Every Since I was a young child, I wanted to pull off the perfect crime. I had high ideals. I loved the idea of stealing millions and living in Tahiti for the rest of my life. I realize I have just spoiled those plans since I have just given written proof of intent and where I can be found. Tahiti does not have an extradition treaty with the United States, howeverm so if I got there, with prior intent or not, I could still live in hut with my feet dangling in the water. Maybe that is where the shark will finally get me.
What threatened my plans was I kept growing. Smaller than 6 foot would have been okay. But God had other plans since I pushed 6 inches past 6 ft. Now, the only place I blend in is at basketball camp. I could not slip out the back of a bank or casino and casually walk down the street since my head would be a good 6-10 inches above the other bobbing heads. Inspector Gadget would not need any toys to find me. I have yet to see a single movie where a really tall guy gets away with anything. We usually play the role of the guy in jail that the hero knocks out to win everyone's respect.
One would think this would naturally have lead me to be the organizer and the man that is never seen in crime dramas but I was not smart enough. I had not met any real criminals or anyone with my criminal intent, my fault for not having spent enough time in jail. Tall or not, I was going to have to learn the way every one else does, trial and error and mostly by myself.
I started stealing whatever I could from my Mom’s meager purse and from my neighbors. No honor among theives here. A few quarters were never missed in a pool of change. It cost 50 cents for lunch so when I took a few quarters, I was rolling in it. I would steal my sister’s rings in 6th grade and give them to my girlfriend. This worked wonders. My sister probably thought she lost them and my girlfriend loved the gifts. The plan unraveled when I realized my sister was staring a hole in the back of my head on the bus. We all rode the bus together and my girlfriend was showing off her new ring. It became pretty obvious that although I had the initial social dysfunction to steal, I was not too smart. I knew I needed to learn more before I went on.
My plan was to go to a library and at gun point, demand all the books on money. The fact that it may take the librarian a good a hour to round them all up could lead to my capture but I have scoped out many libraries and the security is really lax. My problem would be to remember not to give my library card or to show back up when the books were due. I thought maybe I should start with a small county library and work my way up.
I ended up skiping the Library, however, as I deemed it too risky. I went right to shop lifting. I had an 8th grade friend that hatched a scheme and I was invited in. Like any good gangster film, I was the hired help. I was not the brains of the operation which was probably a smart decision but the shear boldness of the plan definitely pointed to lack of intellect. While I diverted the girl at the cash register, my friend crawled behind her and grabbed a carton of cigarettes. In the early 70’s they were kept right at the counter. We did not take into consideration that there would be other people in line. I could see my friend’s ass wiggle as he bent to to fearlessly grab our stash. The store manager or bag guy could have caught us at any time. Some how, we pulled it off but, thankfully it was our first and last heist together. He later grew up to become the mayor.
I went solo on the shoplifting and my escape plan was always to run. I never had to and it built a laziness and an I can get away with anything mentality.
I shimmied up the crime pole by moving onto cars.
The first time I tried it, it was as easy as waking up on a spring morning. I am not sure how many times I would go for joy rides but at one point I invited a friend and we went into town and all over the country side. I ran around so much that I had to get gas. The attendant knew I was 13 and called the police. The police were waiting for me with a 2 car trap when I neared home so I tried to avoid them. The quickly saw it was me and had me pull over. I handed them my brother’s license that claimed I was 16. Back then, there were no pictures just a vague description. The police officer looked at the license and then at me.
“Aren’t you Bernie"?
“Hardly"! I snickered.
“That is my younger brother, I‘m Wayne” I smiled.
“That was an amazing shot you made to win the basketball game on Tuesday” the officer added.
“Thanks” I said.
As soon as the words left my mouth, I realized that my brother, Wayne, was a basketball legend in this small town and I was busted. The cop knew all along that my hairless chin was not that of my brother’s. What really took it down the wrong road was when he leaned down and held the flashlight on my friend. It was his nephew.
My only punishment was that I had to spend the night at my friend’s house and that should have been enough since I thought his father was going to kill me. I slept in the living room, still alive, thinking of my next heist.
I realized it was time to move on to banks. I didn’t see this as any big deal. The tellers are trained to just give you the money while they press the button. I just needed 30 seconds for one drawer to be emptied and another minute if I wanted to add any others. I did this without fail and walked calmly out of the bank with a sack full of money. I would have gotten away with it had I not stopped to write my name in some wet cement.
