We wuz robbed (again)

Thanks to an odd scheduling quirk, I was able to enjoy three consecutive days off from URS. That’s not really important to the story, but you’ll be happy to I enjoyed spending time with The Wife and fixing my dead server. Or not.

My return to work was easygoing because I was refreshed. I joked with my colleagues and conversed with customers. Even something as minute as a roll of quarters provided interesting fodder.

“What do you need,” Maude¹ asked me.

I opened my cash drawer. “The big thing is quarters. I could probably use some fives and ones, but quarters right now.”

“You made me come up here to get you quarters? You could have just called.”

“Yeah, but you would have had to come up here to get this,” I said as I handed her a $10 bill.

What might strike you as mindless dribble or a poor attempt at an interesting open is actually more significant than that. But give me a few minutes of your time before you rush to judgment.

A couple of old ladies walked in the door. I charmed them with a wisecrack about how much it was raining outside. Another customer walked after them. He wore a hooded sweatshirt to keep the rain out of his face. I gave him a nod and he smiled back. He walked over towards a display of digital televisions we have near the entrance. Since business was slow, I turned my attention to cleaning up my cash drawer and making sure all the bills were facing the same direction (I’m not neurotic–it’s just a habit I picked up when working at Disneyland). The hooded customer was carrying a couple TVs as he headed in my direction. I closed my drawer and waited for him to approach me.

“I’m gonna be taking these,” he said to me. Or at least that’s what I thought he said.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m gonna be taking these.” This time there was no confusion as he walked out the front door.

“HEY,” I screamed as I jumped over the register and ran out after him. “STOP HIM.”

Last week I complained because someone boosted diapers and hooch while I was in the back stocking cans. This time I wasn’t going to miss out on the action. I ran out the store after him. My plan was to spot his license plate and report him to the cops. Unfortunately the dude didn’t have a car and started sprinting away on foot. Normally I wouldn’tve chased after him because I generally am opposed to running², however, it was wet outside and this idiot managed to slip in a giant puddle. He fell hard and the TVs slipped out of his thievish grasp. Since he was only 50 feet or so away from the store, I went after him because I figured I had a shot to grab one or more of the wayward sets. I managed to close the gap pretty good, but he was able to recover from his fall, pick up the TVs, and start running again. I followed him down the street while trying to dial 911 from my cell phone. It was much easier to make a call before we had smart phones and touch screens; while I tried dialing he started to put some distance between us. I chased him for a minute before I decided to give up and just call the cops from the store.

I wish I knew for sure why I gave up the chase. I was pretty sure he lived in the neighborhood (he seemed to know the alleys well) and was likely heading home. I wasn’t afraid of confronting him because I knew the situation wouldn’t get violent. He was a passive criminal. The two TVs were worth next to nothing. If he was the violent type, he would have pulled a gun and empty the register. People like that expect no one to chase them–that’s why he told me he was taking the TVs. He probably knew I wasn’t supposed to go after him. We’re told to let the criminals take what they want (even shoplifters) and if we don’t we could get fired. But that’s not why I gave up the chase. The reason most people wouldn’t go after him is because it’s not their personal property that got stolen–but even that wasn’t enough to make me give up. I guess it was just a combination of all of those factors–even though I don’t feel strongly about any of them. I wasn’t worried about my personal safety. I wasn’t worried about getting fired. It didn’t concern me that I wasn’t fighting for anything that was mine. That’s what bothers me most about giving up–I feel like I quit for no good reason (or at least a reason I felt that justified conceding defeat). In retrospect, if I stayed after him for another minute or so, I probably would have seen him run into wherever he lives.

I got back to the store and called 911 (a much easier task with actual buttons and standing still). I explained to the dispatcher what happened and gave a description of the guy so police could search the area.

“He was about five-ten, 180 pounds. Wearing black pants. A black hoodie. He had a mustache. Oh, and he was black.” I didn’t wanna be one of those guys accusing a black guy of committing a crime, but then again a black man just committed a crime. I gotta be honest: I felt very uncomfortable describing the criminal as “black”–I felt like a racist. This is how PC we’ve become–I felt uncomfortable describing a criminal because he was black. Jesse Jackson must be proud.

While talking to the police, Maude appeared. “Here’s your quarters.” She looked at me and asked: “How come you’re wet and panting?”

Nice. I’m out of the store for a few minutes chasing criminals and she didn’t even notice I was gone.

The police came. Again. This time I got to give a statement while someone else covered for me. Maude told the police this was the third time this week someone walked out the door with TVs (I guess a lot happened during my time off).

“You might one to move those TVs further away from the door,” the cop said to me. I later came to find out the store manager wanted to move the TVs a week ago but she needed permission from the corporate office to do so. As of this writing, the TVs (or at least what’s left of them) remain in the exact same place.

Maude, the cop, and I gathered in the office to watch surveillance tape of the theft. “That’s him,” I said, and Maude paused the video to get a clear look at him. Five-ten. Hundred eighty pounds. Oh, and black.

“You chased after him,” she said with amazement. “I wouldn’t mess with a guy like that.” I guess that just proves I’m not a racists–I refused to be afraid of someone because he was black.

Maude showed me a photo of the previous TV thief. Sure enough, same guy. He was one smooth criminal. No wonder he was bold enough to tell me he was stealing the TVs–he had practice doing it before. It probably scared the heck out of him that I actually chased him.

Why did I chase him? That’s a question I’ve been asking myself over and over. It wasn’t my personal property so I really shouldn’tve cared. I’m not a thrill seeker and certainly not looking to engage in hand-to-hand combat with anyone–let alone a black guy (that statement probably makes me a racist). I guess I went after him because A) I wasn’t afraid and B) crooks really piss me off. Some crimes I can relate to–like speeding or crimes of passion. I even understand getting made enough at someone to the point where you want to punch them. But criminals bother me. Do you think I wanna work at URS for minimum wage-like earnings? Wouldn’t I much rather have two TVs for free? Of course. But we are a society governed by rules. Everyone needs to contribute something to society to make it work. People like that don’t contribute–they just take. If they were to be wiped from the planet, the world would be no worse than it is now because they don’t contribute. Heck, it would be a better place. Prices would be lower. We would have no need for locks, security tags, and surveillance equipment. People like that bother me because they don’t play by the same rules. It bothers me because they never get their comeuppance. He jacked us because he knew he wouldn’t get caught. That’s why I went after him–I wanted him to get caught.

This isn’t over yet. I live in the neighborhood. I strongly believe he lives in the neighborhood. I’m gonna keep my eyes open–maybe even take a couple unnecessary walks down the street where I saw him last. I would love to catch this black bastard.

Okay–when I put it like that it definitely makes me a racist.

¹ Maude: phonetic pronunciation of M.O.D., or Manager On Duty
² The three exceptions to my “no running” rule: