You get what you pay for

Remember that episode of Seinfeld where Elaine was ghostwriting J. Peterman’s biography and he buys some of Kramer’s stories? Well yesterday I bought the following story from a coworker. She knows she can no longer claim this happened to her, and since she would only provide the barest of details I paid her a dollar and spiced up the rest.

The Day I Stared Down the Barrel of an
Overexcited Suburban Cop’s Gun

It was one of those raw, gray days in early March and I just returned from lunch to my job at a high end clothing store. The week prior, I had all but given upon my dreams of becoming a shock jock on Chicago’s hottest radio station, and was dreading what was ahead of me—a lifetime of telling wealthy, bored housewives they look great, when in fact they usually look like shit.

When I arrived at the store, a mere 15 minutes late, my manager Wanda rolled her eyes and went to the storeroom. I flipped up my middle finger at her turned back and mouthed the words “Fuck you.”

My coworker was taking all this in from the behind the counter.

“Angie, are you like trying to get fired?” she asked.

“Shut up.”

“Angie, why are you so mean?”

“You want to see mean?” I pushed her and she fell forward, reaching her left hand out to break her fall. In the process she hit the store’s robbery panic button that brings the police around.

“Angie! Now the cops are going to come! We have to call the 911!”

I started to light a cigarette, casually of course. I took a drag and then exhaled dramatically.

“The pigs? I ain’t calling no stinking pigs,” I said shaking my head.

I leaned against the counter with one hand and took long drags off my cigarette. I chuckled as she frantically told the 911 operator that it was a false alarm. After about 3 minutes of this, I decided my shift was over. I put my cigarette out on the cash register and made my way to the door.

“Angie, stick around! We need to tell Wanda what happened. . . ANGIE!!!”

I turned around, and said, “Hey, what if I don't Wanda stick around?”I busted out laughing. and headed back toward the door just as police cars began to barrel through the parking lot toward the store.

Four officers--seemingly appearing out of thin air--broke through the doors with their weapons at the ready. The few customers in the store coward behind clothing racks.

One cop stepped forward and pointed his gun right at me.

"DON'T MOVE!"

I raised my hands over my head. "It was just a false alarm," I said utterly shocked at the response we got. And I wondered why he chose me to get such a close look at his gun.

"Well, where's the manager? I need her to tell us it's ok," he said.

There's no way I wanted to face Wanda so I quickly devised a plan.

"Dude, your fly's down." I said. The cop looked down at his zipper and I kicked him in the head and quickly grabbed his gun and a customer all in one deft movement. No one knew what hit them.

I dragged the customer at gunpoint to a Pace bus stop and the two of us got on. My "hostage" and I became pretty good friends fast and I hung out at her place until the heat died down.

I've been on the lam ever since.