Saturday, April 16, 2011

Did I really just see that? (Not a poem, yet)

I'm not sure if I can figure out how to write a poem for what I saw today.  As I was in line at Costco, I saw a young man about 20-years-old (give or take a few years).  He had come in the exit and was moving quickly into the the main shopping area of the store.  A security guard was calling after him, and quickly catching up to him.

Guard:  You came in the wrong entrance.  Can I see your membership card?

Guy:  I'm a customer.  I'm shopping.

Guard:  I need to see your card for you to be in the main store.

Guy:  Man, I'm a customer.  I'm shopping.

Guard:  Sir, I need to see your card for you to be in the main store, or you'll have to leave.

Guy:  Man, I'm a customer.  I'm shopping and you are harassing me.  I don't have my card on me.

Guard:  We can help you.  I'll escort you to the customer service desk.  They'll look up your membership and write you out a one day pass.  Then I can let you in the store.

Another guard walked up right then.

Guy:  Man,  I'm just trying to shop and this Asshole is harassing me.

After a moment, the second security man was repeating almost the same thing as the first.  They were great.  They remained calm, without any sign of aggravation (okay, maybe a little).  About the time I was finishing with my check out, he was grudgingly shuffling toward the exit, cursing them and yelling out that he was being harassed.  The guards followed him as he passed the customer service desk (without stopping to verify his membership status).  He and I were walking almost side-by-side at this point.  Just as he was going through the exit, I thought I saw him look quickly to the side.  A split second later, he doubled back and grabbed a bike that someone had leaned against the wall inside the door ... then off he rode.  I followed him for a little, but 47-year-old guy pushing a shopping cart with a pressure washer in it doesn't move as quickly as a young man on a bike.  I went back in to the customer service desk and explained to them what I saw, and told them if they needed to ask me anything they could call.  Don't know if I can help any, but it seemed like the right thing to at least offer.

I just don't understand people like that.  That is why I'm not sure I'll be able to write a poem that goes with the event.

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