So, today, on the dollar store job, I was threatened by a pack of gypo bitches. No, I am not a racist and I don't generalize, saying all gypsy people are bad. Never said all white fucking people are wondeful, either. But I was in a situation today, where my wellbeing was targeted - it may be an ongoing issue - and it was by a well-organized pack of gypo bitches.
Remember that time when I wrote our purses were being checked by a late-night inspection? Okay, sure, sometimes that flies. But the store's rule for catching thieves is: pick your battles. If they seem like they may wait for you outside in the parking lot late at night, don't engage. I'll be sure to bring up today's story the next time someone accuses me of stealing.
I wonder from time to time if I've ever half reacted in any situation, or am I just a walking over-reaction in every situation? G says that doesn't sound like me at all...
Here's the story: I watch WAY too many Liam Neeson movies, and I watch them with G, meaning we talk about shit after, opinionating and analyzing; that's not even leaning into the three years of security engineering university classes. No, I notice shit like you wouldn't believe. Whether or not I opt to ignore it, usually I do. On a bad day I may confront a kid or some noisy teenagers if I catch them damaging the items, but mostly it's just 'fuck it, I have more important things to do, these pencil sharpeners aren't going to shelf themselves.'
First, I notice a super cute little girl, proper as can be, following her phone, just shopping about. We get dozens of those. But she makes eye contact and then she makes another. And then she goes behind one of the stands and makes another.
A spotter.
Not even caring whether she's gesticulating to her family members, I go after her - walking right into a band of women, the elder of which is stuffing candy in her pockets. The three younger women, thirty-something, are blocking her, but I can hear perfectly well the tearing of the candy bag and they are not even trying to hide it. The three make a wall, walking slowly pass me as if I matter nothing. They know perfectly well I have no authority to engage or even accuse them of anything, they've done this many times before. I pick up the torn packaging and start walking behind them, and every time one turns, I am holding the wrapper up, glaring, moving behind them slowly. The movement of them is perfection - by the time I am confronted by their alpha, both little girls and the older woman with her pockets full are out of the store and I am forgetting the first rule of street confrontation: watch your six.
The alpha bitch steps up to me and says that if I open my fucking mouth, she'll stuff the wrapper in it. I am a lot heavier than she is an am really not into being bullied by a rabid she-dog who steals candy in dollar stores. I shout for my manager, and really loudly, so at least twenty people now understand something is happening. I declare I've caught them stealing and they have threatened me.
All three women begin to attack verbally, daring me to search their pockets, I point out through the window where the old woman is looking in. The manager tells me to go, leave, go to the cash register. She begins to apologize to them, de-escalating the situation. The alpha snarls I am lucky to have such a manager, because otherwise she'd punch my fucking face off. I do a boxer's open invitation stance, shouting: come try. Please, try!
The manager orders me, quite aggressively: Kay, go, to the back office, NOW!
I storm off, incidentally turning on the alarm and wait to be reprimanded. But in truth both the manager and her assistant came to me, telling me that these people, they are well known, they can't be deterred and it is simply not worth it, having to worry they'll spend their pathetic days looking for an opportunity to harm me. Having to look over your shoulder just isn't worth the damn candy.
I'll admit. The brain did enjoy frightening me a little. When later an elderly gentleman came up behind me to ask a simple direction, I nearly pissed myself. How easy it would be to stab me with a long needle. And when the General drove me home the car before us stopped and started backing, I thought, that is an ambush maybe, too.
No, of course not. It's not that kind of a town. It's just a weird feeling. Can't remember the last time I was threatened by a complete stranger. Other than for my dog getting into fights, that is. But the town gypsies, they can be nasty as fuck. They are unemployed and they move in packs and they have nothing better to do than to linger. What if one charges me and I hurt them? There will never be the end of it. What if the General's hunting buddy, who is the town police vice-commissioner, warns them social services are on the speed dial regarding the little girls? I don't want to be stuck in a game of chicken with half-literate candy thieves.
Another day in the dollar store, I'm telling ya.
Remember that time when I wrote our purses were being checked by a late-night inspection? Okay, sure, sometimes that flies. But the store's rule for catching thieves is: pick your battles. If they seem like they may wait for you outside in the parking lot late at night, don't engage. I'll be sure to bring up today's story the next time someone accuses me of stealing.
I wonder from time to time if I've ever half reacted in any situation, or am I just a walking over-reaction in every situation? G says that doesn't sound like me at all...
Here's the story: I watch WAY too many Liam Neeson movies, and I watch them with G, meaning we talk about shit after, opinionating and analyzing; that's not even leaning into the three years of security engineering university classes. No, I notice shit like you wouldn't believe. Whether or not I opt to ignore it, usually I do. On a bad day I may confront a kid or some noisy teenagers if I catch them damaging the items, but mostly it's just 'fuck it, I have more important things to do, these pencil sharpeners aren't going to shelf themselves.'
First, I notice a super cute little girl, proper as can be, following her phone, just shopping about. We get dozens of those. But she makes eye contact and then she makes another. And then she goes behind one of the stands and makes another.
A spotter.
Not even caring whether she's gesticulating to her family members, I go after her - walking right into a band of women, the elder of which is stuffing candy in her pockets. The three younger women, thirty-something, are blocking her, but I can hear perfectly well the tearing of the candy bag and they are not even trying to hide it. The three make a wall, walking slowly pass me as if I matter nothing. They know perfectly well I have no authority to engage or even accuse them of anything, they've done this many times before. I pick up the torn packaging and start walking behind them, and every time one turns, I am holding the wrapper up, glaring, moving behind them slowly. The movement of them is perfection - by the time I am confronted by their alpha, both little girls and the older woman with her pockets full are out of the store and I am forgetting the first rule of street confrontation: watch your six.
The alpha bitch steps up to me and says that if I open my fucking mouth, she'll stuff the wrapper in it. I am a lot heavier than she is an am really not into being bullied by a rabid she-dog who steals candy in dollar stores. I shout for my manager, and really loudly, so at least twenty people now understand something is happening. I declare I've caught them stealing and they have threatened me.
All three women begin to attack verbally, daring me to search their pockets, I point out through the window where the old woman is looking in. The manager tells me to go, leave, go to the cash register. She begins to apologize to them, de-escalating the situation. The alpha snarls I am lucky to have such a manager, because otherwise she'd punch my fucking face off. I do a boxer's open invitation stance, shouting: come try. Please, try!
The manager orders me, quite aggressively: Kay, go, to the back office, NOW!
I storm off, incidentally turning on the alarm and wait to be reprimanded. But in truth both the manager and her assistant came to me, telling me that these people, they are well known, they can't be deterred and it is simply not worth it, having to worry they'll spend their pathetic days looking for an opportunity to harm me. Having to look over your shoulder just isn't worth the damn candy.
I'll admit. The brain did enjoy frightening me a little. When later an elderly gentleman came up behind me to ask a simple direction, I nearly pissed myself. How easy it would be to stab me with a long needle. And when the General drove me home the car before us stopped and started backing, I thought, that is an ambush maybe, too.
No, of course not. It's not that kind of a town. It's just a weird feeling. Can't remember the last time I was threatened by a complete stranger. Other than for my dog getting into fights, that is. But the town gypsies, they can be nasty as fuck. They are unemployed and they move in packs and they have nothing better to do than to linger. What if one charges me and I hurt them? There will never be the end of it. What if the General's hunting buddy, who is the town police vice-commissioner, warns them social services are on the speed dial regarding the little girls? I don't want to be stuck in a game of chicken with half-literate candy thieves.
Another day in the dollar store, I'm telling ya.
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