Speaking from my own learned experience, a man doesn’t usually think about being a thief. He goes ahead and steals because the opportunity is there. Last week I left my cell phone in the bathroom of a restaurant, on the hand dryer. I realized my loss a few minutes later, went back to the bathroom, and the phone was gone. Do you think the thief thought about the morality of what he did before he took the phone? He thought of the money. Someone else would have turned it in to the receptionist. It would be easy. If the thief knew who he was stealing from, he might have thought differently.
My Mom kept an inventory of all the food. You couldn’t take more than what was allotted. I remember eating noodles with butter and milk. Day after day, the same meals. I wanted a lot of stuff people told me I couldn’t have, like a dozen pairs of pants with fashionable logos on the ass, or tickets for a multimedia Pink Floyd exhibition. So, I stole from the collection plate. I stole from my mother’s purse, from the neighbor who fed me oranges, from the cousins who gave me a job. I had no concept of capitalism or socialism; I knew people had a lot of stuff and I wanted some. When my uncle fired me because I was skimming money from his store’s cash payments, I told him I’d only stolen once or twice, but really, I’d been doing it for months. At the same time, every morning I woke up I cried. I cried because I lived as a thief, I was showing a false self to everybody I knew. I cried because I was sorry for myself, and the rotten cards I’d been given. I felt happiest alone, drinking a bottle of wine down in my secret place, the cemetery where they buried my dad. I drank a lot of wine in that peaceful graveyard. I cried afterwards, and every day that I awakened, from the time I was fifteen until I was twenty-five. I figured out I had to change, or I’d be drowning in tears my entire life. I’d be alone, drinking, ripping people off and pretending I was a Saint, then bawling all night like a stupid baby. I didn’t see any future; I saw day by day sorrow.
When I stopped crying, I stopped stealing. Those were two of the best things I ever did. How did I facilitate this accomplishment?
Well, I ceased feeling guilty about everything I did. Life dealt me a lot of bad cards, and one good one. Strategic intelligence. It’s the factor that’s helped me succeed to who I am today. I became rich and wise all on my own, with no academic qualifications. I did what I had to do. I convinced people to trust me.
If you want me to find you something, I’ll obtain it. You don’t ask how I do it, you just pay the price. I’ll get what you want. I don’t feel bad about any of it. Most people are prisoners of their emotions. I’m worse than that. I have no emotions.
Oh, I feel for humanity. We could blow ourselves up at any time. That’s poignant. I have empathy, too much empathy, for the world. But empathy for all is different from love of another. Love demands everything. I don’t have time for the romantic kind. It’s a waste of energy, a distraction. For me, one-night stands do the trick. For the world, all I can do is watch it go by, feel despair from time to time, and keep my business going. If people want to buy my services, it’s their choice. They create their own reality; make their own choices like I’ve made mine. At my job, I do my best, because I have a reputation to consider. If someone crosses me, I am precise and clear. People need to know what to expect. That’s the framework of my reputation and stability.
So, now I hear that you’ve been doing a sales job for me, but you’ve been skimming off cash. I asked for 60 per cent of the profits, and what I’m receiving is 48 per cent. That’s a precise twenty per cent deficit.
You know, if I found that thief who stole my phone, and he confessed, I wouldn’t have done anything to him. I would have given him some tips in strategic decisions, maybe even hired the guy. His flaw was in not thinking before he acted, not considering that it might be more advantageous to him to turn the phone in, to play by the rules. If he knew whose phone it was, then gave it back, he’d be well rewarded for his altruistic actions. You, on the other hand, knew who you were crossing. I’m pretty sure you’ve stolen way more from me than what you confess.
Stealing means you’re breaking my rules. If I get caught breaking society’s rules, I’ll accept the consequences. But in this situation, I’m the judge. According to the facts, you had intent to defraud. Now, what to do about that? Is there a procedure I must follow? No, I do it all on the fly, and I will make a few mistakes, yet with each method come closer to the truth. To learn from experience for next time. I have decided on arbitrary consequences, taken from my self-created moral system, which we explored earlier along with my personal history.
You say I should do nothing? You will pay the money back? That’s good of you to offer, but it’s far too late. I understand your motive, you want to avoid economic and personal pain, and now of course, you are crying, just like I used to. As I understand your sad situation, in return, you will soon understand a bit more about my personal truths. A return of the stolen money, plus a fairly wide hole, drilled through the side of your head, should suffice. All that is required, at least for success with the first step, is that when my associate holds your head still, you spill your banking information forthwith, so we can make a timely withdrawal. As you can see, the drill has a one-inch-wide bit, and as you can hear, a powerful motor.
Excuse me a minute. The thief needs some tissues, and some dry pants. Well, maybe the pants aren’t necessary, he won’t be wearing any at all where he’s going.
Yes, you swindler, I’m glad we’ve connected, in this small way, with candor and honesty. After the repayment of my lost funds, and the small drilling operation, I will consider the matter closed, and I will not pursue your wife and family for further compensation. As a further act of mercy, because of our method of thief disposal, they won’t have any funeral bills.
∼ Harrison Kim
© Copyright Harrison Kim All Rights Reserved.
Pen of the Damned 