Say No To Bedwetting, I Mean Shoplifting

There’s one last story I would like to share with you before I wrap up my Supermarket Series. This one has to do with the worst attempt at shoplifting in human history, and the shenanigans that ensued. A year or two had passed since my friend from the deli stole my car and hid it behind the store. I was no longer slumming as a bagger—I had been promoted to cashier. It was during this time that a spindly, brainless teenager started wearing his rollerblades inside the store. This type of activity, clearly prohibited by the signage on the front door, quickly raised the ire of my manager.

Unfortunately, we couldn’t banish the kid from the store completely. He was still allowed to roll around in circles in the space between the first set of sliding doors, and the ones that led into the store. He would always wear something ridiculous. I remember one particular day when he decided it would be funny to greet customers with a sticker stuck on his hat that read “Say No To Bedwetting.” As utterly annoying and conspicuous as he was, however, we really didn’t think he could do much harm.

We were wrong. Our first clue that he was up to no good was when he showed up, sans rollerblades, and started walking back and forth in front of checkout lanes. Since he had gone to great lengths that summer to ensure that every employee in the store recognized him, he had about six sets of eyes on him by the time he stopped next to the cigarette display. He stood their frozen for a few minutes, with his arms folded across his chest, and his eyes darting back and forth. Then he looked back over his shoulders a couple of times. He was trying to act smooth, but he couldn’t have been any more obvious if he had “shoplifter” tattooed across his forehead.

When he finally reached out and snatched a pack of smokes, we had more than enough witnesses. He jammed the pack into his pocket and walked around the store for awhile before attempting his getaway. We couldn’t do anything to him while he was still inside, because as anyone who’s worked in retail can tell you, you’re not a shoplifter until you leave the store without paying.

The kid didn’t make it more than a few steps outside when my manager raced out and stopped him. Then he escorted the little thief up to his office and waited for the police to arrive. It was then that a coworker and I decided to stand guard at the bottom of the stairs. Just in case. But after about 15 minutes (the Overland Park PD didn’t seem in any rush to show up), I started to get bored, and my bladder was full. I decided to leave my coworker to stand post while I went to the back of the store to relieve myself.

In the five minutes that it took me to get back, all hell had already broken loose. The employee who was supposed to prevent an escape had, in fact, let the shoplifter run out of store. Now my coworker was running to the nearest phone to call the police again. I was dumbfounded. How could this have happened? I was only gone for a few minutes, for crying out loud. Since I was short on details, I decided to take a peek outside. The little worm couldn’t have gotten far, I thought to myself, especially if he was in the habit of smoking.

I started to the edge of the building to look down the side alleyway. My timing couldn’t have been more perfect. As soon as I turned the corner, out popped the thief from behind a fence. Our eyes locked. He was about 50 yards away, and he immediately started running down the back alley of the store (coincidentally, it was the same alley where my friend had stashed my car).

Without even thinking, I began to run after him. It wasn’t easy. Since my store apron was stilled tied around my waist, my knees were unable to come up as high as they normally would during a sprint. It felt like I was running in slow motion. But despite my disadvantage—and the criminal’s head start—I was able to catch up with him half way down the back alley. All I knew to do was throw my arms around him and toss him to the ground. I wasn’t that big, but he was even skinnier, so it wasn’t that hard.

This is where things gets really weird. Moments earlier, an off-duty policeman was driving past the alley when he noticed a store employee (me) chasing after someone (the perp). He pulled into the alley and drove up to us just seconds after I tackled the kid. The guy jumped out of his car, at which time I was more than glad to release my grip. As I got up and started to back away, I heard the cop shout “give me the knife!” Then the kid squealed like frightened pig. It turned out that the little twerp had been holding a box cutter in his hand the whole time. (Later I would find out that it was with that “weapon” that the kid threatened to cut himself while being held in my manager’s office, which is why we let him go).

Obviously, had I known about the knife before I went outside, I probably wouldn’t have been so cavalier in chasing after him. I’m just glad that I had pinned his arms to his side when I tackled him. And I’m really glad that the cop showed up before the kid decided to take a stab at me. As I walked back to the front of the store, my rather rotund manager came lumbering across from an adjacent street. He had been tailing the shoplifter the whole time, but quickly tired and couldn’t keep up. The first thing he said to me when we crossed paths was “the kid had a knife.”

“Yah, I just figured that out,” I replied.

My manager headed down the alleyway where I had just come from to help the cop subdue our little anti-bedwetter. I continued to the front of the store, and right before I went inside, I noticed an Overland Park police car pull into the parking lot. “Well look here,” I thought to myself, ”they finally decided to show up.” The on-duty cop, looking more annoyed than anything, rolled down his window and asked me where the shoplifter was. I told him to look down the back alley. Then I went inside.

For the duration of my shift, I was running on pure adrenaline. I was even a kind of celebrity to my co-workers, at least for the afternoon. A little later on, the off-duty cop who had helped me in the alley came through my checkout line to purchase some two liters. His right hand had a huge bandage on it. The stupid kid had sliced his palm with the box cutter when he tried to take it away. It was then I realized how fortunate I was. And believe me, the next time I see a gangly teenager on rollerblades with a sticker stuck to his head, I’ll know immediately that he’s up to no good.

Answer for the quiz: Tuck Everlasting