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My wife had gone for an evening swim and as I’d already done a run today (I ran as myself for the first time in months and unsurprisingly was pretty unfit and only managed a couple of miles) I waited for her in Pret a Manger. I watched a bit of “Who Do You Think You Are?” on the iPlayer on my phone. I am 47 years old so this is how I spend my Saturday nights these days. I had already bought a sandwich to take home and eat whilst we watch Doctor Who on Sky+ (seriously what has become of me), but my wife wanted a hot chicken jalapeño wrap so I was going to buy that at the last minute so it would still be hot. No one can say I don’t give this woman a good time. Just because we’ve been married for two and a half years does not mean that I am going to slack off on the romance.
I was keeping an eye on the jalapeño chicken wraps in case there was a late rush. There were only three left. Which meant I was paying attention when a slightly shifty and down at heel man came in and started browsing the sandwiches rather aggressively. He picked up one of those artisan French ham rolls, but then made his way over to the hot food section, fingering one of the melted cheese and bacon croissant things, picking up a chicken jalapeño wrap and looking at it much too closely and perusing a box of macaroni cheese in a weird way. He put his cold ham roll down on the hot place section as if he’d decided not to have it. All of this was annoying me slightly. Most Pret food is quite well wrapped up (thought the croissant things only have a little gauzy bit of plastic on top of them) and I wondered if anyone would stop him manhandling the produce. I mean, maybe sometimes you have to squeeze the melons at a grocers or test a pick and mix for freshness by stealing it and eating it, but surely that doesn’t extend to sandwiches. He then asked the staff (there were four people serving, but few customers at this late hour) whether they had tomato something (it was probably soup). They said they didn’t. He asked them if there was other food to buy that wasn’t on the shelves. Given it was 8.20pm that seemed unlikely. But I realised this was all for show. He was making it look like the thing he wanted wasn’t there to give him an excuse to leave, after his suspiciously long food selection process. With the serving staff all engaged in chatting or starting their last minute cleaning he suddenly picked up the ham roll, threw it into his open coat (so it lodged somewhere down by his still zipped up stomach) and left. I was the only person who had seen this audacious theft. I was quite impressed. He looked like he needed the food and like he couldn’t pay for the food, so it’s not really on a par with the crimes of already super-wealthy big businesses and bankers. It’s true that unsold Pret food goes to the homeless, but there was a good chance that this man was without a residence. I couldn’t begrudge him this. In fact I admired him. I wasn’t going to grass him up. Let the man have an overpriced sandwich for free.
I tweeted my admiration for the latter day Robin Hood (who steals from the rich and gives to himself), not expecting to see him again. But then to my amazement, in about the time it takes to wolf down a slightly crunchy ham roll he was back again and going through the same sandwich feeling and perusing charade. This time a staff member, who I took to be the manager was standing by the door, not out of any suspicion, just because she was clearing up a bit. Again he squeezed sandwiches and poked his finger into warm croissants. I kind of hoped he’d take away everything he touched as it wasn’t super hygienic. Finally he selected a croissant and another sandwich and took them up to the till. Then he walked away from the counter as if having second thoughts. Was he going to make a run for it? No, he returned. He was shifty enough and (for me at least) a proven criminal, so I suspected he had some scheme up his sleeve (as well as maybe a jalapeño chicken wrap), but I was intrigued to see where he’d go from here. The woman ran his purchases through the till, but as she was doing this he had begun to eat his sandwich. He seemed to be stalling things on the paying front somehow (I couldn’t hear everything) and was eating quite fast. He also tucked into the croissant as he stood there. Was this his plan? Just to eat the food before he could pay for it and then reveal he had no money?
Yes, as it turned out. He used a few delaying tactics and then finally got out a bank card, which he couldn’t seem to get to work. He handed it over the counter as he stuffed his mouth and unsurprisingly the card was declined. He checked his pockets for money, but he had none. And the sandwiches were all gone (all three of them - I told you he was hungry). Were the staff going to call the police out on this slightly scary and unpredictable looking man? Or were they just going to ask him to leave?
It was the latter of course. Still protesting that this was all an innocent mistake he was allowed to walk out without paying. There was little point in making a fuss about it. I was glad that the staff felt the same.
My wife returned from the pool and decided she wanted to eat straight away. I told her to pick one of the wraps from the back to avoid a squeezed one. We sat in the shop and ate our Saturday night dinner. I realised that as I had paid for a takeaway sandwich which I was eating in the store, I was also breaking the law and had got away without paying the VAT that by rights I should have paid. Who was the real criminal here, the hungry man stealing sandwiches, or the wealthy comedian perpetrating the greatest comedy-based tax fiddle since Jimmy Carr? It was the first one, obviously. But I had stolen maybe 80p of VAT from the whole nation. I had sort of done it by accident though and it would probably have been more complicated to try and pay it an hour after I had bought the sandwich. But I didn’t try. And I enjoyed my dual crimes of failing to report a theft and cheating the tax man. We’re all criminals my friends. That is the heavy-handed piece of social commentary in this sandwich based blog.
