PhilYouIn.com

I had two very different problems with my customers.

First, they could spend hours hanging out in my store, bending my ear about the dumbest things. Their genius children. The weather. Religion (ugh). This made it difficult for me to get any work done.

So, I made it very clear to all of my employees: if ever they saw me speaking with a customer for more than a few minutes, they should call me away in any manner possible. No matter how interested I looked (I was always very good at seeming interested in what my customers had to say).

Shoplifting, while not as brazen as it is today, was also a real pain in my ass. Sometimes, as soon as I would return with the merchandise from one chase, the alarm would ring, and I would be off again. It was very time consuming, because I chased down each and every thief; I felt if I let them get away, I might as well have given them a key to the store. Make them partners.

It was actually the reason I became a runner; I had no choice.

My store was one of twelve in a busy outdoor strip mall, with a large parking lot in front. It was 1985, an exciting era for retailers in New York City. Exciting like the Wild West.

One weekday evening I had my eye on a ten-year-old boy, basically because he had his eye on me. Which was a real ‘tell.’ At the same time, a lady was talking my ear off about her intellectually advanced children.

I had already wasted about 15 minutes tailing the kid – with the lady tailing me (my aforementioned employee training had failed, miserably) – when the kid finally made his move. He grabbed a green ‘Power Ranger’ figure (the most popular one) and ran out the door.

I flew after him (I was known as Retail Man in those days). Turned left as soon as I exited the store, but he was gone. Disappeared. Dematerialized. Poof!

I ran to the center of the parking lot, and slowly turned clockwise, peering into the other stores, carefully checking the narrow spaces between the parked cars.

Nothing.

I walked towards the curb in front of the stores, frustrated and angry. Pissed off. I hated when people got away with my stuff. Whatever it was: a toy. Aspirin. A pack of gum. Didn’t matter; it drove me nuts. Actually kept me up nights.

Before I reached the sidewalk, I decided, as a last resort, to check under the cars. I didn’t really think anyone would be crazy enough to crawl under there, but I just had to be certain. So, I lay flat on my nice dress shirt on the hot dirty tar in the dark and looked to my right.

Nothing but mufflers.

When I looked to my left, I saw a pair of eyes staring back at me.

Got him!

I quickly shimmied under the car as far as I could fit, then reached out with my left arm to grab the kid. That’s when he bit my hand. Hard.

As I recoiled, I thought of the mysterious, deadly new disease that was all over the newspapers (remember newspapers?); the one with the same name as the popular weight loss candy we sold. The one transferrable by blood and saliva.

This kid was not going to get away with it. But he was going to get it.

I stood up, blood literally dripping from my hand. But I didn’t feel it; I was too consumed with anger and vengeance. When he crawled out, I flew over the hood of the car like Mel Gibson and pounced on him. Grabbed him by the collar with my right hand and dragged him back towards the store. I even slapped him in the back of his head with my damaged left hand (sorry, but I was really pissed).

I yanked him down the first aisle, where we had the cosmetics counter and a telephone, the crowd of customers in front of me dispersing like the Red Sea. Told the kid I would dial 911 unless he told me his phone number, then immediately dialed 911 before he could answer. To show him I wasn’t fooling around. So, he gave me his number.

I called, and after a twenty minute wait his mother finally arrived. I filled her in on the evening’s festivities; I even unwrapped my damaged hand to show her the blood congealing over her son’s teeth marks.

She began to yell; she really went off. On ME! Seems her little boy was raised better than that, and how dare I accuse him of stealing?!?? Then she showed me how much money she had in her purse. Whatever that was supposed to mean.

I bet you thought I was exaggerating when I said the 1980s were like the Wild West!

We went at it for a while, the customers keeping a safe distance, probably praying for someone to quickly invent a portable phone that could record video.

Finally, the lady grabbed her precious boy and exited the store, promising to return with his father, and a baseball bat which he would apply to my skull.

Not the first time I had heard that threat.

She also slapped the kid in his head several times as they exited. Apparently, she was upset that he got caught.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

Time does indeed fly.

Twelve years went by. I had a blood test at my next physical following the bite, and I did not have AIDS. Fifteen months later, the company that manufactured Ayds diet candy went under.

It was November, 1997, same store, same aisle. I was speaking with the manager of the aforementioned cosmetics department, when a woman approached, accompanied by a young man in his mid-twenties. She said hello; I was afraid that she expected me to know who she was, which I did not.

I returned her greeting and smiled. She smiled. Then she introduced her son, Gregory, who smiled in turn. It was beginning to get awkward.

“Do you remember Gregory?” she asked me.

I thought about it for a while, then admitted that I did not.

“Gregory used to ride his bike here when he was a little boy. You would always tell him to leave it out front, then stand outside and keep an eye on it for him. You were always very nice to Gregory. And Gregory just got his degree. He’s a dentist. He wanted to tell you.”

O….kay. And?

“You don’t remember me,” Gregory said. “But I remember you. You would always give me candy when I was little.”

“Oh,” I said. I always gave all the little kids stuff. I was hoping he would get to the point.

“And I was here that night.”

“What night?” I asked, finally getting a bit interested.

“The night that kid bit you. You went crazy! You were bleeding all over the place, and screaming, and yanking him back and forth like a rag doll. You really scared me straight. I don’t think I would be a dentist today if I hadn’t seen what happened that night. I thought I should come in and tell you.”

Wow. I was feeling pretty impressed with myself. Something I did actually had an effect on someone’s life. Plus, he made a trip to the store just to tell me. To make me feel good. Which it certainly did.

It also reminded me of the ending of the movie, “Wyatt Earp,” when the kid approaches an aging Wyatt (Kevin Costner) on the boat in Alaska and thanks him for saving his father from an angry mob years before!

And I was beginning to feel just as embarrassed as Costner seemed to be in the movie. I also had no way out, just like Costner. I didn’t know how I was expected to respond.

“That’s great,” I said. What else was there to say? Then I just stood there with a dumb grin on my face, happy that I had made them happy, waiting for them to leave. But they just stood there staring at me and smiling.

I was afraid that this could go on all night…

That was when my employee training sessions finally kicked in. “Urgent call in the Pharmacy Department for Phil. Urgent call!”

I wished the kid luck and made my escape.