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Oct. 2nd, 2009 11:11 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
damagecatI am also positive that the experience will provide more than adequate fodder for next month’s novel writing extravaganza.
At one thirty a.m. this morning, I was robbed, at gunpoint. An Afro-American male entered the empty store, dressed all in black, with a black ball cap pulled down low, so the bill covered his forehead. He had a black bandana tied around his face, ala television westerns, pulled up just beneath his eyes. When he cleared the door, he reached behind him and pulled a pistol from beneath his shirt.
In the time it took me to register all of the above, he ran up to me and pointed the gun in my face and backed me up behind the counter. He ordered me to open the register, shaking the gun beneath my nose, and telling me to be quick about it. I complied immediately and he proceeded to hold the gun on me with his right hand while emptying the money drawer with his left.
He then told me to open the other register, which I did instantly. Then… he put the gun in my face again and told me to lie down on the floor. Now, I have seen entirely too much television not to realize this was going to end badly, but I did as I was told, praying as sincerely as I ever have in my entire life, that he would not shoot me in the back of the head. I moved as far away from him as possible, actually out of his line of vision and dropped to the floor.
My prayers were answered, because he busied himself removing the cash from the second register, pausing long enough to gather a fistful of Swisher Sweet original *and* grape flavored cigarillos from the tobacco shelf, before beating a hasty retreat. I realize it is all about being gangsta and oozing self-confidence, but I felt this move to be totally grandiose.
Without standing up, I crawled to the telephone and dialed 911 before he had even closed the door behind him. By this time, I had started to shake and my voice was breathy and weak. The emergency operator had to ask me several times to repeat my previous statements. Initially, I thought the woman was insane, asking me such mundane questions when I had just experienced such a traumatic event, however thinking back, I realize she was only helping me keep my shit in one sock, in the neighborhood vernacular.
She kept me on the line until the police officers arrived. They blocked off the parking lot, and positioned patrol cars in all for directions at each cross street and put up that cool yellow police tape to block the store entrance. (They let me keep the tape, too. So kewl, rilly.)
They brought in the K-9 team and had the dogs trying to find a scent worthy of following, but no joy.
Just like the last time I was robbed, (Christmas Eve, 2006) I was asked to ride along in a prowl car for a ‘drive by I.D.’, but once again, no positive identification could be made. We drove several blocks from the store and turned onto a residential street. The officer slowed in front of a house where at least ten people, mostly A-A males were gathered between two cars in a driveway. Okay, so it’s two o’clock in the morning. What the f*ck are people doing outside in large groups, at this time of the night, I ask you?
Any way, the officer assures me, “Don’t worry. They won’t be able to see you once I hit them with the spot light.” Which… he proceeded to do. I swear, it lit up the entire front yard. Everyone threw up a hand to block their eyes from the sudden intensity of the light. I did not say so to the officer, but I wondered how I was supposed to tell anything from a group of men with hands covering their faces. No matter, because none of them had on similar clothing to my assailant, or made any effort to run when a police car showed up in front of the house, ya know?
So, my manager arrived about two hours after the fact and played the DVR footage (on the store's main computer) for the female officer, L. Gianopoulis, bless her, who had remained with me the entire time.
I knew, even in my state of extreme agitation that the man was in the store an incredibly short amount of time… I mean really short, despite the sense that it had lasted forever, because, well, he had a gun in my face. But all of us, including Officer Gianopoulis were surprised when we found out exactly how fast the robbery occurred. The camera aimed at the front doors picked him up at 1.30 a.m. and the 911 operator logged my call at 1.33 a.m. Three minutes? Really? This guy stopped for blunt wraps, mind you and still was in and out with $150.00 in three fucking minutes!
The one concession made to admit that this was not a business as usual night was that the manager called the day clerk and asked him to come in at six, rather than seven, so I could go home an hour early. Thanks, boss, srsly.
I did not have to stay and speak with the regional manager, thank heaven, but I have had three phone calls from the store this morning, asking for clarification of details while the my boss and his boss struggled to fill out the online incident report required by Corporate. I was also informed that there was counseling available if I felt it was needed at no cost to me. Just another perk provided by the Fourth Reich… er… One Best Way. Whoo Hoo!
Luckily, tonight is my night off and tomorrow, I work during the day, with help. I will not work alone again until Monday night. Hopefully, by then I will be over the total creepiness I feel right now and be ready to take care of business. If not, I might just avail myself of the free counseling and develop a justified case of PTSD.
