OF DRIVE-THRU'S, FAST FOOD AND THIEVES, OH MY!

This is an anecdote that needs no embellishment.

I was working at a mini-mart (no, not the one I mentioned before) that sold gas. I'd been there a few years (career choice? No, bosses are like teachers: you find one you're simpatico with, you kinda stick with them), when this amusing madness occurred.

I was working a swing shift (for those of you unfamiliar with this term, that's usually, not always, 3-11 P.M). It was past dusk, but it was a hoppin' place, let me tell you. So I and this lady were working behind the counter, a swirl of humanity coming in and out the doors, when this regular customer says, "Hey! That guy stole some beer." I looked at her. "You're kidding!" "There he goes now!" Now this place had these huge windows on the sides and in the front: as a result, there were advertisements aplenty. So all I saw was this long hair bobbing over the top of these posters, going off to the right side. So I just dropped what I was doing, and went out.

Mind you, this was back in the early nineties, when people didn't get shot for this sort of behavior. Also, this was in Dublin (California), which is a relatively safe place in the S.F Bay Area.

So I go out the door, as the gal I'm working with calls the police.

Now, I'm a cagey fellow. If say a pickpocket lifts your wallet, and you yell "Hey you!", well, dollars to donuts said thief's going to take off like a bat out of hell. So I kept my mouth shut, and followed.

Right next door, there's a Jack-In-The-Box. I see this fellow (long-haired, short white guy) walk up and turn into the drive-thru. He's on foot, so I'm thinking, "What the hell?" I walk up.

I see him toss the two 12 packs into a car, and walk up to the car ahead of it. So I go up to the auto, and look in. There's about 4 fellows sitting in the car. Lo and behold, I know most of them. I bend to the window.

"Give the beer back." "Oh, hey, he's with us! It's okay!" "He didn't pay for it." "What!?!?!" They gave up the 12 packs, toot sweet, you betcha. Meanwhile, the beer thief is on the passenger's side of the car in front, staring at me, eyes wide as saucers. I take the 12 packs, walk by him.

He bangs into me with his shoulder. "Hey, wait a minute! I paid for those!" And presents me with a Lucky's receipt. I look at him, glance at the receipt, mutter something along the lines of "Yeah, right." And walk off. He calls me a fag, faggot, something like that.

I reach the door of the mini-mart. The gal I was working with meets me, her eyes big, mouth open. "You got them back?" I nod, replace the beer in the cooler.

What happens next is un-be-LIEVABLE, even for me, and I was there.

Johnny numbnuts comes back INTO the store, demanding his beer back! And I mean, pitching a goddam fit about it, threatening to sue, call his lawyer. Claimed he'd paid some guy 5 bucks to purchase it for him. The black lady I'm working with, she says, "Honey, you should hold on to your money better."

So I'm standing behind the counter, my jaw bouncing off my sneakers, completely dumbfounded by this, this, oh, the adjectives fail! Bozo, nimrod, numbnut, idiot. Man, I'm telling you, this guy was long on brass, short on everything else. When told the cops were on their way, he of course retreated right quick, running his mouth all the way out the door.

No word of a lie, squire. "Just the facts," as Jack Friday used to say, on Dragnet.

The moral here, being:

1. Don't take what's not yours, and


2. If you're willing to beg, borrow, or steal booze, harass the clerk about being ID'ed, or the liquor cabinets being closed after 2 A.M (California law), then just MAYBE, you should start attending AA meetings, 'cause buddy-me-boyo, you most definitely have a PROBLEM.