Target Shopper Receives Special Treatment
I wasn’t always in the lab, though. To tell a tale, I once was an honorable member of the Cashiers that are Minors association, or CMA. I was one of those poor saps stuck in the 2-foot by 3-foot standing cubicle, forced to deal with the short-tempered and short brain-celled of society.
It wasn’t all bad. I was a hero once. Oh yes, a hero. I remember it as if it were three and a half years ago in a different zip code. Heck, a different state.
I was wearing the traditional rouge and khaki get-up in my cubicle on that Thursday evening. I recall that it was in the fall, as every shopper that I saw was wearing a coat, a shirt and a bra. Except for the men, children and old people of course.
Another tidbit of information that you the reader should know is that I have large ears. They are barely in proportion to my head, but not so big as to not fit through doorways.
It was at this point that I heard a disturbance behind me in the grocery section of Target, a.k.a. Green Side (from now on, if you ever hear the phrase “green side” in a Target, or “blue side” for that matter, you can identify it by the vibrant colors on the walls near the ceiling).
The first thing I heard was the incriminating phrase, “I don’t got nothing.” Any person who says this with no one around him or her is guilty, plain and simple. By then the head of security, or Asset Protection (here I am, giving you the necessary terminology to make your way around a Super Target), and an additional security guard attempted to cut off the thief’s exit to no avail. Turns out the guy was huge and blew right through them.
You know how Targets are set up, where they have an inside glass door leading to an entry/mud room with another set of doors leading outside? Well, here’s what happened next:
The thief blows past the security guard and the head of AP, making it through the first set of doors. Arrogant, as he has just one-upped two security guards, he looks back at the guards. Big mistake. All of a sudden, the cart attendant takes him out.
As soon as the cart attendant saw him running toward the door, he made his move and tackled him to the floor. This is where I come in.
After the head of AP yells, “Someone call 911!” I turned and stared at my phone, wishing that it would dial itself. Noticing that the phone lacked a mind of its own, I grabbed for it and dialed 9-1-1. After reaching Rich in Dairy, I hung up and dialed 9-9-1-1. Stupid extensions.
From there, I mumbled a few words into the phone, and the police descended from the ceilings to apprehend the thief.
I was a hero. Oh, yes. A hero.
