New York Magazine’s “urban design” vertical, Curbed, has made a discovery: Major retail outlets often have detention centers on the premises for the benefit of the kleptomaniacs who come through — a considerable but reasonable expense baked into big-box stores’ loss-prevention budgets. This seems to have come as news to the thieves profiled by Curbed’s Nora DeLigter. Not only does this fact appear to strike the author as somehow cosmically unfair; the very existence of the “Whole Foods jail” is also a profound irritation for would-be shoplifters.

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“It sometimes feels like everyone I know steals from Whole Foods,” DeLigter confessed. “For a certain subset of the city’s wealthy-ish, a little shoplifting on your grocery run has become about as mundane as jaywalking.” In the author’s survey of the entitled and comfortable larcenists with whom she surrounds herself, she encountered many rationalizations for their marauding. For some, a little thieving is their way to “protest” corporate America. For others, it’s an expression of the economic anxiety that accompanies living in “an unaffordable city.” DeLigter deemed it “a form of collective nihilism.” But there’s nothing “collective” about it.

DeLigter’s sample of thieves is hardly representative of the broader public. Her subjects include a “designer,” a “photographer,” a “sculptor,” and a “food stylist,” all of whom executed their heists in one of the highest-end grocers in America, each of which is located in some of the wealthiest zip codes in the United States.

Nor do the experiences suffered by these shoplifters while in the custody of Whole Foods’ security seem all that onerous. They sit in a windowless office (sometimes in handcuffs), have their picture taken, are charged a three-figure fine, and are entered into a database of people who are permanently banned from the grocer’s property — all while they await the arrival of law enforcement. The biggest revelation here is that Whole Foods’ security guards seem to evince “glee” while doing their jobs.

Who wouldn’t? The opportunity to impose consequences on people who appear to have avoided them deep into adulthood isn’t an opportunity that comes around every day. Disabusing shoplifters of the notion that their thievery is justified as long as they’re struggling artists in a pricey municipality might get you a round of high fives at the watercooler, but it’s still the sort of thing that’s frowned upon in New York’s offices.

If I were at that institution, I’d be careful about what I leave in the break room fridge.

© National Review