"I just got out of jail" is a red flag

Graveyard.

In an already interesting night when paramedics told me about a guy who decided he had to paint his house with his own blood, (he barely survived as I understand), several college age men in the store and this "Bad Boy" attitude I've started to take on working graveyard shifts, I discovered that I'm getting a little more... ballsy?

The man who stumbled in the door was tall and gaunt, spindly and quite likely drunk. His unkempt gray hair was long and was matted to his worn leather coat with rain.

"I JUST GOT OUT OF JAIL." he announced, and stood right by the ice cream cooler and started looking into the clerks-only area. "I did my six hours," he bragged. I assume he was thrown in the drunk tank early in the evening, since it was only a little before midnight. He reached over the displays and started to try to take a lighter.

"Hey. Get out of that. That's for me to mess with. Get in line like everyone else." I growled. With an opening line like his I have no patience for such lame fuckery. He looked at me as though he didn't expect to be told not to try to steal something and wandered back to my customers, all huddled around a single cooler door where he proceeded to try to bum money and cigarettes off them. I considered telling him not to, but assumed he'd give me a better reason to kick him out.

Hey how's it going, you can call me Nostradamus. Another accurate prediction.

He returned to that same spot and started watching me work the register as the other customers started making their purchases. One man paid with a $20 bill, and I started to put it in the auto-safe.

"Oh you got a twenty-" the recently released man said, and he started to reach over the displays again in an attempt to take it from me.

Before I had the opportunity to consider the possible repercussions and hazards to my personal well being this course of action could result in, calmly slapped his hand with a loud "NO." The sound of my hand striking his was sharp and loud and pierced the conversation my customers were having easily.

I went back to taking care of the customers but looked over my shoulder at the man who was completely taken aback that someone like myself would strike him, even just a little swat like that.

"Yeah get out, man." I said.

He rolled his eyes, tilted his head back and left with a "yeah, yeah..."

The customers never even noticed this little altercation, thus constituting a minor victory on my part.

Ten minutes later I realized my finger tips were still a little numb. I guess I slapped his hand pretty damn hard.

Vigilance

First, my apologies for an extended absence there. Life has been undergoing some drastic and time consuming changes. That, and I rediscovered Dwarf Fortress and have been diligently wasting my time with that. I've been working out and jogging, which are very new to my life, too, so I've been busy researching upwards of four hours a day, though not limited to said subjects.

That said...

Graveyard

After stepping outside with one of the regulars for a chat a homeless man came up to me and asked if I would like to "Tune On", a euphemism for getting high that I haven't heard anyone use outside of songs from the 70's. I noticed he was with a young lady, no older than 20 and possibly younger, who was obviously not sober. She hid her face in the crook of her elbow, and peered about fearfully.

I declined, explaining that it's completely out of the question 'coz I have a policy of always working sober. He was fine with this, and we spoke for a moment on hard times. He mentioned that he had been on the streets for six years and that he was ready for a change, time to clean up and get a van to live in and a job. This sounded like a good idea to me so I more or less congratulated him on that decision, and went back inside to work.

After serving no more than two customers, that same girl came in the store. I gave her the usual greeting but she didn't reply. Instead she walked to the back of the store and over to the beer cooler, then back the way she came waltzing out the door with an 18 pack of beer.

"Hey- HEY. NO YA DON'T!!" I yelled as I lept over the counter. She tried to hurry up but was evidently too intoxicated to run, so she only walked fast. Not even five feet out the front door I grabbed the box of beer right out of her hands, yelling "NOT COOL!" as she continued to retreat slowly around the corner of the store.

I followed and pulled out my phone, waved it at them and proceded to call the police as I stared directly at them.

"Why would you do that!?" shouted the homeless man, "That's not ok dude! What's wrong with you!?"

"She just tried to steal beer from me, man, don't you steal my line too!" and I went inside, proceding to give details to the operator.

This night, I discovered that I can leap over the counter and be out the door in under three seconds. I'm mighty proud of that.

Eating's Not Cheating

Immediately after a graveyard shift

I suppose it's cheating to include something that occurred outside work, but this little gem of self deprecation is too good to keep to myself.

At a 24 hour diner, two friends who had kept my company, (and acted as security as needed), and I were eating what we considered dinner. Burgers for them, a philly cheese steak for myself. The gentleman across the table chimed in with a joke.

"Why couldn't Anne Frank drive a car?"

"Heard it," I said. "'coz she's a woman."

"Yeah. Ok. Damn. How's this? Why did Anne Frank's dog kill itself?"

"You would too if your name was HNNEARURUUUURFFF. Dude, you're going to be hard pressed to tell me an Anne Frank joke that I haven't heard." I smiled, so very sure of myself. "Man," I continued, "Once I got into this argument with this girl who insisted that Anne Frank was the girl who hid from Nazis and wrote that famous diary, and just wouldn't let up. For fucks sake, she was the deaf dumb and blind girl in the south. Everyone knows that."

This went on for about five minutes before my other friend chimed in.

"...you guys mean Hellen Keller, right?"

Silence.

"FFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUU-"

(for clarifications sake, the argument I got into with a girl in the past- she was actually insisting that Anne Frank's name was Hellen Keller... which means the gentleman across the table and I had just done the exact same thing I was complaining about while complaining about it.)