I love tinned salmon.
Back in olden times, my first proper job was part-time monkey at the Coop. I did a bit of everything from shelf-stacking to trolley retrieval operations (the best job, I could take an entire shift to retrieve a trolley from the canal) to doing sad face in front of angry customer. During slack hours, I'd be store detective. There was one old lady who'd nick tinned salmon. I 'apprehended' her and she confessed it was for her cat. So I thought fuck it, and gave her another three tins. Every time she came in I loaded her up with tinned salmon.
Eventually, they noticed we were losing massive quantities of tinned salmon. No one could figure out why. But thereafter it had to be sold from behind the ciggie counter (where I wasn't allowed as I was under eighteen). I had to apologize to the old lady. It's fine, young man, she confided, my cat died a year ago.
It wasn't the worse job, at Christmas the manager used to let me 'drop' bottles of booze. You dropped that, ian. No, I didn't. You dropped that, ian. Ah, I see.