That Time I Accidentally Stole £10 — I’ve Felt Guilty About It Ever Since
I used to work in a nightclub, and I accidentally stole money once
During my first stint at university, I used to work in a nightclub. They were always short of staff — when aren’t nightclubs short of staff — which meant I did every job there was. That meant some nights I was on the bar, some nights I was collecting bottles, some nights I was on the hotdog stand, some nights I was on all three and more.
This story is about when I was on the hotdog stand. And I know crazy right, having a hotdog stand in a nightclub. But quite genius as well as you’d be amazed how popular it was.
Anyhow, having a hotdog stand in a nightclub full of drunks is not without its problems. For example, it’s amazing how many times people tried to sneakily steal the bottles of ketchup and mustard — take a guess why they wanted to steal them. Even more amazing was how many people tried to steal hotdogs.
They would usually attempt this in one of two ways: the non-teamwork way, which would see a lone wannabe hotdog thief try to snatch a hotdog just as I was about to pass it to a customer, all the while laughing like it is a big joke of course; and the teamwork way, which most often involved one person stealing the ketchup and mustard bottles, forcing me to chase after them, during which his fellow conspirator would attempt to steal some hotdogs.
Yep, managing a hotdog stand in a nightclub that is dark and smoky and full of drunks transforms you into a crusader against thievery. And I was a brilliant crusader against thievery, until one day I became the thief. But it was entirely by accident. I swear it.
To tell the story, I accidentally one day stole £10. And I have felt super guilty about it ever since. The way it happened was it was super busy and there was a queue a mile long for hotdogs. There were also inevitably the wannabe hotdog thieves along with the wannabe ketchup and mustard bottles thieves.
It was dark as well, super dark this night. And the DJ was using the smoke machine to excess. And it was super busy as well — have I already said that? It was worth saying again because it just was so busy. Hell, I was under siege — more under siege than Steven Seagal in the film Under Siege — but I was fighting gallantly. Holding my own.
“Give back that ketchup bottle,” I demanded — all the while battling to build a hotdog, all the while asking the customer if they wanted onions on it.
“Give back that mustard bottle,” I demanded — all the while asking who was next, all the while taking the money for the previous hotdog.
To say the least, the battle was ferocious, but I was winning. More than that, I was on the precipice of victory — the night was near over. The ravenous Celts were about to fall to the might of the Roman legions. All I had to do was hold out a little longer.
But then I took what seemed like a £10 note from a customer. I was in a rush, the queue was getting bigger, and I needed to up my pace. I gave them a £5 note back immediately then put the £10 note in a new pile — the other pile overflowing. Then I made two hotdogs. Then I gave the customer the two hotdogs.
Then I looked at the till — which I never shut while busy. And I realised there were two £10 notes in the new £10 note pile.
Immediately my mind starts to try to work out how this can be, it is impossible? I have only just started this pile. There should only be one £10 note.
It was then the devastating truth dawned upon me. The customer had accidentally given me two £10 notes — and I had not realised. Immediately I start to panic. How could this travesty have occurred? Most others in this situation would pocket the £10’s — frequently my fellow workers would recount with delight how they had enriched themselves through similar situations.
I was not like this. I felt no joy. All I could think about was that this girl may need that money. What if she was poor? What if this was her one night out and that money was hard-earned? Besides that, it was her money so even if she was well off, it was not mine it was hers, and thus it should be returned to her.
And I can still see her as she is walking away. I think about calling after her and giving it back. My mouth goes to move. But then something dawns upon me. If I do this at this moment it may look like I had planned to steal it but then had had a change of heart and so had given it back.
After all, how come I had not noticed right away, they may think.
In the split second I am thinking this, she disappears into the darkness and smoke of the club, and I realise that I’ve missed my chance to give back the money.
I also realise that all the customers are looking at me, wondering when I’m going to ask them who is next. And so I do so. And serve customer after customer, continue the unrelenting fight, all the while my guilt continues to grow.
What if she as a student and needs that money to buy books? What if she lives on the breadline and that money is important to her? On and on my thoughts go, unrelentingly my mind swirls. What if? What if? What if?
Such did my guilt rise that before the battle was done, I requested somebody to watch the hotdog stand, claiming that I required to use the bathroom. I then began searching the club for this girl so that I may return the money.
There was a problem. Like said it’s dark, there was a lot of smoke and the place was overflowing with people. Worse than that, I wasn’t sure if I would even recognise her. She had just been a face on the other side of the hotdog stand. What did she even look like?
Desperately I tried to think. She was wearing blue, and it was a dress. She had nice teeth. Blondish brown hair. Age wise, probably early twenties. Maybe it was her? Or maybe it was her? That’s it, it has to be her.
No. No. No. Blast it all, it could be any girl. Lots of women fitted that description. Which was why alas soon it became clear that this fair damsel was not going to get her £10 back. Namely, because I couldn’t work out what the hell she looked like.
Why me, was all I can think. I’m a good person, not a £10 thief.
Feeling so horrified at the evilness of my villainous thievery, once the night had ended and the war was over, another battle won, I pulled out the £10 note and stared at it. What to do, that was the question. What to do.
After much deep soul searching and pondering, I deduced there was only one option. And so I went to the casino and I bought a drink, which cost £7.95 — vodka and lemonades are expensive in casinos.
I then began drowning my sorrows at a roulette table, where I placed the remaining £2 on lucky number 29.
Lucky number 29 then duly came up and I won £72.
I could have left it there, but feeling expressively guilty at the fact that I had just won so much money from stolen funds, I elected to play blackjack. I then hit an unbelievable winning streak playing £10 hands, and before I knew it I was up £500.
Not wanting to be greedy I decided to call it a night there and cashed in. I then, electing that it was poor show to hoard stolen money, took the remaining 5p of my original stolen funds, and placed it in the charity box on the way out.
The rest of the money, I pocketed. That is the end of the story.
That’s all from me, thanks for reading!
PS. I wish to give special thanks to the girl who accidentally gave me two £10 notes for awarding me with the best night I’ve ever had at a casino. Also, surprisingly this is a true story, but alas there was no happy ending as I never did find the girl who gave me the money so that I could give her back her £10 note. And I have felt guilty about it ever since. Funny old world.
If you found this post interesting, you may also enjoy the following:
That Time A Bride-To-Be Propositioned Me For Sex
That Time My Friend Asked Me To Photograph Her Feet
That Time I Was Fired from a Music Video for Being ”Too” Good-Looking
To learn more about me see this link, to support me click the link below:
