Closing Time Is A Vicious Cycle Accident

(I work at a popular home-improvement store. At two minutes to closing time a man comes dashing through the door. This happens regularly, so I think nothing of it.)

Me: *joking* “Better run!”

Customer: *with a huge grin on his face* “Yeah, I crashed my bike getting here!”

(As he runs past me, I see that he’s bleeding in several places on his side and arm, but I have no time to say anything before he’s off down an aisle. A couple minutes later, he comes back with a large box of nails cradled in the crook of his arm.)

Me: “Woah, hold on. Are you okay? Let me get you some bandages—”

Customer: *still grinning* “Nah, I’m fine. I think I dislocated my shoulder, though. Does it look bad?”

(I look, and sure enough, the joint is popped out of its socket. He heads over to the checkout counter, grinning the whole time.)

Me: “It looks terrible! Oh, my god. You need medical attention. Do you want me to call you an ambulance?”

Customer: “Nope, don’t call an ambulance.”

Me: “Are you sure? That looks like it really hurts!”

Customer: *cheerfully* “It really hurts!”

Me: “You’re bleeding and your shoulder is dislocated! You need to go to a doctor or something at least!”

Customer: “Yeah, or something. See ya!”

(He grabbed his stuff and dashed out the door. It was the end of my shift, so my supervisor made me go clock out in spite of my begging her to let me stay to make sure he was all right. When I got back, he was gone. I can only hope the crazy dude got himself to a hospital.)