I was in my first year at an elite East Coast women’s college in the late 1960s when I was introduced to shoplifting. It was near the end of the fall semester, and Pam, a fellow Californian who lived in my dorm, showed me the Christmas gifts she was bringing home to her family. I was amazed by her generosity—Pendleton shirts and cashmere sweaters. “I stole them at the mall,” she told me. She said she put them on under her clothes in the dressing room and simply walked out with them. I mentioned Pam’s stealing to my roommate, Chris. “Oh, I never buy anything,” Chris said. She showed me her “stealing cape,” which had pockets sewn into the lining for the express purpose of hiding merchandise. When I asked Chris and Pam what made them steal, they both told me they felt the world owed them something, and stealing made them feel as if they’d gotten even. Pam was an African-American army brat who had had to change schools a lot but had been a cheerleader in her senior year of high sc...
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