Post by Deleted on Oct 2, 2019 18:16:35 GMT -8
All portions of this memoir are to be considered ‘off camera, not common knowledge’, unless specifically marked as ‘on camera’ which would be considered for public consumption. This memoir is a future publication that follows the death of Kan Tai. While Kan Tai might have a reputation to be a bit of a pickpocket, the more extravagant heists are not. Proceed with that knowledge.
Chapter 1
There have always been two loves in my life.
The love of acquisition and the love of professional wrestling.
Acquisition? You might ask.
There’s something that simply lights me up about taking something that doesn’t belong to me. I don’t have to keep it. I don’t have to sell it. In most cases, I just return it. But the thrill of the stalk, the seek, the theft without so much as anyone having a single clue that it’s going to happen sends chills up and down my spine.
I guess you could also say that about professional wrestling. In a way, it’s very similar. My small stature makes me severely underrated so each win that I receive is typically considered stolen as well.
Theft and wrestling. And trust me, I do them both well.
But why write about my exploits? Aren’t I worried about getting caught?
No.
You see, if you are reading this then I have long since died. You see, this is simply a recollection of my work. I have no need to profit from this diary if I am dead and so I have instructed that all proceeds will be given to charity.
Let’s start from the beginning and talk about my love for pro wrestling, which is going to be the easiest to explain.
My parents immigrated from Japan to the United States before I was born. My father’s technical ability made him wealthy enough that we were able to afford a place in Manhattan. I went to the best school in the area and I never truly was denied much of anything. Of course, I wasn’t the typical spoiled child that attended my school. The plain fact was that I never asked for much because just having things handed to you was not nearly as fun as finding a way to achieve them through your own effort.
One of my father’s passions was professional wrestling. Every week, without fail, it would be on the television and we would watch it together. My father had contacts in Japan who would send him tapes from there and I sat wide eyed as we watched Japanese women battle each other. At a young age, I thought to myself, “I could do that.”
When I was old enough, I asked to take some martial arts training and my father conceded though my mother wasn’t too happy about it. But, I rarely asked for anything so they could hardly deny me. Plus, there was one other thing. I was fucking cute.
The gods seemed to have blessed me with a much younger persona than my actual age. In high school, most thought I was some sort of middle school prodigy, but I was the same age as they were. Of course, they became immediately confused when I grew boobs.
It wasn’t until after high school that I started actual professional wrestler training. I was told I could as long as I also went to college. Not an issue for me.
This is how I became a professional wrestler. How I became a professional thief on the other hand, that is a bit of a different story.
As I said, I could really have had whatever I wanted. My family was well off, but they weren’t the ‘stuck up’ type of well off. My father was a down to Earth type of guy and my mother was a stay at home wife and mother. She didn’t go on elaborate shopping sprees or any of that stuff my classmates’ mothers were doing. She did the laundry, shopping and everything a typical mother would do. My parents were big on giving to charity.
I was ten. My mother drove my friends and I to the mall. She needed a dress or somesuch for one of dad’s business dinners. My mother allowed us to walk about as long as we stayed close by.
The beginning was simple. One of my friends dared me to swipe a candy bar. Nothing major. I immediately shook my head, but inside I wondered if I could get away with it. I looked at the candy bars as we walked by and my friends were chuckling at me for being a chicken. It wasn’t like any of them were making a move to take something from the store. My heart was pounding though as I continued to look at them.
I couldn’t even tell you what happened but as we left the store, our mother wanted to sit for a few minutes so we went to the food court and my mother ordered us some food as we sat at the table, I pulled out the candy bar and laid it in front of my friends and the look on their face when I showed them was priceless. The adrenaline that rushed through my body was a feeling that I would never forget. We split the candy before my mom returned and pretended that nothing happened, but my friends would be in awe that I took it without even them having a clue that I had done it.
As I moved through junior high and high school, I continued my shoplifting ways. I had perfected my skills by looking for camera and mirrors and seeing if I could spot the undercovers trying to catch shoplifters.
It was really all for the thrill. Whatever I took, as I left the store with my ill gotten gains, I would either drop them in the trash or put them in a donation bin. It was never anything I wanted, it was the rush of doing it that was the draw for me.
As I entered college, simple shoplifting was starting to lose its appeal and I needed something bigger. Something more challenging.
I was in the Dean’s office turning in some paperwork when I saw a teacher come in and open a safe and deposit the answers to one of the final exams into it and then she closed it and spun the dial.
My mind immediately went to that safe.
I went about my business, but my mind never wavered far from that safe in that office. I would think about it and my heart would race. I knew I had to try. I didn’t need the test scores. I didn’t need anything inside that safe. I needed the rush that would come from getting what was in that safe.
I went to the library and found every book I could find on cracking safes. I found some old safes online that folks were getting rid of because they didn’t know the combination or I would tell them I didn’t want the combination. I would stay up late, attempting to break into these safes.
Months went by and these damned things consumed me. I continued to go to class, but paid no mind to the professor, my notes filling completely with ideas on safe cracking. My grades dipped much to my father’s dismay, but they remained passing as I fixated on safes.
The feeling when I cracked my first safe was amazing. One small click and the opening of a door had consumed my life and when it happened for the first time I nearly lost my mind. One by one, my collections of safes were opened.
As I scouted the dean’s office on several occasions, I felt confident that I could get in and out without anyone knowing. Getting inside late at night was not hard. The roving security guards were very predictable and having ensured the door to the building did not close completely as it emptied was simple.
Dressed in black, I waited until the guards passed by in their little golf cart and then I slipped inside, ensuring the door locked behind me. I waited in the entryway just to be sure there was no alarm going off, and when nothing happened, I continued inward.
The outer portion of the Dean’s office was open, but the door to his office was locked. It was fine, the safe I needed to access was outside. I walked to the safe and went to work.
It took several attempts before the click happened and I was able to pull open the drawer. It was then that I saw the lights.
Flashlights.
I quickly and quietly closed the drawer and ducked underneath the secretary’s desk, pulling the chair as far underneath as possible. Luckily, my tiny frame allowed for it to completely fit under. I heard the door open and the lights flickered on.
The guards chatted away and before deciding nothing was there and the lights went back off and they soon left.
My heart was pounding. I was
. I waited under there for about an hour before I decided to make my way out. I really didn’t want to take the exam, it was all about getting into the safe that excited me so I walked out of the office empty handed.
I continued to practice wrestling in the evenings, attend college during the day and found time to continue to indulge in my other hobby.
Which brings me to the present. I’ve been wrestling professionally for five years, however, the the company I worked for wanted to cut my wage so I decided to run off to see what other companies might have for someone like myself.
Iconic Pro, I’m here. Don’t worry, there is more to come. I guess you could say this is my confessional. What I can tell you is that this is only the beginning.
Chapter 1
There have always been two loves in my life.
The love of acquisition and the love of professional wrestling.
Acquisition? You might ask.
There’s something that simply lights me up about taking something that doesn’t belong to me. I don’t have to keep it. I don’t have to sell it. In most cases, I just return it. But the thrill of the stalk, the seek, the theft without so much as anyone having a single clue that it’s going to happen sends chills up and down my spine.
I guess you could also say that about professional wrestling. In a way, it’s very similar. My small stature makes me severely underrated so each win that I receive is typically considered stolen as well.
Theft and wrestling. And trust me, I do them both well.
But why write about my exploits? Aren’t I worried about getting caught?
No.
You see, if you are reading this then I have long since died. You see, this is simply a recollection of my work. I have no need to profit from this diary if I am dead and so I have instructed that all proceeds will be given to charity.
Let’s start from the beginning and talk about my love for pro wrestling, which is going to be the easiest to explain.
My parents immigrated from Japan to the United States before I was born. My father’s technical ability made him wealthy enough that we were able to afford a place in Manhattan. I went to the best school in the area and I never truly was denied much of anything. Of course, I wasn’t the typical spoiled child that attended my school. The plain fact was that I never asked for much because just having things handed to you was not nearly as fun as finding a way to achieve them through your own effort.
One of my father’s passions was professional wrestling. Every week, without fail, it would be on the television and we would watch it together. My father had contacts in Japan who would send him tapes from there and I sat wide eyed as we watched Japanese women battle each other. At a young age, I thought to myself, “I could do that.”
When I was old enough, I asked to take some martial arts training and my father conceded though my mother wasn’t too happy about it. But, I rarely asked for anything so they could hardly deny me. Plus, there was one other thing. I was fucking cute.
The gods seemed to have blessed me with a much younger persona than my actual age. In high school, most thought I was some sort of middle school prodigy, but I was the same age as they were. Of course, they became immediately confused when I grew boobs.
It wasn’t until after high school that I started actual professional wrestler training. I was told I could as long as I also went to college. Not an issue for me.
This is how I became a professional wrestler. How I became a professional thief on the other hand, that is a bit of a different story.
As I said, I could really have had whatever I wanted. My family was well off, but they weren’t the ‘stuck up’ type of well off. My father was a down to Earth type of guy and my mother was a stay at home wife and mother. She didn’t go on elaborate shopping sprees or any of that stuff my classmates’ mothers were doing. She did the laundry, shopping and everything a typical mother would do. My parents were big on giving to charity.
I was ten. My mother drove my friends and I to the mall. She needed a dress or somesuch for one of dad’s business dinners. My mother allowed us to walk about as long as we stayed close by.
The beginning was simple. One of my friends dared me to swipe a candy bar. Nothing major. I immediately shook my head, but inside I wondered if I could get away with it. I looked at the candy bars as we walked by and my friends were chuckling at me for being a chicken. It wasn’t like any of them were making a move to take something from the store. My heart was pounding though as I continued to look at them.
I couldn’t even tell you what happened but as we left the store, our mother wanted to sit for a few minutes so we went to the food court and my mother ordered us some food as we sat at the table, I pulled out the candy bar and laid it in front of my friends and the look on their face when I showed them was priceless. The adrenaline that rushed through my body was a feeling that I would never forget. We split the candy before my mom returned and pretended that nothing happened, but my friends would be in awe that I took it without even them having a clue that I had done it.
As I moved through junior high and high school, I continued my shoplifting ways. I had perfected my skills by looking for camera and mirrors and seeing if I could spot the undercovers trying to catch shoplifters.
It was really all for the thrill. Whatever I took, as I left the store with my ill gotten gains, I would either drop them in the trash or put them in a donation bin. It was never anything I wanted, it was the rush of doing it that was the draw for me.
As I entered college, simple shoplifting was starting to lose its appeal and I needed something bigger. Something more challenging.
I was in the Dean’s office turning in some paperwork when I saw a teacher come in and open a safe and deposit the answers to one of the final exams into it and then she closed it and spun the dial.
My mind immediately went to that safe.
I went about my business, but my mind never wavered far from that safe in that office. I would think about it and my heart would race. I knew I had to try. I didn’t need the test scores. I didn’t need anything inside that safe. I needed the rush that would come from getting what was in that safe.
I went to the library and found every book I could find on cracking safes. I found some old safes online that folks were getting rid of because they didn’t know the combination or I would tell them I didn’t want the combination. I would stay up late, attempting to break into these safes.
Months went by and these damned things consumed me. I continued to go to class, but paid no mind to the professor, my notes filling completely with ideas on safe cracking. My grades dipped much to my father’s dismay, but they remained passing as I fixated on safes.
The feeling when I cracked my first safe was amazing. One small click and the opening of a door had consumed my life and when it happened for the first time I nearly lost my mind. One by one, my collections of safes were opened.
As I scouted the dean’s office on several occasions, I felt confident that I could get in and out without anyone knowing. Getting inside late at night was not hard. The roving security guards were very predictable and having ensured the door to the building did not close completely as it emptied was simple.
Dressed in black, I waited until the guards passed by in their little golf cart and then I slipped inside, ensuring the door locked behind me. I waited in the entryway just to be sure there was no alarm going off, and when nothing happened, I continued inward.
The outer portion of the Dean’s office was open, but the door to his office was locked. It was fine, the safe I needed to access was outside. I walked to the safe and went to work.
It took several attempts before the click happened and I was able to pull open the drawer. It was then that I saw the lights.
Flashlights.
I quickly and quietly closed the drawer and ducked underneath the secretary’s desk, pulling the chair as far underneath as possible. Luckily, my tiny frame allowed for it to completely fit under. I heard the door open and the lights flickered on.
The guards chatted away and before deciding nothing was there and the lights went back off and they soon left.
My heart was pounding. I was
. I waited under there for about an hour before I decided to make my way out. I really didn’t want to take the exam, it was all about getting into the safe that excited me so I walked out of the office empty handed. I continued to practice wrestling in the evenings, attend college during the day and found time to continue to indulge in my other hobby.
Which brings me to the present. I’ve been wrestling professionally for five years, however, the the company I worked for wanted to cut my wage so I decided to run off to see what other companies might have for someone like myself.
Iconic Pro, I’m here. Don’t worry, there is more to come. I guess you could say this is my confessional. What I can tell you is that this is only the beginning.
