On the radio today there was a story about a cashier from Whole Foods who got in a lot of trouble for chasing down a shoplifter. Apparently there is a store policy where employees are not allowed to touch or detain customers. Apparently this is widespread.
"At least he did the right thing," I said. My mom turned to look at me. "He might've done the right thing," she said. "But it wasn't worth it." "It's always worth it." I said. "It's not worth it for the store. They should've just let it go. They can recoup that loss pretty quickly." "It's the principle." I replied. She took a deep breath.
"I once knew a family that started a grocery store in a shadier side of town. It was the first time any of them had ever tried to run a business. A man tried to steal a 6-pack of beer and the father shot him in the parking lot when he ran. After the extraordinary court costs, they didn't have enough money to keep the store running. Coupled with the death threats and hostility they got from the neighborhood, the store never reopened and the family moved away to a different state. They lost their livelihood over a 6-pack of beer."
It was a good story with a good message--from an economical sense. "At least he knows he did the right thing." I said. "That's a hot-headed thing to say." "That's justice." We sat in silence for a little while. Actually for the whole rest of the car ride.
Somebody once told me I had a indecipherable sense of morality--and a convoluted sense of justice. I disagree. I just believe in true justice. Not some emasculated, look-the-other-way imitation of it. Maybe that's why they couldn't understand it.
Then I drew this.
My life is so interesting.
"At least he did the right thing," I said. My mom turned to look at me. "He might've done the right thing," she said. "But it wasn't worth it." "It's always worth it." I said. "It's not worth it for the store. They should've just let it go. They can recoup that loss pretty quickly." "It's the principle." I replied. She took a deep breath.
"I once knew a family that started a grocery store in a shadier side of town. It was the first time any of them had ever tried to run a business. A man tried to steal a 6-pack of beer and the father shot him in the parking lot when he ran. After the extraordinary court costs, they didn't have enough money to keep the store running. Coupled with the death threats and hostility they got from the neighborhood, the store never reopened and the family moved away to a different state. They lost their livelihood over a 6-pack of beer."
It was a good story with a good message--from an economical sense. "At least he knows he did the right thing." I said. "That's a hot-headed thing to say." "That's justice." We sat in silence for a little while. Actually for the whole rest of the car ride.
Somebody once told me I had a indecipherable sense of morality--and a convoluted sense of justice. I disagree. I just believe in true justice. Not some emasculated, look-the-other-way imitation of it. Maybe that's why they couldn't understand it.
Then I drew this.
My life is so interesting.
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