The Only Thing I Ever Stole

So, about this image...I was doing an image search for a gumball machine similar to the one in question, and I didn't find one exactly like it but I did find this image, which really works for me. Man, those are real...(SLAP)...ummm...I mean...uhhhh...the original paint and the decals and stuff...yeah, that's what I meant. 

 Anyway, this is a story about the second thing I ever stole, and to be honest, I'm not including "trivial" stuff such as store signs, Steve Morse's fork and other "collectibles," which wouldn't warrant even a misdemeanor, but as far as stuff you could possibly get in trouble for, this was it.

 When I was five I think, I stole a bag of those foil-covered chocolate coins from an historic family deli, run by people I grew up with in church no less. Hey, at least I went for the good stuff. Sadly I can guarantee that what would happen with way too many parents these days, is that firstly, they'd basically ignore the fact that their child committed a crime, no matter how young. Sure, they'd pay the fine or whatever, but they'd gloss-over that part. 

 They'd make excuses for the kid, call them "Misunderstood" or whatever, take them to the doc and have them diagnosed with whatever the latest ADD-type malady is, only for kids, and prescribe the "appropriate" meds, at an early age, starting the long spiral of MEDICATION. The kid would grow up to think that shit's okay, and who knows what might happen in later life. If you play you gotta pay, and it's good to learn that early. 

 What my parents did was drive right back to the deli, march my little happy ass in and make me apologize to the family. I was too young to know what a douchebag was, but I felt like one. I was really sorry, and I felt so bad on the way home that I turned myself in. People will make any excuse when they get caught, but I knew it was wrong...I just wanted to know what it felt like.

 I'm glad it happened when it did, and I'm glad my folks made me own-up to it. I didn't exactly turn to a life of crime. My friends may call me an asshole, but I doubt any of them would call me a thief. Okay, morality lesson over...on to the story.

 Back when I played in the X-Cops, one place we played a lot was called the A-1 Cafe. It was a "medium" club...not a dive and not too posh, and it was in a medium part of town...not the safest but not the worst. It was a big place with a big stage, and we always had fun playing there. We played Wednesday through Saturday that week. 

 We had good crowds because we were a good band. The other local musicians, on their days off, would come to see us "Like ants to a picnic," as one local critic noted. Another really hot band, the Cast, would sit-in with us and vice-versa. We made a decent amount of money that week...or that is to say we should have. 

 At the time, the owner was a little arrogant prick. He was short...about five-foot-nothing, and I'll just say that he was a narcissistic little Fairy, and leave it at that. Normally what happened of course was that the band got paid at the end of the night, but Dude came up with some reason he couldn't pay us right away. There are millions of horror stories about bands being ripped-off by club owners, but we weren't really worried. We'd played there before with no problems, and we'd be there the rest of the week anyway. That band was never about making money anyway. It was about playing music. 

 Thursday night he didn't pay us either. We were concerned, but again we let it slide. After he didn't pay us Friday night though, we may have gotten a bit agitated, but we figured he'd make good on Saturday night. We played a kickass show Saturday night. We loaded-out, and then went into Dude's office. It was time to settle things. 

 He started out with some sob story about why he couldn't pay us, and we were incredulous. Again, we weren't about making money, and we discussed that first thing on Day 1 when we started the band, but not only had we made Dude a lot of money, it had cost us money to do the gig- fuel, food, sticks and strings and such, plus bar tabs, which we'd paid and generously tipped on. We were down a buck each at least, and here was this fuck telling us he couldn't pay us a penny for playing at his club all week. 

 I had some drinks that night, so some of the details are a little fuzzy, but I clearly remember standing in his office. By default or whatever I was speaking for the band. He was being an arrogant little fuck at first, and it pissed us off. It flashed through my head that legally there wasn't much we could do, short of hiring a lawyer and going to small claims court, which of course wasn't worth it, so the only thing we could do was to try to shake him down, or at least get a legit reason why he couldn't pay us. 

