When I first left home, I moved from my little country town to the busy excitement of Sydney. Living at home had been a sheltered and easy life but I couldn’t resist the lure of the big smoke.
It didn’t take me long to adapt from scrounging every cent as a student to living the high life of a career girl. I quickly worked out that if I wanted to get ahead at the company where I worked, I had to look good and designer gear was worth every cent. Within months I was in real financial trouble. I couldn’t resist the trendy little designer boutiques and spent up big. I maxed out my credit cards and some weeks couldn’t even come up with my rent money.
One afternoon after buying some gorgeous shoes (with cash, because my cards were all full), I realised at the train station that I couldn’t pay my fare. Desperate, I looked around at the other commuters and started making a commotion that my purse had been stolen. It was amazing. People looked at my fancy make-up and designer clothes and instantly believed me. Everyone was so generous, handing over cash to help me out with my train ride — I ended up with money to spare.
I’m a smart girl and it didn’t take long for me to realise that this was money for jam. I started making it my habit to hop off at the different stations on my route home — making sure I didn’t use the same location too often — and starting up my stolen purse routine. No-one ever seemed to recognise me and so many of the young guys were really generous. I started being able to pay off my card without having to cut back on designer purchases. I felt absolutely no guilt about my deception.
I’d been running the scam for about six months and it was still going amazingly well. Once again I’d just started telling everyone about my missing purse when a really gorgeous guy came up and told everyone he would handle it. Fear ran through me when he flashed a badge and announced he was a plainclothes policeman. Terrified I’d been caught, all I could think about was the shame of being sacked from my job and going home with a criminal record. Luckily for me, the policeman, Trent, had no idea what I was up to. He merely gave me a lift to his station and had me fill out an incident report.
The scare was enough to stop my deceptive ways. Even more of an incentive — Trent and I started going out together! We’re now married and he loves telling people how we would never have met if it weren’t for a pickpocket. I could never tell him what I was really up to that day.
Picture posed by model.
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