Snappy Title

So I'm standing at my Special Services desk (which is really a counter) doing a return for a customer -- I've got his $5.35 refund in my hand -- when I hear the Sensormatic alarm go off, which indicates nine times out of ten that either a cashier has failed to deactivate purchased mercandise or that a customer has become very confused and is trying to take merchandise to the Returns register for purchase there. That tenth time though...

They've erected a barricade along the chainlink fence that separates the Returns/Special Services area from the rest of the store, (these sorts of visibility-infringing displays are the result of the fact that people in suits in Atlanta, most of whom have apparently ever actually worked in a store, dictate where stuff goes -- they think it's a good idea to have a wall of hand-tools that prevents me from seeing would-be theives and who am I to argue? anyway...) so that I'm flying blind when I cut behind the Returns register to intercept whoever has tripped the alarm and find out what's up.

Now, again, nine times out of ten when you stop someone who's sounded the bell, they're embarassed or confused or inconvienieced or something, but it's rarely a big deal. This morning, however, as I make the sweep toward the exit, I'm met by a shady character straight out of central casting walking with purpose toward the door -- head down, hands in the pocket of his hooded sweawtshirt. His hood's up and he's got a flannel on over the hoody. He's also got a ball-cap pulled down low over his scraggly face and dude is walking fast.

"Sir," I say, pleasant as punch. He stops and turns toward me.

"I need you to walk back this way for please." I've said that a hundred times, but I knew this one was going to be different. He started back toward the sensor with me and then suddenly threw two pieces of merchandise to the floor and turned and sprinted hard out the door.

We've got an absolutley brilliant Loss Prevention Manager in our Cincinnati District -- she's good at her job like Michael Wilson is good at his -- and she's told us a million times not to be heroes when something like this happens. Bad things can happen -- a friend who left The Depot to do Loss Prevention at a neighboring Sears nearly died last year when a would-be thief knifed him like you wouldn't believe -- and Janet is adamant that nothing like that happen to us, so I can hear her voice as this dude's almost-plunder hits the floor at my feet,

"We just want our stuff back," she's forever saying.

Nuts to that.

And I take off running.

Dude's got a pretty good jump on me, he's way more motivated than I, (and come on, do I look like a sprinter to you?) so I know I'm not going to catch him, and this takes all of the fear out of whatever I feel like I want to do (gosh!). I decide I'll try for a liscense plate number -- that'd be helpful - but he runs into the parking lot and gets far enough out that I know that not even my LASIK-enhanced laser vision is going to read any digits. I figure I can at least get a description of his vehicle but he just keeps running toward the back of the parking lot.

Funny thing is, every twenty feet or so he turns to look over his shoulder to see if I'm still follwing. I'm not -- I've just stopped to watch by now -- but when he looks over his shoulder I wave like a long lost friend, give him my biggest shit-eating smile, and holler, "Buh-bye!" He turns to run again and when he looks back again, I repeat my smile & wave bit. He flips me the bird without breaking stride and cuts across the back of the parking lot, parallel with the front of the store. I mirror his direction and as he crosses the aisle, he looks, again, I smile real big and wave and he flips me off.

At this point, I'm having entirely too much fun. We do it one more time and he disappears over a hill at the back of the lot toward Media Play. They can have him too -- those guys are the absolute worst for not deactivating their Sensormatic tags when you buy stuff there -- and I make my way back into the store, where our conscientious Returns cashiers are filling out Janet's beloved Sensormatic Log (we have a binder for everything).

"Did you get him?" one of them asks me.

"No, but he did flip me off several times."

Back to Special Services now, where I realize for the first time since the alarm sounded that I still have my customer's $5.35 and refund receipt in my hand. He's just standing there waiting patiently and I smile and hand it over.

"Thank you sir, have a great Thanksgiving."