I get it. In fact, I’d say it’s only common sense that our major retailers should want to defend themselves by affixing security tags to their merchandise. Granted, it’s a sad state of affairs that our department stores feel compelled to harpoon their garments to prevent no-goodniks from stealing their stuff, but I understand. The genius of a security tag lies in its simplicity. Even if you do manage to escape the store with the shirt, the dress, the pants or whatever else your thieving hands have succeeded in bringing within their evil grasp; in removing the security tag you will destroy the very object that you have risked everything to obtain.
I get it. In fact, I’d say it’s only common sense that our major retailers should want to defend themselves by affixing security tags to their merchandise. Granted, it’s a sad state of affairs that our department stores feel compelled to harpoon their garments to prevent no-goodniks from stealing their stuff, but I understand. The genius of a security tag lies in its simplicity. Even if you do manage to escape the store with the shirt, the dress, the pants or whatever else your thieving hands have succeeded in bringing within their evil grasp; in removing the security tag you will destroy the very object that you have risked everything to obtain.
Sadly, not everything can accommodate a security tag. Many years ago, our local Department store had a confectionary section on the ground floor. Aside from the toffees, fudges and candies, there was a chocolate display. More than exposing mint ripples and caramels to passing shoppers, it was a glimpse of the future. Varieties were separated by flavour into plastic buckets and these were attached to a conveyor belt. The chocolates would speed past before disappearing from view and circling back to the start. It used the same technology as a hamster wheel and, now that I think about it, may well have been powered by an elite squad of trained rodents.
But as spectacular as this display was, it was also incredibly insecure. It meant that anyone could sidle up, grab a handful of sweets and stuff them into the pocket of their Faberges. Clearly, this became something of a problem and it got so that the chocolate whirlymagig had its own security guard. I can’t recall whether he was armed. Indeed, it’s hard to imagine how you could justify shooting someone for pocketing a Turkish delight. Eventually, the store surrendered and did away with the rotating chocolate display. I don’t know what happened to the security guard or, for that matter, the hamster squad.
Perhaps a security tag is preferable to an armed guard. But a security tag only works if it deters would-be thieves as opposed to bona fide shoppers. This, in turn, means that removing the security tag after a legitimate purchase is essential. Failing to do so results in everyday consumers being suddenly faced with the kind of dilemma intended for thieves.
Like millions of others I’d gone shopping after Christmas, vaguely hoping for a bargain. In this regard, the trip was a great success. But as I unpacked my bags I discovered that I’d picked up more than just a bargain, I’d also picked up three security tags. Why had they removed them from some items and not others? Inattention? Laziness? Revenge for some unintended slight? It didn’t matter. I was now confronted with a choice that no law-abiding citizen should be forced to make.
Option number one was to attempt to remove the tags myself. This, of course, is incredibly dangerous. Security tags sometimes contain ink, designed to ruin the clothes in the event the tag is harmed. Or, at least, they used to. For all I know they may well have upped the ante, replacing the ink with a small incendiary device. Luckily, I have seen ‘The Hurt Locker’ and always keep a full explosive resistant body suit on hand. But then indignity started to take hold. It did so by grabbing my lapels before slapping each side of my face, telling me that I really shouldn’t have to go to all this trouble. Luckily, the body suit absorbed most of the impact.
Option number two was to wear the items of clothing with the security tags still attached. Rather than be embarrassed by the situation, I would embrace it. This could well involve some form of decoration. Rather than have the tags sit on my shoulder like grey, lumpen chips, I would add a dash of colour. Maybe even some ribbon. Who knows? Maybe others will simply mistake it for a blue-tooth connection gone slightly awry. And if I should set off store alarm systems every time I step through a door, I will lap up the extra attention as it’s lavished upon me. As sirens wail, I will take a bow. Maybe even do a little dance. Perhaps a short song.
Option number three involves embracing the life of crime that fate has selected for me. I did not choose to become a criminal. Crime, it seems, has chosen me. Having been unjustly banished from non-tag wearing society, I will gather up a cast of misfits and, under cover of darkness, we will roam the streets in search of any item with a security tag before riding our mighty steeds off to our hideout…
The final option was to return to the store. I went the very next day. More than just the receipt, I took the packaging, my birth certificate and a current passport. As I approached the counter, a lady whose face was made of milk and had recently curdled demanded proof of my legitimacy. There was no apology for the inconvenience or hint of a future discount. She then attempted to remove the tags without success. Excusing herself for a minute, the shop assistant returned wearing an explosive resistant body suit just like the one in ‘The Hurt Locker’ and resumed her efforts. I raised my hand and told her not to bother. I’d keep the tags after all. It seems that I had become as attached to them as they had to my clothing.