Darlings, have you ever wondered what it would be like to a criminal? Or worried you give off an aura of criminality, instead of Chanel no. 5? Me, neither. But that didn’t stop me from apparently being a Marked Woman (like Bette Davis in that classic flick) , targeted as a brazen thief.

Like my “Smoke Alarm Battery That Wouldn't Die” story and my “Trying Not to Go Batty Tale” (yeah, real bats hanging in my shower and on the back of my office chair were in that one) and my “Attack of the Killer Trees” mystery - this one is all true and another entry in the "I Couldn't Make This Sh*t UP!" genre.

I’m not naming names about the location of my supposed heist, but here’s a hint: I went to a certain huge OFFICE supply store that is sort of like a DEPOT, one-stop shopping for all things biz related.

I thought I looked rather civilized, if eclectic -- black jeans, suede jacket lined with faux fur over purple sweater, black Harley Davidson boots , mascara out to there, vintage Chanel bag in tow.

Did I seem a bit “different”? I would hope so (being a legend in my own mind and all). But a CRIMINAL? A dame on the lam? I don’t think so. I entered the store and saw, the entire time I was there, only two other customers. Four sales people/cashiers were to the side of the entrance door talking.

I wandered around until I located the hanging files, two varieties under big “SALE” signs. I put a box in my cart and made my way down another aisle looking for plastic bins. A guy eased up behind me languidly. “Need some help?” he said, yawning, as if he really hoped I didn’t answer.

Before I could ask where the bins were, he sauntered away. I finally found a stack of plastic bins and put one in my cart. Then I opened a box of folders I was buying, taking one out to see if it would hang on the side of the bin.

Suddenly, a loud voice bellowed from behind: “WHAT ARE YOU DOING THERE!?” Not “Can I help you” but more like “ Ah-HA, are you trying to ABSCOND with something?” I said I was buying the bin and folders and I asked where the digital recorders were. I’d already looked in the electronics section. “Right under the electronics SIGN, of COURSE, ” he said, sniffing and walking away.

Oh, really? I checked again. No recorders but a wall of white pieces of paper stuck in a black rack in a dark corner. The flyers were emblazoned with “Pick One” and a price, a few details on various recorders.

God forbid they should actually PLACE the recorders on view because apparently thieves in droves steal them – despite the fact the recorders come encased in so much hard plastic and excess packaging and alarm code thingies, it would probably take an actual CIA trained agent or international jewel thief with the proper burglary tools to make a heist of one.

I picked up a piece of paper with a description of a recorder, took it to the cashier. She sighed. Oh, no, SHE couldn’t get it for me, not the real recorder. She sighed again, rolled her eyes and picked up a phone to call someone.

It was the same surly man from the bin aisle. He rolled his eyes. Oh, well, yes.. he’d have to get the key, he sighed, too, frowned, and complained that he had to unlock the wooden cabinet behind the cash register and then he sighed more looking for the recorder.

He found it, over-packaged in plastic and cardboard ten times the size of the recorder. I looked at it and asked if it came with a USB cable for connecting with the computer.

“WHAAT?” he said, by the question. “I don’t know anything about that.. you’ll have to go WAY UP in price to get THAT. If THAT’s what you want, go look for another one that comes with one of those USB things.” (Translation: “ I am not helping you. You are on your own. I don’t know anything about digital recorders or anything else and you are bothering me because if it were not for you I wouldn’t have to do doodly squat right now.” )

I found another piece of paper for another recorder, only $ 4.00 more, with a USB cable. Once again, the cashier had to call the surly guy on her phone, although he was only maybe 7 feet away, and once again he had to unlock the Top Secret Hidden Away Actual Recorders and search for the one that matched the paper.

FINALLY, I checked out. YES! I was done with this place of rude, surly “help”.

I eyed the automatic door in front of me as a gate to freedom – and I would soon be across the street at Starbucks when… ALARMS! ALARMS! BEEP! “HALT RIGHT THERE!!!!”

What were they going to do? Shoot me?

I stopped in my tracks. Here came the surly “help” guy with the cashier woman behind him. She was scurrying along muttering, “I’m sorry.. I’m sorry.. I guess I deactivated the security code on the wrong recorder!” Back to the check-out stand. I had to show the receipt.

I HAD JUST PAID THESE SAME PEOPLE 3 MINUTES AGO. But they had to see the receipt???

The appropriate recorder box was finally swiped so the alarms didn’t go off.

I escaped. I got my coffee, went home and used scissors and strength to get the idiotically designed plastic welded-on box off of the recorder and then attempted to decipher the directions which seem to have been written by someone whose first language is probably Chinese.

Oh, and I noted on my receipt this info: If I logged into the store’s web site and said what a WONDERFUL visit I had at their WONDERFUL store, I would get a $10.00 off coupon.

Uh, no thanks.