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The Stolen Battery
I think most everyone has stolen something in his or her lifetime. I can remember friend's stealing to proof how cool they were. Many did the dastardly deed just on a dare. Usually, they were trivial items of little value. Me I stole an automobile battery. Could have been Grand Theft Auto.
It wasn't long after Christmas. A close friend had purchase an old 1948 Mercury convertible. He had taken it on a test drive and everything was perfect. When he went to pick it up, the battery would only hold a charge for a few hours. The dealer had changed batteries and stiffed my friend.
The dealer told him it was an as-is deal and what was there is what he got. He had sunk all of his money into the car and for the present a new battery was out of the question.
Today we have laws protecting us from cars that are lemons and shyster sales people who sell them. Back then he had me. (He did not ask me, nor did he know what I planned to do.)
The next night I put on my winter coat. In the basement was a burlap bag that was just the ticket to carry a concealed battery. I did not own my own vehicle yet so it was walk or ride my bike. There was an old dead battery in our garage so I tested my burlap bag theory. Good thing. It was easy enough to carry the battery in the burlap bag, but riding my bike with it was out. It was about 8 to 10 blocks away, longer if I did not go down Main Street.
I waited until well after closing time. I walked to and down Main Street, went to the darker part of the car lot, and found a vehicle with an unlocked door. The interior light did not come on when I opened the door, so I looked for another. (Probably someone else was going to get stiffed with a bad battery.) Soon I found the right vehicle. I lifted the hood to a newer looking battery and quickly removed it.
I carried the battery to the back of the lot, placed it in the burlap bag, and then stayed behind stores and houses until I reached a side street. I then walked toward Main Street. When I was at a point where I could see traffic, I waited for it to pass and then scurried across to another side street.
Taking side streets I tried to stay hidden. Each time I saw car lights I moved behind trees, garages, etc. I then realized I was more suspicious doing that, than just walking down the sidewalk. I returned home cold and warn out.
I placed the bag with the battery in the garage and went quietly into the house through the back door. I then walked to the front hall, hung up my jacket and started upstairs to bed. My mother was still up. She called out, "I didn't know you were home. Did you find what you needed in the refrigerator?" I yelled back, "No problem." It was over. I went to bed.
It wasn't much later when my back started hurting. Carrying the battery was hard work, but I was in great shape and should not have been in pain. I got up, stretched, took a couple of aspirin went back to bed. The pain increased. It was getting worse. I headed back to the bathroom for a hot bath. My mother was coming up the stairs and asked what was happening. I told her about my back. She took a look.
She immediately asked me what I had gotten on my back. She told me that most of the hair on my back was gone and it looked as if I had been burned. I told her that I must have gotten battery acid on it. After a quick shower, a paste of baking soda and water, and then some other kind of paste on my back, she put a burn lotion on my back and I fell asleep on my stomach. She never asked how it happened.
The next morning when I awoke I saw that my tee shirt had most of the back missing. I went down stairs and found my brand new coat, or what was left of it. Crime cost me a bundle.
I saw that friend last year. It was the first time in almost 30 years. I asked him if he remembered what I did. He told he didn't remember me giving him a battery.
Life goes on.
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