Five-Finger Discount, One-Finger Response

by Thomas M. Pender

This is one of those true stories that is so ridiculous, I have to preface it by saying “This is a true story.”

I work in a retail clothing and accessories store.  People come in, they browse, they try things on, they buy things, they leave.  It’s a pretty simple system that seems to work quite well.  Still, there are those who don’t seem to understand the whole “buying” process.  They want something for nothing, and are willing to attempt some daring means to get it.  A few weeks ago, in broad daylight, with several people just a few feet away, a woman stood calmly in the checkout line with a buggy full of clothes.  As soon as she reached the counter, she charged ahead to the front doors, where just outside, her accomplice was waiting at the curb in the getaway car.

There were a few flaws in the thieves’ plan: 1) the buggies in our store have tall poles attached to them, designed specifically to prevent people from leaving through the front door with them, and 2) the getaway car driver had parked the car close enough to the front door for one of our staff to clearly read the license plate number, plus get the make and model of the car.

Columbo wouldn’t have broken a sweat over this one.  One call to Macon’s Finest, one DMV computer check, one trip to the driver’s address, and one one-way visit to the local penal system.

But no!

A few days later, I casually inquired of the employee who wrote down the license and car information, “So, did you call the cops the other day?”

“No,” he says to me.

“Why not?” I asked, rather shocked.  When his face contorted to a particularly irritated posture, my cynical mind leap-frogged his response.  “Let me guess: It’s against store policy to turn in thieves, because it’s bad public relations.  People poor enough and desperate enough to steal from us won’t come in anymore, is that about it?”

His somber nod told the tale.  When I got to the managers, I had to share my sarcasticity.  I have a friend who once told me that I was never funnier than when I was pissed off, and I was so irritated, I could have gone on stage on Broadway!  My managers, who were just as irritated by the policy as I was, giggled as I tiraded all over the office: “You realize that once these lowlifes get home and no cops come by, they’re gonna tell all their friends where to shop from now on, right?  ‘Go there, cuz you never get turned in.’  Hell, why don’t we put up a sign to draw more customers in?  ‘Everything’s free every day, as long as you have the guts to push it through the doors!’  In fact, since I work in customer service, shouldn’t I offer to help them get the stuff outside?  ‘Excuse me, ma’am, but will you be paying for these items today, or can I run them out to your car and help you avoid the headache of standing in line and actually buying them?’

This is another ludicrous example of letting the bad guys win, which I have no stomach for.  When my co-worker first told me he couldn’t call the police, I said, “Give me the details, I’ll call ‘em.  No one told me I couldn’t call!”  While I was there and did witness the event, I was a bit too far back into the store to actually give the police accurate details when asked.  I couldn’t have told them anything about the felons, because all I saw when I approached the ruckus up front was a speeding car.  Still, with the secondhand facts, I could have at least got our boys in blue on the trail of the culprits.  Being the son of a cop, nephew of a chief of detectives, and grandson of a two-time chief of police, crime kinda . . . chafes me.

Listen up, retail world: the people who would be hesitant to come into your stores once they learn that you actually track down and prosecute thieves are just the kind of people you want to keep out of your stores!  Also, if you’re not going to prosecute or even bother people who steal from you, you could save yourself a lot of money, and simply put up hollowed-out security cameras.  Why bother taping anything if you’re not smart enough to use the evidence?

When the good guys refuse to punish bad guys, the bad guys not only win, they multiply!

Think about it.  Meantime, I need some aspirin. . . .

Wes of the Rio Grande

by Thomas M. Pender

A great friend of mine just got married.  He’s a very good guy, and I wish him and his new bride all the happiness in the world.  This news also inspired me: I want to take this opportunity to tell about how we met.  His name is Wes Patterson, and he was my very first friend in Georgia.

The good news about my move to Georgia from the Library Park section of Kenosha, Wisconsin was that I had a job waiting for me.  The bad news, I came to learn, was that the job paid twice a month, with time accumulating on one pay cycle, and pay being delivered at the end of the second pay cycle.  In other words, I was going to have to wait a full month before I saw a dime.

This was going to take some creative budgeting!

The first thing you learn while sleeping in your car in Georgia in June is that it’s really hot and humid out there.  At about 1:00 in the morning, I walked over to Rio Grande, a local bar/restaurant, because it was the only thing in sight that was open that I thought might have drinkable running water.  Inside, patrons were patronizing, fun was being had, and I sat at the centrally located bar with nothing more in mind that a little hydrogen-oxygen compound in a glass.

The bartender was a friendly guy with close-cut hair and a goatee.  I also learned that subtle Southern accents sound friendly to Yankee ears.  “What can I get you?”

“A water would be good.”

My first surprise that night came when a nice waitress put a full bowl of tortilla chips and a smaller bowl of salsa in front of me.  Free appetizers = actual food in the belly!  When he wasn’t mixing drinks, the bartender asked me if I wanted something more substantial to eat.  At some point after I told him my pay cycle dilemma, he disappeared into the kitchen.  I was shocked again when he reappeared with a much more substantial dip, consisting of melted cheese, hamburger and salsa.  That tasted and felt great!  During my second visit, as I ate the dip he prepared and served without my even asking for it, Wes shared with me that not only was there no charge for the dip, it wasn't even on the menu.  It was just something he slapped together in the kitchen to feed his temporarily penniless customer.

Favors like this I don’t forget.

I learned when Wes was working, and over the next month, I stopped in a few times to shoot the breeze.  The “special” dip was always prepared by Wes without even asking for it.  Weeks later, when I finally did receive and cash my first check, I headed straight for Rio Grande.  It was a busy Wednesday night with a live band, and the joint was jumping.  I had no intention of staying, though.  I went there just to carry out one mission.  Making my way to the bar, I flagged Wes over.

“Do you remember me?” I asked without preamble.

“Yeah, sure!”

I put a ten-dollar bill in his hand. “Thank you,” I said, and left.

With an actual income, I returned to the Rio Grande now and again.  I paid for and got filling meals, and until the place closed several months later, I got to shoot more breezes with Wes.  We kept in touch over the years, and in 2008, my fiancé and I stopped in to visit with him and his daughters.

Wes will probably say what he did was no big deal, cost the bar nothing, and was the right thing to do.  That’s his way.  From my side of the bar, however, it was an incredibly generous favor that deserves to be publicly recognized.

Thanks again, Wes!  You’re a Christian and a gentleman, and I’m truly grateful.