 After telling a bunch of bullshit stories and me shooting them down, he finally came clean. He said that he was a coke-dealer, which we knew, and that he owed money to someone, and that they "hurt people" if they didn't pay their bills. I reminded him that that wasn't our problem, although we paid for it. Luckily for him we weren't violent, but we were pissed. Finally he came up with another option...he offered us some coke. He opened a file cabinet to reveal a big bag of blow...I'd guess 4 or 5 ounces at least.

 I hate to say, but two of us would've taken that deal probably, and from a dollar-value standpoint it would've worked out equally, but I hated that shit, and Doug did too, so they wisely stood with us. I told him to go fuck himself. I was mad. I hadn't ever been around that much blow, and I was ready to get out of there, but I wasn't quite through dealing with the little weasel. He also told us that he'd used the money we'd made that week to pay bands from previous weeks, whom he'd pulled the same shit on. 

 It was like a pyramid scheme, and we were on the bottom, and never saw a penny. If there's one good thing that could be said about the little fuck, it's that he at least paid some of the bands some of the money he owed them, but it was only to try to save his reputation, and still be able to book bands. If a club owner can't pay the bands, word gets around very quickly. We were getting sick of his bullshit, and it was obvious we weren't going to see any money. 

 I was nervous being around that much Dummy Dust, and we'd hit a dead-end. He was being a little asshole, because that's really all he had left to do. Finally I said "So your final answer is that you can't pay us, correct?" "That's right" he said. Then I did something that was very much out of character for me, but seemed appropriate at the time. "Okay, man" I said. "Then I'm afraid I'm going to take your gumball machine." 

There was a gumball machine similar to this one, only it was on a stand with a heavy iron base, and it had the flat, square gum. It was chained to the wall. It took dimes. I told him I was going to take it, and he said "Oh no you're not!" "Oh yes I am!" I said. "Oh no you're not!" he said. "Watch me" I replied. 

 Handily there were some bolt-cutters in his office. I picked them up and cut the chain holding the gumball machine, right in front of his face. He went berserk...yelling and screaming at me. It was hilarious seeing him trying to be a badass, as I picked up the gumball machine and started to head out the door. 

 "I'm calling the cops!" he said. "Go ahead" I said. "Call 'em. I'll wait right here. Go ahead...call 'em. If I take the rap for vandalism, at least I won't go down for a quarter-pound of blow, you dumb fuck." That finally shut him up. I carried the gumball machine out to the car, and at least we got a good laugh about it. 

 Then I did another thing that was also very uncharacteristic...I called the cops on him. I called from a payphone, and said that if they were interested, they'd find a decent amount of coke in the file cabinet. I've never done anything like that before or since, but he had it coming. Not only was he an arrogant little prick, a liar and a thief, but he also dealt coke, and I know for a fact he sold it to kids. Just on general principles...fuck him.

 Ordinarily I'd have stayed and talked to the cops, but I was in possession of a stolen gumball machine, so the call was anonymous, and I watched from a block away They arrived in a hurry, and I doubt the rest of his morning was very fun. Most cops hated coke as much as I did, and penalties here were pretty severe. They took him away in "silver bracelets," and that's the last we saw of him. I still don't regret turning him in. 

 The gumball machine was a hit at the apartment I shared with my girlfriend Paige. It had a placard at the top, like this one, and I replaced the standard card with a photo of the X-Cops playing at the A-1 Cafe. It was perfect, and I put it by the front door. It became somewhat of a ritual...whenever people came over, they'd make sure to have a dime or two for gum. 

 What I did was wrong, but if ever there was a "least wrong" time to steal a gumball machine, that was it, and I'm sure the little fuck had to pay for it, after he got out of jail that is. Paige and I broke up after almost nine years, and I don't know what became of the gumball machine. It was fun to have it for a while. Well, that's the highlight of my "life of crime." It did make for a good story. Wherever you are, Happy Trails, gumball machine.