Occasionally, the police blotter feels less like a chronicle of everyday misdemeanors and more like an accidental tribute to American folklore. Case in point: Angela Velasquez Taborda, a 73-year-old Floridian with an unexpected wingman in the supermarket sweepstakes—the devil himself. In a story that practically begs for skeptical eyebrow raises, The Smoking Gun recounts Taborda’s recent run-in with Walmart security in the Tampa area, where she allegedly attempted to make off with $121.85 in merchandise, including shampoo, socks, and men’s shorts—all stashed discreetly in a plastic bag from home.
Unlikely Motives and Even Less Likely Accomplices
According to details outlined in the police report, Taborda’s initial response was to deny any sticky-fingered intentions. Investigators, reviewing statements after the incident, document that she eventually admitted to attempting a swift exit with the unpaid-for items. The rationale she offered, highlighted in the arrest affidavit, is less everyday criminality and more Miltonic epic: she claimed the devil “told” her to buy the goods for someone else. Lacking enough money, she reasoned, her only remaining option was an unauthorized dash for the exit. One wonders about the negotiations in aisle four, or if even the Prince of Darkness gets sticker shock at Walmart.
The Smoking Gun notes that police paperwork does not elaborate on Taborda’s conversation with her alleged instigator. Readers are left to imagine the scene: a septuagenarian, a bag of retail odds and ends, and perhaps a whisper of brimstone between the grooming supplies and men’s fashion basics. No criminal charges for Beelzebub, for those keeping track—local law enforcement seems content to stick with the human suspects for now.
A Florida Classic (With a Necessary Bauble or Two)
Pulling all the details together, court information shows Taborda was released the morning after her arrest once she posted a $150 bond. As for sentencing, the outcome involves a judicially-mandated ban from Walmart, though, as the outlet documents, there is no ban on further supernatural collaborations. Taborda, now apparently separated from the soothing glow of Walmart’s fluorescent aisles, is free to ponder her next move—though perhaps keeping her circle of consultants a bit more terrestrial.
It’s easy, especially when armed with a parade of “only in Florida” stories, to laugh off these oddball infractions. But behind every detail—packaged up in a plastic bag and an even more plastic excuse—there’s a flicker of genuine fascination. What nudges a 73-year-old into a situation straight out of a farce? Was this desperation, confusion, or simply poetic improvisation in the face of mundane embarrassment?
Epilogue Among the Endcaps
In a final note that reads almost like gallows humor, The Smoking Gun points out that the devil faces no misdemeanor charges, at least for this particular retail theft. Taborda, meanwhile, is back in the world—her wallet lighter by bond and perhaps by a fleeting brush with notoriety, her Walmart privileges suspended, her relationship with the infernal apparently undiminished.
All told, the case remains a curious vignette of the everyday and the extraordinary colliding over a handful of ordinary goods. Maybe, as shoppers pass the racks of discount socks and shampoo, they’ll wonder whether temptation really does lurk in the big box aisles—or whether, sometimes, the best excuse is simply the most outlandish one we can manage. The devil, as always, is in the details.
