(A teen approaches my cash register very slowly.)
Me: “Can I help you?”
Customer: “Gimme all the f***ing medicine!”
(The teen pulls out an airsoft pistol with orange tip still glued to the front.)
Me: “The pharmacy is in the back of the store.”
Customer: “Oh…okay.”
(He holsters the air-soft gun in his belt and darts down the aisles to the back of the store. My manager comes out of the back room because of the commotion.)
Manager: “Who was that?”
Me: “Some kid looking for drugs. He went back to the pharmacy.”
Manager: “Why didn’t you call the police?”
(The teen runs screaming from the back of the store out of the front door followed closely by the pharmacy technician, a 35 year old boxer built like a fridge.)
Me: “Doug started working today.”