A Drug (store) Problem (7) – In my mind, the sole purpose of life was candy. When could I get candy? How could I get candy? Was there a holiday coming up that would offer me more candy? With candy being the center of my personal universe, the next most important thing, only slightly behind the procurement of candy, was getting my weekly allowance. Because, of course, this would lead me directly to…. candy.

I first started to receive an allowance when I was seven years old. Why Mom and Dad started giving me money for simply being alive was outside my youthful comprehension. Even so, I certainly wasn’t going to argue. They’d devised an intricate formula to determine the exact amount and frequency of that allowance. 

They took the number of birthdays I’d celebrated and multiplied that by a nickel. Having always had a knack for numbers, I shrewdly estimated my weekly take to be $0.35 in cold, hard cash. After I received my first installment, it took me only a few seconds to realize the obvious. I was no longer solely dependent on special occasions to satisfy my sugary desires. I could now get my own candy!

My mathematical wizardry quickly calculated that I could buy seven, five-cent candy bars. Geez! I could have a candy bar every day for an entire week! Then it would start all over again! How could life get any better? Then, stark reality hit me. What if I wanted the significantly larger and more desirable ten-cent bar? My candy bar supply would run out sometime in the middle of the week. As a growing boy, the larger bar was always preferable, but the math didn’t add up. I had to come up with a new plan.

The candy store was about a five-minute walk away, located around the block and a ways down Saddle River Road. It was, appropriately, the first and best store in a strip of several, most of which I had no use for. Or so I thought.

Next to the candy store was the grocery store, with boring stuff like fruits and vegetables. On a rare occasion, I might wander in for some Hostess cupcakes. Otherwise, it was pretty much useless. Then, even worse, there was a dry cleaner. Why someone would go to a store to dry their clothes made absolutely no sense to me. All you needed to do was hang them on a clothesline like Mom. How lazy could you be? There was also a bike shop, a drugstore, and finally, Napoli Pizza.

The candy store was easily the most popular store amongst the kids in our neighborhood. Whenever I went in, there were at least two or three of them checking out the candy section in front of the cash register. To the right of it was a long counter with stationary stools that were bolted to the floor that could swivel. Anyone could sit there if they had enough money to buy a hamburger, hot dog, or French fries. All I knew was that no one my age had that kind of cash. 

Behind the counter stood a tall, brown-haired man who would take your money after you made your choice. After pondering the situation for a while, I remembered something important. Sandy once mentioned that she’d gone to the drugstore for a birthday card and some mints.

“If they have mints,” I thought, “maybe they have candy. And maybe, just maybe, they have better candy prices.”

The plan was set. I’d pit one store against the other, and may the lower-cost candy bars win. I left home with two shiny nickels in my pocket, and a few minutes later, I walked up to the strip of stores. I passed quickly by all of them until I reached my destination, the drug store. I slowly walked in, and it was eerily quiet, like early Mass on Sunday morning.  

I looked around and saw nothing but boring junk. Lipstick, stationery, greeting cards, and something called “cosmetics.” I guessed that was for ladies, since there was a picture of one making a weird face at me, puckering her unnaturally dark red lips. Aspirin, cough drops, and band aids. Ugh. I was just about to give up and leave when I looked down a long aisle and thought I saw… Yes, it was CANDY!

I eagerly raced to the counter where my heart’s desires waited. I stood and scanned row after row of goodies. I slowly became demoralized. After looking at their selection, I realized it wasn’t nearly as wide as the candy store’s. Even worse, the prices were the same.

“What a waste of time,” I muttered to myself. 

Then I realized something else. There was no one behind the counter. There didn’t seem to be any signs of life anywhere. No workers. No customers. The store was abandoned. I waited a few seconds as a funny feeling came over me.

“Should I…” I thought to myself. 

My mind was racing a hundred miles an hour. Beads of sweat began to form across my forehead. I lunged forward, grabbed a pack of Juicy Fruit, and stuffed it into my pants pocket. I don’t know where this knee-jerk reaction came from, but it was like I had no control over what my body was doing. 

I turned quickly away from the unmanned counter and made a break for the exit. I was moving at a pace just short of a jog, the door growing larger as I got closer. My perfect crime was nearly complete when disaster struck! I immediately felt a strange sensation, one reverberating down my left leg. Just like the Fizzies incident, I was riddled with guilt. Except this time, I might get caught.

The evidence of my larceny stared me right in the face. The pack of gum rested motionless on the floor, having arrived there courtesy of a hole in my dungaree pocket. I was mortified. God had witnessed the entire felony and acted swiftly in His terrible wrath. I looked at the yellow pack on the floor, then turned and bolted for the door. I burst into the parking lot, refusing to look back to check for witnesses, besides, of course, The Almighty.

I sprinted home and sat quietly in the living room, acting as if nothing had happened. I was there for a while, but no one seemed to notice anything out of the ordinary. I certainly wasn’t going to say anything. 

For the next week, I waited for the police to show up on our doorstep, to take me away, and throw me in jail. Mercifully, they never did. I guess God figured I’d suffered enough. I didn’t return to the drug store for the next couple of years. For the rest of my life, I never again dared attempt such a crime. God had let me off with a warning. 

I didn’t want to find out what He might have in mind if I ever tried it again.