At one thirty a.m. this morning, I was robbed, at gunpoint. An Afro-American male entered the empty store, dressed all in black, with a black ball cap pulled down low, so the bill covered his forehead. He had a black bandana tied around his face, ala television westerns, pulled up just beneath his eyes. When he cleared the door, he reached behind him and pulled a pistol from beneath his shirt.
In the time it took me to register all of the above, he ran up to me and pointed the gun in my face and backed me up behind the counter. He ordered me to open the register, shaking the gun beneath my nose, and telling me to be quick about it. I complied immediately and he proceeded to hold the gun on me with his right hand while emptying the money drawer with his left.
He then told me to open the other register, which I did instantly. Then… he put the gun in my face again and told me to lie down on the floor. Now, I have seen entirely too much television not to realize this was going to end badly, but I did as I was told, praying as sincerely as I ever have in my entire life, that he would not shoot me in the back of the head. I moved as far away from him as possible, actually out of his line of vision and dropped to the floor.
My prayers were answered, because he busied himself removing the cash from the second register, pausing long enough to gather a fistful of Swisher Sweet original *and* grape flavored cigarillos from the tobacco shelf, before beating a hasty retreat. I realize it is all about being gangsta and oozing self-confidence, but I felt this move to be totally grandiose.
Without standing up, I crawled to the telephone and dialed 911 before he had even closed the door behind him. By this time, I had started to shake and my voice was breathy and weak. The emergency operator had to ask me several times to repeat my previous statements. Initially, I thought the woman was insane, asking me such mundane questions when I had just experienced such a traumatic event, however thinking back, I realize she was only helping me keep my shit in one sock, in the neighborhood vernacular.
She kept me on the line until the police officers arrived. They blocked off the parking lot, and positioned patrol cars in all for directions at each cross street and put up that cool yellow police tape to block the store entrance. (They let me keep the tape, too. So kewl, rilly.)
They brought in the K-9 team and had the dogs trying to find a scent worthy of following, but no joy.
Just like the last time I was robbed, (Christmas Eve, 2006) I was asked to ride along in a prowl car for a ‘drive by I.D.’, but once again, no positive identification could be made. We drove several blocks from the store and turned onto a residential street. The officer slowed in front of a house where at least ten people, mostly A-A males were gathered between two cars in a driveway. Okay, so it’s two o’clock in the morning. What the f*ck are people doing outside in large groups, at this time of the night, I ask you?
Any way, the officer assures me, “Don’t worry. They won’t be able to see you once I hit them with the spot light.” Which… he proceeded to do. I swear, it lit up the entire front yard. Everyone threw up a hand to block their eyes from the sudden intensity of the light. I did not say so to the officer, but I wondered how I was supposed to tell anything from a group of men with hands covering their faces. No matter, because none of them had on similar clothing to my assailant, or made any effort to run when a police car showed up in front of the house, ya know?
So, my manager arrived about two hours after the fact and played the DVR footage (on the store's main computer) for the female officer, L. Gianopoulis, bless her, who had remained with me the entire time.
I knew, even in my state of extreme agitation that the man was in the store an incredibly short amount of time… I mean really short, despite the sense that it had lasted forever, because, well, he had a gun in my face. But all of us, including Officer Gianopoulis were surprised when we found out exactly how fast the robbery occurred. The camera aimed at the front doors picked him up at 1.30 a.m. and the 911 operator logged my call at 1.33 a.m. Three minutes? Really? This guy stopped for blunt wraps, mind you and still was in and out with $150.00 in three fucking minutes!
The one concession made to admit that this was not a business as usual night was that the manager called the day clerk and asked him to come in at six, rather than seven, so I could go home an hour early. Thanks, boss, srsly.
I did not have to stay and speak with the regional manager, thank heaven, but I have had three phone calls from the store this morning, asking for clarification of details while the my boss and his boss struggled to fill out the online incident report required by Corporate. I was also informed that there was counseling available if I felt it was needed at no cost to me. Just another perk provided by the Fourth Reich… er… One Best Way. Whoo Hoo!
Luckily, tonight is my night off and tomorrow, I work during the day, with help. I will not work alone again until Monday night. Hopefully, by then I will be over the total creepiness I feel right now and be ready to take care of business. If not, I might just avail myself of the free counseling and develop a justified case of PTSD.