For more advice on how to commit the perfect crime...
http://listverse.com/2007/08/16/top-10-tips-to-commit-the-perfect-crime/
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Perfect_crime
"david flannery"
What threatened my plans was I kept growing. Smaller than 6 foot would have been okay. But God had other plans since I pushed 6 inches past 6 ft. Now, the only place I blend in is at basketball camp. I could not slip out the back of a bank or casino and casually walk down the street since my head would be a good 6-10 inches above the other bobbing heads. Inspector Gadget would not need any toys to find me. I have yet to see a single movie where a really tall guy gets away with anything. We usually play the role of the guy in jail that the hero knocks out to win everyone's respect.
One would think this would naturally have lead me to be the organizer and the man that is never seen in crime dramas but I was not smart enough. I had not met any real criminals or anyone with my criminal intent, my fault for not having spent enough time in jail. Tall or not, I was going to have to learn the way every one else does, trial and error and mostly by myself.
I started stealing whatever I could from my Mom’s meager purse and from my neighbors. No honor among theives here. A few quarters were never missed in a pool of change. It cost 50 cents for lunch so when I took a few quarters, I was rolling in it. I would steal my sister’s rings in 6th grade and give them to my girlfriend. This worked wonders. My sister probably thought she lost them and my girlfriend loved the gifts. The plan unraveled when I realized my sister was staring a hole in the back of my head on the bus. We all rode the bus together and my girlfriend was showing off her new ring. It became pretty obvious that although I had the initial social dysfunction to steal, I was not too smart. I knew I needed to learn more before I went on.
My plan was to go to a library and at gun point, demand all the books on money. The fact that it may take the librarian a good a hour to round them all up could lead to my capture but I have scoped out many libraries and the security is really lax. My problem would be to remember not to give my library card or to show back up when the books were due. I thought maybe I should start with a small county library and work my way up.
I ended up skiping the Library, however, as I deemed it too risky. I went right to shop lifting. I had an 8th grade friend that hatched a scheme and I was invited in. Like any good gangster film, I was the hired help. I was not the brains of the operation which was probably a smart decision but the shear boldness of the plan definitely pointed to lack of intellect. While I diverted the girl at the cash register, my friend crawled behind her and grabbed a carton of cigarettes. In the early 70’s they were kept right at the counter. We did not take into consideration that there would be other people in line. I could see my friend’s ass wiggle as he bent to to fearlessly grab our stash. The store manager or bag guy could have caught us at any time. Some how, we pulled it off but, thankfully it was our first and last heist together. He later grew up to become the mayor.
I went solo on the shoplifting and my escape plan was always to run. I never had to and it built a laziness and an I can get away with anything mentality.
I shimmied up the crime pole by moving onto cars.
The first time I tried it, it was as easy as waking up on a spring morning. I am not sure how many times I would go for joy rides but at one point I invited a friend and we went into town and all over the country side. I ran around so much that I had to get gas. The attendant knew I was 13 and called the police. The police were waiting for me with a 2 car trap when I neared home so I tried to avoid them. The quickly saw it was me and had me pull over. I handed them my brother’s license that claimed I was 16. Back then, there were no pictures just a vague description. The police officer looked at the license and then at me.
“Aren’t you Bernie"?
“Hardly"! I snickered.
“That is my younger brother, I‘m Wayne” I smiled.
“That was an amazing shot you made to win the basketball game on Tuesday” the officer added.
“Thanks” I said.
As soon as the words left my mouth, I realized that my brother, Wayne, was a basketball legend in this small town and I was busted. The cop knew all along that my hairless chin was not that of my brother’s. What really took it down the wrong road was when he leaned down and held the flashlight on my friend. It was his nephew.
My only punishment was that I had to spend the night at my friend’s house and that should have been enough since I thought his father was going to kill me. I slept in the living room, still alive, thinking of my next heist.
I realized it was time to move on to banks. I didn’t see this as any big deal. The tellers are trained to just give you the money while they press the button. I just needed 30 seconds for one drawer to be emptied and another minute if I wanted to add any others. I did this without fail and walked calmly out of the bank with a sack full of money. I would have gotten away with it had I not stopped to write my name in some wet cement.
For more advice on how to commit the perfect crime...
http://listverse.com/2007/08/16/top-10-tips-to-commit-the-perfect-crime/
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Perfect_crime
"david flannery"
