I am not usually a person prone to violence, or violent thoughts. I mean, especially since I don’t drive anymore.

I stepped around from behind the Information desk, but they were already walking pretty quickly. Two of them, tall guy on the left, with one of those big 30-gallon trash bag filled with our CDs and DVDs. Stocky short guy to his right. “You guys need any help?” I called after them. There was no one between them and the door, and they were moving quickly. “No, man, we’re cool.” They hit the doors, rounded the corner, bolted down the street. Jumped into a car, backed up the one-way street.

The thirty minutes after that were hard. Really hard. Why didn’t I just grab the bag? Make a dash and tackle the tall one? Follow them outside and write down their license plate? Why wasn’t I in front of the Information desk, instead of behind it? Why didn’t I notice them earlier?

If I had the ability to stop time, I would’ve tied their shoelaces together, wailed on their faces and their crotches with a baseball bat, doused their car in gasoline and lit it on fire. Why didn’t I just grab the damn bag? Throw a book at them? So much I could’ve done, but all I did do was: “You guys need any help?”

The on-duty managers, our loss-prevention guy (when he came in), told me I’d done the right thing. In fact, when I started at the Bookstore, I started in LP. Wore the bright shirt, was instructed the steps necessary to approach a shoplifter. Was instructed what not to do if the shoplifter made a run for it: don’t follow, don’t restrain. They might have a knife, or a gun.

Worse: if you chased them into a street, what if they knocked someone into the path of an oncoming car?

Property isn’t worth people being injured over. Especially not mass-produced CDs, even a whole bag full of them. As ex-LP, I know this. Didn’t keep me from running scenarios through my head: grab the bag, yanking the tall one of his balance. Swing to the right, left-hook to the stocky fellow, kick to his groin. Swivel back, kick to the tall guy’s head.

Property isn’t worth people being hurt over. I know this in my head. And a full day later, I still want to hurt these guys, Punch-Drunk Love style. With a V-cart instead of a crowbar.

I usually don’t get this worked up over shoplifters. Even the pro-shoplifters. Lately, we’ve been hit by so many. We usually know its happening before they get out of the store, but they hit us early, and on slow days — we just don’t have large number of employees in the front of the store, and the area is usually clear of customers. It’s probably because I feel that I could’ve done so much different — even if I’d greeted them as they came into the store, that might’ve given them a second-thought.

I don’t feel hypocritical: as a high-school student, I had a shoplifting phase. I got over it without anything more serious than a sit-down with a police officer arranged by my parents. Truthfully, I don’t even mind (so much) the individual shoplifters: the business guy who slips a mass-market into his briefcase, the student who stuffs a Manga into his back-pack. It’s not that I don’t mind them, exactly, it’s just that I don’t want to shatter their jaws with a Dan Simmons hardback, when a “Hey, looks like you dropped our book in your bag! Why don’t I take that up to the registers and you can pay for it there, m’kay?”

But professional shoplifters are on a whole different level. They’re going to turn around, and sell the stuff much cheaper than we would, after they invest countless hours (and certainly some wounds) getting the product out of our keepers. They’re a skittish bunch, and even thought I didn’t grab for the bag, they know we’re onto them. We’ve got them on camera. They won’t be back.

Next Sunday, though? I’m pulling my old LP shirt out of my locker, and I’ll be wearing it all day.

Re: title, no, no, don’t worry: I’m still fully functional.