Confessions of Marché Shoplifter

Published February 20, 2007

Created by Mike Polansky as John Q. Teabag

Students of UVM, you know me simply because you have seen me around. You have seen me on the bus, witing patiently for my stop, bobbing my head to Sheryl Crow’s Every Day is a Winding Road through my headphones on my “Mess Shit Up” playlist. Christ, I love that song.

Perhaps you have seen me raging it in an uncarpeted basement downtown. I may have called you a “ pussy” for the keg stand you just did. And if you are the girl from the front steps of Waterman at about 3:25 this afternoon, you most definitely saw me staring intently at your ass as I pretended to fumble for my Skoal. You smell like apples.

But I will tell you something that neither you nor numerous pleasant cashiers will ever see me doing. And that is stealing from the Marché. I kick ass at it.

I enjoy — and try to cover up — the semi-arousal induced by the thrill of the hunt. I love planning out the intense strategy that goes into my work. But more than that, it’s about getting what’s mine. By which I mean as many of those delectable home made snickerdoodle cookies as I can pack into my cargo shorts and especially those Odwalla smoothies for $7.25.

Now if you are a douchebag like my freshman year roommate, who was a complete douchebag, you will raise questions about my Marché escapades with words like “morally questionable” or “ 10 commandment-violating.”

Initially, this led me to some serious soul-searching. I searched a little, but upon realizing my soul was empty I filled it up with some righteous Jaeger and booted a little on my roommate’s bed, and since then my conscience has been as silent as ever.

So look for me around, students. Look for a young man who has a gleam in his eye that comes only from knowing that he got his Monster Energy Drink for free. You know, instead of using his points from his meal plan, which was paid for by his mother. Word.

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