Everything was going so well in my local Co-op. I’d gone in for vape juice, which they often run out of. I could see my preferred brand and I was having a comradely moment with the assistant, who is only too used to my crestfallen face when I have to make do with blueberry flavour. Then, right next to me, a man started to slither through the adjacent service hatch. The first I made of it was that the friction of his body against the counter was pulling his trousers down. I was close enough to see the whites of his pants, which were not that white. I thought: “That young man should really wear a belt next time he tries to hijack the till-cockpit of a Co-op.” Then: “NO WAY! That young man is hijacking the Co-op!”
He was wearing a face bandana, so he had at least got that far with his accessorising, and he yelled at the lady to get out from behind the tills, then let his two friends in. It was a classic in-through-the-trapdoor, open-the-drawbridge manoeuvre. The manager was on the phone to the police, saying in neutral tones: “Robbery in progress, robbers in the building,” as they piled cigarettes into three giant bags-for-life, which they had definitely stolen from their mums in advance. The planning was meticulous. We watched for a few seconds, fascinated. I asked the lady if she thought we should hide and she made a noncommittal noise that I have spent ages since deciphering. It was something in the realm of “they’re just kids, they’re probably not armed”; she is probably not paid enough to defend the cigarettes.
At least three shoppers hadn’t even noticed what was happening. I decided to go round telling everyone: “Look, robbery in progress, robbers in the building,” because I am, first and foremost, a newspaperwoman. One guy just looked up from the ice-cream momentarily and went back to his selection. Fresh people kept coming in to the shop. It’s amazing how fast an atmosphere can be determined, yet how little it interrupts anyone’s plans. “Weird vibe. Ah, heist in progress. But I still need hummus.”
The trio escaped before the police arrived. I offered to stay as a witness, and they said: “No, we have security cameras.” I wanted to point out that cameras will give you nothing but three young men with their faces covered, whereas, with my prose, you’ll have them apprehended in no time.
But what did I usefully notice? Three young men with their faces covered – and a whole lot of vibes. The staff seemed as if they had got to a point of such pure resignation that it was almost religious. Not bored, not fretful, just absolutely and completely Zen.
In retrospect, I wish I had left ice-cream man to his own devices and spent my time asking how often this happened, to bring them to this state of inner peace. Shoplifting is out of control, in prevalence and brass-neckery, according to figures released last month. In the year to September 2024, shoplifting offences reported by police in England and Wales rose by 23%, to nearly 500,000. That is more incidents than in any year since records began, in 2003.
The sheer ubiquity freezes everyone’s will to act, but it’s still incredibly, disproportionately shocking to watch. It’s not that I particularly care about the Co-op, nor even because the sight of scofflaws openly scoffing, right there in broad daylight, is remarkable – like seeing the sky go green.
Rather, it is the sight of society unspooling. The cigarette to minimum wage ratio is just too huge. The value of everything – Calpol, wine, dog food – is too tantalising. The old norms, such as it’s better not to steal than to steal, have given way. I’m not saying the bandits have a point, just that banditry is where we are.
As the thieves ran out of the shop, I said: “I guess some vape juice is out of the question?” and the woman replied: “Yeah, sorry, this is a crime scene.” Afterwards, my kid said: “You should have just stolen some. It sounds really easy.”
Zoe Williams is a Guardian columnist
