Against the Grain is a TalkLPnews no-holds-barred column where uncomfortable truths get dragged into the light and no sacred cow is too sacred. In this edition, Ryan cracks open the industry’s shiny surface to reveal the integrity gap no one wants to talk about… but everyone whispers about.
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He ordered the steak. Wagyu. Medium rare. Glass of cabernet (excellent vintage). Dropped a one-liner about “being the conscience of the company,” and then, without skipping a beat, walked out without paying. Said the vendor had it covered.
On the way out, he pocketed the steak knife. Not just any knife… a Wüsthof. High-end, forged, German steel. The kind of knife you notice when it’s missing.
That’s when it hit me: The guy responsible for setting the ethical standard just walked out with a $500 dinner and a stolen item.
“Perks of the role,” he laughed. And everyone at the table laughed. Of course they did.
When you become a senior leader, your jokes get funnier. But this wasn’t a joke.
He’s not a bad guy. I’m sure he believes what he said and probably thinks he’s brought so much business to that restaurant over the years that he’s already “paid” for the knife. In loss prevention, we like to think of ourselves as the ethical compass of retail, the gatekeepers of integrity. Those who are brave enough to say no when others say yes. We are the protectors of honesty in the chaos of shrink and safety.
But here’s the uncomfortable part: a lot of the people charged with upholding integrity aren’t practicing it themselves. No one talks about that at the conferences. You hear it at the bar afterward.
You hear it when someone jokes about an “accidental” meal that slipped onto a vendor tab. Or when someone mentions the RFP that just happened to go to a buddy’s company. Or the vendor who shipped free equipment to a regional manager’s house to “demo”. Gear that somehow never made it to the paying customer.
It’s quieter than theft. Polished. Smoothed over by titles and relationships. But it’s unethical all the same, rotting the industry from the inside out.
I’ve seen expense reports where the math didn’t add up, well… because it wasn’t supposed to. I’ve watched floor walkers get terminated for taking a soda while management, three levels above them, signs-off on comped hotel upgrades. I’ve seen “zero tolerance” policies applied selectively, carefully, and politically.
And the problem isn’t just that it happens. It’s that everyone knows. EVERYONE.
We whisper names in hallways. We warn each other about whom to avoid. We joke about the ones who “play the game.” But rarely, if ever, does anyone actually say it out loud. This industry has a credibility problem.
Not the kind that makes headlines. The kind that makes good people cynical. The kind that teaches new leaders to follow the behavior that gets rewarded, not the values that get printed on corporate walls.
And it’s contagious.
Because when integrity becomes optional for the top, it becomes negotiable for everyone else.
We like to pretend there’s a divide between our personal and professional lives. The notion that we can be one person at home and another at work, as if character and ethics can be turned on and off like a light switch, is just an excuse for avoiding the truth. But that’s not how integrity works.
I once heard an LP executive brag about buying a high-end pressure washer, using it over the weekend to clean their driveway, then returning it to the store for a full refund – box resealed, receipt in hand. “Hey, it’s their policy,” they said, as if the loophole somehow made it less dishonest.
This is someone who trains others on return fraud.
If you wouldn’t tolerate it from a customer, why is it acceptable from yourself? Or worse – from someone you look up to?
There’s no such thing as “just personal” when your job is to model integrity. It’s not about where the behavior happens. It’s about who you are when nobody’s keeping score.
I keep thinking about that steak dinner. About the easy confidence in his voice when he said we were the conscience. He believed it. And maybe that’s the most dangerous part of all. Because when the people who bend the rules also believe they’re the ones protecting them… what’s left to protect?
In this industry, integrity is a value. It’s also a branding strategy stamped on our resumes, woven into our SOPs, and uttered at every team meeting. However, more times than we’d like to admit, it’s all theater.
There’s a key we all carry in this industry. It opens the doors others can’t. To footage. To decisions. To influence. It’s supposed to be used to secure things. But some are using it to unlock closets they’d rather keep shut.
And the longer we pretend those skeletons aren’t there, the louder they’ll rattle. But there’s a truth no one wants to admit:
The closet is not locked. It never was. We just got really good at closing the door and turning up the music. And maybe it’s time we stop pretending we can solve shrink while we ignore the quiet moral decay inside our own ranks. Maybe the next audit shouldn’t be of store inventory – But of ourselves. Our decisions. Our silences. Our circles.
Because the next generation of LP leaders are watching. And they’re not just taking notes on investigations and case closures. They’re learning what gets tolerated. What gets ignored. And who gets promoted.
So here’s your invitation. No! Your dare: Open the damn door.
Air out the decay. Name the behavior. Challenge the culture that says integrity is something you enforce, not something you live by. Because if you’re not brave enough to call out the skeletons, you don’t deserve the keys.
Welcome to Against the Grain. And we’re just getting started.
Whether you’re clapping or cringing, don’t keep it to yourself. Let’s hear it at comments@talklpnews.com