Custard Creams & Confessions

Is it always a crime to turn a blind eye to a crime? Imran, a newsagent owner, gives his account of a shop lifter.

Imran is a Pakistani owner/worker of a newsagents. Addressing the audience as he is readying his shop to be opened.

Imran: I stack the newspapers at the front, on top of the counter to help with the small talk. This way the customers and I can look down at the recent headlines and find a topic of conversation, while we do the business. There's only so much conversation you can get out of a cheap bottle of plonk, or the latest flavour of vape. (Imitating an exchange with a customer) “For a special occasion?”, (Sniggers, aside) clearly not, not at that price. “I'm told the strawberry muffin is nice, and smells good”, (aside) but apparently this vaping what not is worse than real cigarettes. (Beat) I don't smoke nor drink. Therefore the papers help. Often I don't even have to speak. They'll see something and go into a rant. And I'll just nod, pretend I'm listening, look intrigued, give the odd murmur. Football one's are the worse. The longest. (Beat) Sometimes that's all people want, need, just to be able to rant on at someone. Just to be heard. Get their voice, thoughts out. That's probably the only reason some people come here. Just for a little human interaction. I know a few of the old ones certainly do.

(Beat) It can be annoying at times, but, it's part of the job. I kind of see myself as a, a Pakistani Priest. I provide confessional for the people round here. Confessions and custard creams. Custard creams and confessions. (Laughs to himself) Perhaps I'll write a book one day and that will be the title. The memoirs of...from a corner shop confessional. (Sniggers, listing other possible titles as he sorts through his stock) Sins and tins. Repents and supplements. Éclairs and prayers. Hymns and Warburton thins. Sprays and praise. Condoms and.........Um......Err......Sacrilege, and McCoy's extra deep ridge (Shakes his head at his own bad rhyming) Won't give up my day job just yet. Reckon that would be the end of a lot of people round here. (Beat) I have more regulars than I do friends, or family. (Beat) Suppose they are my friends. In a way. (Beat) Suppose I need them as much as they need me. (Beat) If not more. (Beat) There's this one boy, think he's eleven, maybe twelve. Comes in here often, usually in his school uniform. But I don't think he goes to school because, the other school kids are in here at a different time. Reckon he plays hookey a lot. I know I did at his age.

 But, he comes in here, and every time it's the same. He'll walk down the sweet isle, look up and down indecisive for a bit, then walk over to the magazines, have a quick flick through one or two and then slowly walk out. Usually with a couple of bars of chocolate or some other snack in his pocket. And he thinks he's so good at it. Thinks I'm oblivious. But I see everything that happens in this shop. Everything. I've caught over a hundred shop lifters. Probably more. But this boy, this boy I never stop, because, because I've seen his parents. They're........I feel sorry for him. His uniform is old, dirty, he looks.......I've seen him wandering the streets at night. Looking so.......And, I think, what must his life be like? (Beat) What does he have to aspire to? Having seen his......And I don't judge anyone just on appearance, but........I've heard stories. So. If this is the only happiness he has, the only.......A chocolate bar. A pack of crisps. Then, I mean, those things can be replaced, but......But then the other day, there was this man in here, bald, glasses, not one of my regulars.

He saw the boy, saw him slip something into his pocket and kicked up a huge fuss about it. Near enough chased him out of the shop, and I felt, I felt worse for him. Sad. (Beat) Then this man turns on me, ranting and raving about the disgusting behaviour of the youth of today. Turns out he's a teacher. Probably feels responsible for......Like it's his duty to teach these young people how to act, behave, outside of school. And I did the worse thing I could have done in that situation, I told the man, I told him that I knew, and that he'd stolen from me before, and that I just let him........

And then that made him even more angry, now he was angry at me. Directly. And he's shouting and screaming about how letting him get away with it is doing the kid no favours in the long run, that this is the reason why there's so many ill behaved young people, because people like me, people just turn a blind eye and......He goes on and on, and, I start to think, maybe he's right, maybe I am making things worse for the kid, maybe because of me he'll end up worse, he'll end up in prison, because he now thinks it's OK to do that sort of thing, and what happens when he starts doing things which are worse, and then, then I.....He shouts at me, “Don't you care!”, and I say, I said, “Yes. Yes I do. That's why. That's why I.....”. It's not that I'm, I'm not turning a blind eye to make things easier for myself, I'm not letting him get away with it because, you know, I'm not scared to intervene, or to say something, because, as I said, I've caught hundreds, but, I can't just turn a blind eye to his struggle. The reasons he's doing it. I can't force myself to be blind to that. To just say, well, “That's just the youth of today”. 

I was born in a place where there was extreme poverty, I was one of the very few lucky enough to make it out of there. There were times I had to steal, just to survive. There were times I was caught, I remember the shame I was made to feel. That was worse than the hunger. (Beat) I've never forgot a single person I ever stole from. (Beat) It was a necessity, not an option. (Beat) I always said, told myself, if I was ever in the position, was ever able to help others in need, I would. (Beat) Hopefully, one day, that boy, like me, will be In the position to be able to regret his actions. (Beat) But, I do not regret mine in turning a blind eye to his. (Beat, notices someone out the window) Ah, Mrs. McDonald, I'm going to have to break the news that the latest edition of Victorian Doilies hasn't arrived yet. (Mutters with a look of fear) God help me.