It’s 1997 and I have just turned eighteen. I’ve been working for the same drugstore since I was seventeen and I get offered a transfer and a promotion to a new location. I’m ecstatic and I love the location.
One of the first “assignments” they give me isn’t that great. They’ve hired a floor cleaner to come in and clean the floors. It’s a full clean; they’re stripping the floors, waxing, and doing minor repairs. They’re starting after hours and it will take about ten to thirteen hours to complete. It’s so much work that they’re actually going to close the store the next day so the repairs can be completed and the wax can dry.
They need a manager to stick around and watch the cleaners clean and make sure nothing is taken during the work. As I am eighteen and “full of energy,” guess who got voluntold?
I will be honest; it isn’t that bad of a gig. I get overtime, I’m told I can get snacks and drinks up to $15 for free, and I can bring my Gameboy (yeah, yeah showing my age) and play Pokémon. Oh… and I can wear whatever I want, as long as it isn’t my working polo shirt because we are closed and we don’t want to accidentally make people think we are open.
We’re about six hours into the cleaning, at around 3:00 am, when all of a sudden, I hear a banging on the door and screeching. I have to sit on the actual till counter in a chair. I hop off the counter and have to walk on the tile, which I have been asked to not do, but I don’t have a choice.
There is a woman cussing me out because the door is locked. On the door, it’s clearly stated that the store is closed, why the store is closed, and that the store was closing at 8:00 pm last night and will be closed tomorrow. Apparently, this woman thinks that this does not apply to her.
Customer: “Who the h*** do you think you are?! Do you know who I am?! You let me in right now!”
I am eighteen, sleep-deprived, and hopped up on $15 of caffeine and sugar, so I say:
Me: “I’m sorry, no. Are you someone famous? Also, we are closed. Please see the sign. We will be open again on Sunday. Just to let you know, we have a twenty-four-hour location three miles away on [Highway]. I apologise for the inconvenience, but we are not open.”
Customer: “You will let me in! I need my mascara! I will break the door down! Your lights are on, so you are open! I will have you and this company closed!”
She looks and sees my Gameboy in my hand.
Customer: “What is that?! How dare you play on your work schedule?! You are so fired!”
Me: “Ma’am, we are closed. We are stripping the floors currently. There is no one on duty. I do not have a register open. I really am sorry, but I cannot help you. Again, there is a location three miles away that is open and can help you.”
Customer: “You just wait!” *Storms off*
I figure that this is just a random crazy issue, someone is mad and throwing a tantrum, and they have gone to the other location to get the stupid mascara that they apparently cannot live without at 3:00 am.
But… no.
Forty minutes later, four police cars show up at the store. The woman called the police! The police come to the door.
Police: “Excuse me. Why are you in the drugstore at almost 4:00 am when the store closes at 8:00 pm? We need to enter—”
I am wearing shorts, Birkenstocks, and a Hawaiian button-up — obviously not a work uniform.
Me: “Yes, sir.”
I open the door and the police flood in. I am handcuffed and am told it is precautionary. This is now the first time in my life I have been handcuffed. I would also say that I am officially scared.
Police: “We are detaining you on suspicion of theft.”
Me: “Please don’t, sir! I actually work here!”
They look at my Hawaiian shirt and raise an eyebrow. I look at my shirt and put two and two together and realize that this is not going well for me.
Me: “Well… yeah… I do work here. Listen, this is a misunderstanding. I was asked to be here tonight to watch the guys stripping the floor and waxing the floor and making repairs. My manager told me I would be working after hours and to not wear my work shirt so people wouldn’t think we were open. I am being 100% honest. Please! Ask the workers!”
The workers hear the ruckus over the machines they are using. They stop and see the cops and immediately stop in their tracks.
Workers: “Evening, officer. Umm… what’s going on?”
The police then question the workers, who corroborate my story. They have to show the police their work van, their tools, and their machines, etc. Meanwhile, I am still handcuffed. After about thirty minutes, the police understand this is a HUGE misunderstanding. I am released… though one of the officers decides to be the fashion police and says that an eighteen-year-old doesn’t need to be wearing a Hawaiian shirt.
I honestly think this is going to be the end of the story and you, dear reader, might, too. But you’d be wrong! It’s as if the earlier customer is summoned by a siren’s song. She COMES BACK TO THE STORE as the police are about to leave.
She sees the situation and decides to… I don’t know, be a champion of smug or something? She gets out of the car, walks up to the cops, and introduces herself as the person who called about this situation.
Customer: “Did you arrest him?!” *Looks at me* “I told you… You should have let me buy my mascara!”
Police: “Wait… You called us citing he was stealing.”
Customer: “Well, yes… he was stealing my time!“
This then led to an additional twenty minutes of the officers explaining to the customer what it means to call in a false report. It also led to her getting a ticket.
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