The Pursuit of Evil (7)

Life owes me a lot of things and I'm here to collect my dues.

GREED

My mind is consumed with life’s big questions.

 

What are my most prevalent thoughts? Money! Money! Money! I think the final deadly sin of greed plays to my already existing strengths and hobbies (buying things with money). 

 

I just checked my bank account and it turns out my net worth is currently at 3.63 Great British Pounds. I guess I can round that up to 4 pounds with a clear mathematical conscience, but it’s a paltry sum and boy, do I hunger for more. At least double the value. I am experiencing hot flashes from the mere thought of the smorgasbord of things I could buy with 8 pounds. Multiple sandwiches. Multiple packs of hamburger buns. Multiple sandwich toppings. I’m getting ahead of myself.

 

“I am a calculating, morally bankrupt automaton,” I say 7 times until I feel spiritually buoyed and ready for a game plan to strike.

 

“Urethra!” I cry. My game plan is to shoplift. At a café with many sandwich options. The obvious choice is Pret a Manger.   

 

I am just about to pat myself on the back, when I realize this scheme may prove more difficult than I had envisioned less than 2 seconds ago. We live in a society in which a white woman drinking a soy latte is a very suspicious figure. I want to draw as little attention to myself as possible. Another flash of evil genius strikes. Nobody would suspect two lovebirds on a date, would they? I text a boy who’d be the perfect nonvoluntary partner in crime.  

 

Me: Hey Cameron.

 

Cam: Hey :)

 

Me: I think you’re interesting, etc. etc. Let’s talk about stuff or whatever over coffee. Can you be at Pret in like, 2 minutes? I’m standing right across the street. Should make it over in time.  

 

Cam: I’m marking some supervisions (he’s English, so that means “I’m grading stuff,” for all you dumbos out there!). Can it be in 2 hours?

 

Cameron has annoyed me deeply. Responsible people with adult responsibilities generally do. But he’s the only person I’ve got. I answer in a way that makes my disappointment apparent but is still cute and fun:

 

Me: Sure, l8r, loser!

 

…

 

I have spent the last 1 hour and 58 minutes waiting for Cameron’s arrival and securing the premises at Pret. Most of this time I have been deflecting unsolicited attention from the barista. “My date, who is very much real, is running late. No, I do not want coffee in the interim,” I bark and gnash my teeth in 2-minute intervals. There have been about 3 customers in total (8am on a Monday morning doesn’t appear to be prime date time), but I just couldn’t risk being table-less on my big day.

 

Finally, he arrives. In my frenzy to rush up to hug him I almost fall over two tables inconveniently situated in my path, but I get there eventually with minimal bruising. His hug feels wonderful and I am starting to suspect I may genuinely like this guy. I do want to talk to him about stuff or whatever over coffee. I quash the rumblings of a soul because a criminal has no time for love.  

 

“What’s up?” He asks as he extricates himself from my clinch. Oh, child, if only you knew!

 

“Nothing much, I just got here. Have a seat. Actually, how about you get us coffee and I’ll make sure we get a good table.”   

 

He blinks and looks around the empty space that is the café and thinks I’m being funny.

 

“Sure. A regular decaf organic soy latte with minimal foam for you?” Man, this guy’s a gem, I think. But I must remain focused -- the stakes are too high.

 

The subterfuge begins.

 

All my bets are on the distraction value of Cameron. He has turquoise eyes and anyone who looks at him will be doomed to stare into them passionately while I stuff sandwiches into my backpack.

 

I approach the sandwich shelf and let out a little yelp. There are avocado basil pesto sandwiches; hummus falafel tahini sandwiches; halloumi sun-dried tomato sandwiches; watercress lightly salted butter sandwiches; smoked wild salmon low-fat cream cheese sandwiches. Holy. Moly. I look around with the greatest trepidation. I am so close to everything I have ever wanted in my life. But no one suspects a thing. I unzip my backpack ever so quietly. The voices of Cameron and the barista meld into white noise somewhere in the distance. With one big swoop of my arm I transfer the entirety of the top shelf of sandwiches into my backpack. It makes a loud - plunk! - and I turn around to see Cameron and the barista looking at me widely or wildly, I don’t even know, such is my state of total physiological distress. I give them a thumbs-up, followed by an A-okay sign for good measure.

 

“I’ve found us a table!” I gesticulate to the closest table, zip my backpack shut, and throw myself onto some chair that is surprisingly uncomfortable. I am a hot mess. Sweat drips down my sizzling cheeks and into my mouth, from which my tongue hangs limply. Gross. I close my eyes. I did it. Girl, you did it!!!

 

Cameron saunters toward me with a tray bearing 2 coffees. This guy is so great, I think. If only he knew me for who I really was. Would he stick around then?

 

He sits down and hands me my regular decaf organic soy latte with minimal foam. I’m too exhausted to say, “nicely done,” so I give him another thumbs-up.  

 

“How many sandwiches did you get?” He asks. “I wasn’t sure, but I paid for 15.”

 

Oh boy.

 

At least I got the sandwiches one way or another.