The Breakfast Club is an 80s classic, and, despite being released the year I was born, one of my favorite adolescent movies. I identified with all the characters, likely because, well, the audience is supposed to. Since I’ve finished my SDCP Q&As, I thought delving into a new theme was in order. Behold, the five part series of The Breakfast Club: brain, athlete, basket case, princess, and criminal.

Ah, criminal. Y'all been waiting on this one, right? Well, beside the obvious, which I'm not going to address because it will immediately turn into a call for decriminalization (a worthy post topic, but I'm trying to keep this particular series less political and more personal), there are a few anecdotes that come to mind. 

When I was in middle school, I picked up the itch for shoplifting. It was pretty common among my peers, girls would get dropped off at the mall on a Friday night and see what we could lift. Stores that sold cheap jewelry and body lotions were top hits, and we would compete to see who could get the biggest item. 

One day, I was at a super grocery store with my parents. I wandered off to look at the books (yes, a bookworm even in my troubled thieving tween years!), and picked up a copy for Chicken Soup for the Soul II. I asked if I could get it, and they said no. So I went back to the book area, and stuffed down my ultra-wide JNCO jeans, as was my usual spot for larger lifts. 

Sadly for angsty adolescent me, this store had cameras in every direction, and the second I walked out the store a hand landed on my right shoulder. When I turned around, the security guy just shook his head. My mom, already packing up the car, freaked out, thinking some stranger was trying to ban me, and then again when it was explained what I had done. They just had me give back the book, and sent me on my way. The experience cured me of my sticky fingers habit.

Years later, my parents tell this story with a laugh, bemused by my choice of stolen goods. Apparently an luckily, the loss prevention manager was also pretty tickled, which is why I was just sent home with a finger wagging. I may not have gotten comfort food for my soul that day, but Chicken Soup did keep my juvenile record clean.