Bulldozer To The Rescue!

October 7, 2015 at 12:13 pm (Cussed Dumbers, Drunk and disorderly)

I was blessed with a four-day weekend, minus a four-hour lunch shift smack-dab in the middle. When the cats are away, the mice will play.

Thieving Shitbird

Thieving Shitbird

Southie went on a two-week vacation, leaving the inmates in charge of the asylum. There are usually enough veterans to keep the children (new hires) in line and behaving. But, that’s like dealing with six-year-olds. You have to be firm, persistent and loving.

Then there are the Dirt Urchins, who act like retarded four-year-olds. They need to be spanked like sorry-assed stepchildren.

MY first theft of the night involved a 25-year-old black male, fresh from an institution, judging from the looks of his grey sweats and shirt. He comes on strong, has no manners, it was a matter of time until we butted heads. He approached the counter as a girl was buying cigarettes. “Book of matches?”

“Five cents.”

“Fuck it, I got a lighter!” He tapped the girl’s arm, motioning for her to give him a cigarette. When she did without comment, I assumed they were together. When they went outside, she scurried away as quickly as possible. Okay, he’s a Shitbird Panhandler.

Thieving Shitbird Panhandler was sitting at the sidewalk table of the cafe next door, nursing a can of Miller High Life. I walked back to our cooler and saw why he didn’t mind not getting matches. Apparently today is free beer day! A can of Miller High Life was missing from a six-pack. I took the five-pack to the door and waved at him. “You’re 86ed. Don’t come back, to ANY of our stores.”

I went inside and dialed Clean & Safe, gave ’em the whassup. Officer Pic was across the street in two minutes, but Shitbird had flown.

A bit later, Rain came to visit. As she made coffee, a young tweaker gal entered the store. After perusing the candy for five minutes, reading labels, I knew she wouldn’t be buying anything. She’d pick up a candy bar, put it back, pick up another of the exact same candy bar, study the label. Having 1500×1900 resolution on our security screen means I can look at one screen and watch everything, including my back. She was carrying about $15 in candy.

When she got to the ice cream bars, and after me walking up to her and staring directly at her, she lifted her jacket, put a $4 ice cream under it and started for the counter. Here’s where we discover she’s lost her money, or can’t find her food stamp card, or her friends are coming right in to pay for this. Bullshit. I took her so-called purchases from her, lifted the jacket and retrieved the ice cream. “Hey, I was gonna buy that!”

“That’s why you had to hide it in your purse, next to your wallet? Oh, what’s this?” There was a bag of Honey Fritos, opened and a couple bites missing. I took it along with the ice cream.

“Hey! That’s mine! I paid for that!” She was miffed that someone would take something that didn’t belong to them! The nerve!

“Go fucking get it, then.” I threw the bag out the door onto the sidewalk. “GET OUT! GET OUT! GET OUT! YOU ARE 86ed FROM ALL MASTER P’S!”

She dawdled, so I walked outside and kicked her bag of Fritos. They flew every which way, with the majority ending up in the left tire lane of 4th Avenue. I will be feeding the winged shitbirds tomorrow.

“That’s really disrespectful,”said my thieving cunt.

“Oh, and being a thieving cunt is RESPECTFUL?” I was livid, and my NSFW was more Not Safe For Anyone.

She left, and Rain looked at me and smiled. “She tried stealing something, didn’t she? That’s the thieving cunt that stole my Obamaphone. Water under the bridge,”she added, as she saw my hackles rising again. I think she gets a bit turned on when I get righteously pissed.

I went to the log book and recorded the details. I noticed the previous entry,where Giggles had a run-in with a girl fitting the same description, minus the c-words.

"Please don't come again."

“Please don’t come again.”

But the piece de resistance, the fucking cherry on top, was the return of Oggie. This flaming butthole was one of my first repeat wine thieves. He would wander in, casually grab a bottle and sashay out, once he even said thank you. But he is relentless, and police/C&S won’t deal with him, because mentally ill and overly intoxicated isn’t on their checkboxes. So we threaten.

And threaten. Southie has told him he’s gonna drag him in an alley and have him sodomized; Oggie don’t care. “Ooh! A date with drinks!” I have told him I was going to break things if he ever came back. He’s been back three times this week, that I’ve caught him. Each time I have upped the intensity.

His first attempt came about an hour before Giggles’ arrival. I watched him come in, head for the coffee bar, stand there and wait until the slow old man made his coffee, then followed them into checkout line. When he turned his back to me, I made a beeline. The bottle of Duck Pond ($23) was going into his pants. I grabbed it. “Hey, I was gonna buy that!” I’m always bad for sales.

“GET OUT! GET OUT! GET OUT! YOU ARE 86ed FROM ALL MASTER P’S!” My shove left him hopping on one leg like a Hanna-Barbera cartoon character cornering. “And stay out!” I returned to a line of gaping-mouthed night-dwellers who’d rather be anywhere else. “How ya doin’?” I asked the now-polite black dude buying a Swisher.

“Have a better night, bro.”

I thanked him. It was the first positive thing I’d dealt with in a while.

Giggles arrived as I did my sixth entry of the day. I gave him Oggie’s description, took my till and went to the office. I immediately look out the peephole, and sure enough, Oggie was at the counter, trying to get Giggles to look for something behind the counter.

I was off.

I removed my jacket with any questionable content (including the brass knuckles that walk me home at night) and handed it to Giggles. I marched around the counter and up to Oggie. “WHAT DID I JUST FUCKING TELL YOU?”

‘To stay out of the store?” Sheepish.

“Ding ding ding! Give this man a black eye! Get… the…fuck… out.” I shoved him out the door again. Then a light went off in my head. Giggles has the front, I can follow him a bit. So I did.

Oggie started running, and was out of breath after three steps. I was right on his neck, and when he stopped I saw my opportunity for a little street justice. With my left knuckles, just hard but enough to get his attention, I smacked him in the back of the head. Hangover is gonna be a bitch tomorrow.

“Oww! You hit me!”

“Yeah, and next time I’m gonna hit you harder, motherfucker! DO… NOT… COME… BACK!”

I felt better after that, but wished I’d just gone off and tuned him up like an aforementioned sorry-assed stepchild. But I’m not into beating up cripples and old people, and Oggie will be one before me, even though I am older.

But, as Bob Seger sings, “We’ve got tonight…”

 

 

 

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3 Comments

  1. Festus said,

    Glad I stayed home

  2. ArtEast said,

    Master P’needful P’thing’s 2.0….:-)

  3. Festus said,

    He left the store last night face first into the sidewalk. Was very happy to do it. Did not have any other issues.

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