I had an interesting encounter the other night.
It was almost midnight. I was up because my sleep schedule has flipped. Iām awake most of the night, and sleep until late in the morning.
At 11:45 p.m., I wanted some wine. I donned my mask and drove to the nearest Chevron station, which I often frequent for gas, bananas, half-and-half, and beef sticks for my dogs. When I stepped into the store, there was a strange, intense vibe. There were three young men and a woman, kind of looming around. One guy was standing near the door, just looking out toward the intersection.
A woman was stuffing aspirin and other gas-station drugs into her coat. I approached her and asked what she was doing. She yelled at me, āIām not stealing! Check my bag!ā
āWell, then, open your coat,ā I told her.
The woman, started walking toward me, knocking products off the shelf (including a glass bottle of Pepto Bismol, which shattered on the floor, releasing its the pink gooey substance everywhere).
āSir?ā I asked the cashier, an elderly Indian man. āDo you want to check her jacket? I think you should call 911.ā
Hearing that, she quickly left (with her stolen items in her coat).
Meanwhile, two of the men were creating a stir with the cashier. From my vantage point, I couldnāt tell if they were fighting with each other, or if they were fighting with the cashier. But it was ugly. Something bad was brewing, I could tell. I gently put a hand on one of the guyās shoulders, and pulled him toward me. I looked straight in his eyes and said, āGet out!ā
āYou touched me!ā he yelled over and over. I just kept staring him down and calmly but firmly telling him to leave. He did, after repeatedly calling me a ālittle c-nt.ā Not being able to resist a joke, I yelled out the door: āThanks for calling me ālittleā? Iām almost six feet tall and probably weigh more than you! Now, go home!ā
He stumbled around the parking lot and eventually, joined his thieving friend.
There were now two men in the store. I turned to one, probably the lookout, and said, āIf youāre not buying anything, you need to go too.ā
He didnāt say a word and left.
The last guy was still at the register, visibly tense and not moving. I approached the register and stood should-to-shoulder with him and looked at him. He looked at the cashier for a minute, paid for an energy drink, at which point, I told him to leave. And, he did.
Hereās the kicker. These were well-dressed kids. Their getaway vehicle? Some large fancy gold SUV. They smelled of money, privilege and entitlement.
Iāve only behaved like that two other times in my life. Both of those times people were behaving threateningly, and frankly, illegally. When I witness said behavior, itās like a switch is flicked and I lose all site of my own safety, and go into a stage of fearless, unrelenting anger. Jack has seen it, and it scared the hell out of him.
When the scofflaws were out of the building, the cashier and I watched them drive away. He locked the door and thanked me profusely. I didnāt tell him it was not a choice I made, to intervene in this situation. It was pure Mama Bear instinct. I couldnāt not get involved.
Incidentally, the station was robbed two nights later.
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