. I watched as she continued to waddle around the front momentarily. I knew I’d seen her enter the last aisle holding it. Now, she exited, not holding it. I was momentarily dumbfounded. Then, a thought hit me. She must’ve put it back. I shook my head. No, the meat department was on the other side of the store. Well it has to be there, dummy! I shouted to myself, inside of course.

Finally, I moved. I hustled around the back of the last aisle, telling myself that turkey was going to be sitting on an end cap or in the aisle somewhere. It was not. I methodically checked the area, coming up empty. Now, I had a conundrum. Anyone who’s done loss prevention for a minute or two knows you shouldn’t stop any would-be shoplifters if you hadn’t seen them actually steal or attempt to hide any merchandise. Especially back then, if you stopped someone and you were wrong, you could get in trouble. Probably much more so today.

I turned and looked down the aisle as I made my way toward the front. There she was, waddling toward the door. I had a decision to make. Did I risk it, ask her where the turkey was, potentially falsely accusing someone or worse, ruining what may have been a longer con on her part? Or did I do nothing and potentially lose an expensive turkey. This was the battle taking place in my mind as that aisle suddenly became longer and longer during my trek toward the front.

I finally reached the end and watched her as she headed for the door. The bag she’d carried flat and under her arm. Her gait slightly awkward and yet, no sign of the turkey. I slowly followed, still unsure of what I was going to do. But still, I was terribly vexed. The impossible was happening right in front of me and like a ticket holder at a David Copperfield show, I was left frustrated and wondering just how in the world he made the Statue of Liberty disappear. Worse, there was likely no way I was going to get an answer to the mystery given the current scene unfolding before me.

It was during this thought and the battle raging inside my head that my world was suddenly invaded by the loud clank of a frozen turkey slamming onto the metal grate on the floor just outside the automatic door. I was so jarred by the sound that my brain didn’t seem to process the sudden appearance of the turkey. The sound of a twenty-five pound bird-shaped block of ice and meat landing on a metal floor cover from any height is apparently deafening…. and it was. I can vividly recall that sound as I type. The whole store seemed to stop and turn as if a car had just plowed through the front door.

Except it wasn’t a car. It was a Butterball the size of a small child. Where did it come from, you ask? I’m gettin’ to it. Now, Through this whole ordeal, our target never moved. She just stood over the bird, looking down as though the fowl betrayal was real. I shook myself free from the confused stupor I had entered and strolled toward the door. She turned slightly as I approached and didn’t even try and hide the bird positioned between her ankles. That’s right dear reader, this lady had somehow managed to hide that turkey under her dress and walk out the door. Details? Just hold your horses, its coming, I promise.

As I approached, my stare went from the bird on the floor to the eyes of its illegal chauffeur. She met my gaze and did the oddest thing. She simply shrugged and smiled. “I almost had it.” Not expecting her non-chalance, I nodded. “Almost.” When I stopped, I produced my badge and identified myself as store security. You know what she said to me?

“I know.”

What a slap in the face. I asked her how. She told me the flowers. Not many men in that area would spend so much time in the floral section. I gotta tell you, people, that jarred me. And, it was a lesson I never forgot.

After another moment, she bent over and picked up the turkey. Then, she did the one thing I didn’t want. She tried to hand it to me. Why didn’t I want that, you ask? Well because somewhere between her initial admission and the revelation of my failed floral faux pas, I realized where the turkey had been hidden. Figured it out yet? Yeah, that’s right. Between her thighs. Between… her… thighs.

I was awestruck and disgusted at the same time. I refused the turkey and told her to bring it with her and follow me. She knew the drill. She was, as she would inform me, familiar with the process. She’d been caught at a few other stores closer to her home, a situation which had led her to my stomping ground for the day. She was pleasant as we went through the ritual, cooperating fully to the point I didn’t bother doing the usual call to the police (usual for that area). The duty manager had joined us and we chatted with her. After finishing the paperwork, I finally asked the question that’d been plaguing me.

'How?”

She shrugged and confirmed the mumu was the trick, acting like holding twenty five pounds of frozen turkey between her thighs wasn’t. When I questioned the strength she would’ve needed to hang on AND walk, she laughed and told me she’d done heavier. Later, when she left, the manager and I speculated she likely had some sort of contraption assisting her, like rope around her waist or something. Who knows?

The moral of the story is, don’t judge a book by its cover. Or, probably more directly, real strength lies in the most unexpected of places. The circus-worthy act nearly worked, had she not lost her grip just outside the door. But try as I might, I just couldn’t write it off as a simple shoplift. While I never admitted it to more than a handful, I was quietly impressed. I learned a lot that day. You think you’ve seen it all, but you haven’t. Also, flowers are not a man’s best friend on the job.

What’s your take, dear reader? Whatever happened to her, I don’t know. I hope things got better for her. But one thing I do know, someone who reads this is going to try and see if they can heft a turkey with their thighs. All I can say is, be careful. And don’t cheat. If the weight doesn’t get you, the frostbite will. You don’t want that, do you?

That’s it. Mike Thunder, out of line and outta here. God bless you, turkeys.