We were looking for a book. It was called something like America. Finding a book called America in borders is like finding hay in a haystack. Needless to say, this book was nowhere in sight. However, peeking through the pile of books about Ralph Nader and the sexual appetite of Abraham Lincoln was the tri-stripped glory of Steal This Book. For those of you who weren’t born in the 1960’s, which is all of you, Steal This Book is a book about, among other things, making sandals out of old tires and Molotov cocktails out of gasoline and Styrofoam. It is Hippie’s Guide to the Galaxy.

The book itself is rife with tips about how to get free stuff in cities like San Francisco. Inside are the addresses of places that most certainly haven’t been open in forty years where one can bum a bite to eat. There’s a section on how to street fight and how to make your own guns. It is, I must have to say, the most useless book in the world. But it is titled Steal This Book and…we had to.

“I wish Boing was here.” said my friend and perennial petty larceny amigo Arman. Boing being an eleven year old friend of his family that we call his cousin, due to the fact that they look alike and it’s much easier to explain. His real name is Vandad and, really, this boy is a column by himself. He has stolen things I’ve never dreamed of (one time he took the wet floor sign from Taco Bell.) But that is for another day.

“Dude I know,” I replied, giving a cursory explanation to my homie and perennial random idea buddy Sean. He was flipping through the pages and randomly saying the names of the titles to my friend and new Borders buddy Steve.

“Fuck San Francisco” Sean would add.

We stood in the record section, thinking up a plan of action. Arman was a proponent of the Just-Walk-Out plan. We all fell in behind him, chickening out when it came time to actually hold and walk out with the book. A new plan was in order.

“What about the sensors?” Sean asked.

“Let’s test them.” Arman replied. Steve and Arman ran the book through the sensors by the door. A casual saunter yielded no alarms.

“Okay,” I chimed in, “what we do is, one of us goes out of the bookstore and the other is walking by and the first person hits the person with the book and it falls out of the store and we pick it up outside and meet up later.” It seemed like a good idea at the time, however, this idea was thrown out as Too Complicated. “Fine, fine,” I added after a few moments of deliberation, “what if someone buys something and brings the bag back and we put it in the bag.” Bickering ensued, as all discussions of plans lead to. Sean had found a DVD which cost 2 cents. We were to buy it and whilst this was happening, the other two would walk out with the book; as the consensus was reached that no one in the store cared. Steve and I were waiting, mildly freaking out the way little kids do when they’re about to do something vaguely wrong, like steal bubblegum.

“You do it,” he said to me, handing me the book that was begging to be taken “just put it down your pants.” He said. I feigned that my pants were too tight to perform this maneuver, despite the fact that these pants have never fit, let alone been too tight.

“You do it,” I replied, motioning to his cargo pants. A sharp whisper rose from the end of the purchase line and near the door. By the aisle of books was the glaring irony of Eat This Book. We were about to boil the binding when it was decided I would have to put down the coffee table book about the Potomac River I was pretending to read and do something. I handed the book to Steve. Who handed it back to me. They had given the two cent DVD to us for free, but not without a receipt. I held the receipt over the title of the book, the Steal obscured by the semi legitimate camouflage. Head held high I walked out, book swinging limply and casually by my side. Outside we quickly got in the car, with the heart-pounding rush that accompanies not getting caught doing something of which no one cares. Flipping through the useless and comically outdated advice, we realized it wasn’t worth stealing, except to say we’ve done it.

“I wouldn’t recommend buying this book.” Steve said, tongue firmly in cheek, but telling a strangely satisfying truth.

This work written by Zach Claywell. Reproduction requests or general questions should be directed to Zach Claywell care of Zach Claywell at yahoo dot com

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