About a week or so after the holdup, I got a call from the Augusta police department to come down and look over the report and some items of interest in the case.
I was led into a small conference room, and was asked how things were going at the store. I told them I'd left, though not due solely to the holdup, and they said they understood even if it had been.
Apparently after the holdup, a couple of people had checked out of the Super 8 motel at 2am, which is an automatic phone call from the desk clerk to the police department. My wallet was found in the bushes outside the motel door, and a number of items relating to the robbery were inside.
"Do you think you could identify some of them?"
I said I'd give it a try.
First up were sunglasses - three different pair. "Which ones did I recognise as the perpetrators?"
Hmmm...well, not the ones with the K-mart price tag still on them...and certainly not the police issue aviator shades...that must mean the vaguely recognizable ones in the center.
All other items went through the same process, including the gun. (Standard police issue, shiny revolver...nope, gotta be that one.) Looking at it harmlessly on the table, I could see it was most likely a .22 target pistol - certainly not two feet across. (Though as a friend pointed out to me, a .22 at point blank range could still kill and do a lot of damage.)
We then went through my wallet, (all the now-cancelled cards intact, the three dollars in cash I had gone), and identified each and every single piece of paper. Anyone who has ever seen my wallet will tell you this is an insanely long process.
"And an American Express receipt..."
"A what?"
"You don't have an American Express card?"
I shook my head. "I don't even know anyone who has one."
The officer nodded. "Do you mind if we hang on to this?"
"Not at all, since it isn't mine."
I went over the story with the officers again, who agreed that the thief had probably overheard the conversation I'd had with the manager regarding my poor "drop" technique. Just odd to think I'd probably seen the man in the flesh a few times before.
They did finally catch the thieves in Boca Raton, FL. They used that AmEx card to charge motel rooms all the way down the coast, finally nailing them there due to making advance reservations.
Word of advice - when you're on the lam, pay cash. Or at least shred all your receipts.
Showing posts with label convenience store. Show all posts
Showing posts with label convenience store. Show all posts
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Friday, March 5, 2010
The Holdup
I've had a wide range of other dead-end jobs, and one of them was convenience store clerk. For those of you familiar with the Augusta area, it was the Irving in North Augusta, right near UMA. Back when it was a seedy little gas station of brick and constant grime no matter how hard you buffed the floor.
I worked overnight shift - 10pm to 6am, or roughly thereabouts. It was understood that you show up at 9:30 in order to get things set up, and then might get out by 7 once the paperwork was done. But you got paid for 10pm-6am.
Overnight shift was when supposedly all the actual work around the store got done - cleaning, organizing, inventory, etc. But we always had a rush from the 2nd shift over at the semi-conductor plant come bombing through at 11pm to stock up on soda, snacks, and a few snuck beers to get through the overnight. So it didn't always get done. And my manager had no compunction about yelling at me in front of customers if something didn't get done. And there was usually something every day.
Relevent to this particular story, my manager was upset and yelling at me in front of customers for not properly spacing my "drops". You know that sign in front of a convenience store that says "Cashier has no more than $50"? The reason for that is when you get $100 in your drawer, you are supposed to put $50 in an envelope, mark the time and amount, and "drop" it in the safe under the counter. If it's more than $50, you better have a good explanation as to why.
My explanation of being the only one on duty to handle a rushing crowd from the semiconductor plant was not enough. "Nick, if it were $75 or $100, I could understand that. But you are regularly making $200 and $300 drops! This has got to stop! Keep on top of this! This is one of the most important things for overnight shift!"
Anything I didn't do was always the most important thing for overnight shift, so I filed this away as "manager rant", and headed out to Friendly's for breakfast and a chance to flirt with the cute waitress.
A few nights later, I was joking around with Jake, the full service pump attendant as he was headed out the door for the night. "Gina still back there?"
I nodded. "Going over her count. Again. In the back room."
He laughed. "You know, she had a nervous breakdown today with three people in line. Started this high-pitched shrieking and flailing her arms. Man, she needs to find a no-stress job before she has a heart attack. See ya later."
Fifteen minutes later, I was restocking the overhead cigarette counter, which when slid down blocked my view of the door. I pushed it up, and standing there in the doorway was a man in black pants, a black hooded sweatshirt, black sunglasses, and a black bandanna wrapped over his mouth. I could just see the top of his black moustache under his nose.
And a gun. Black automatic looking something or other, pointed straight at my stomach. I could feel my guts clenching where he was pointing the gun at me. The opening looked about two feet across staring down at it.
Fortunately, my hands were already raised from pushing up the cigarette rack. My mouth went dry, and I couldn't speak for a second.
I didn't have to - he did. "I want the money in the register, your wallet, and the setup drawer for the morning shift in the back."
"Yes, sir," I said. His voice sounded deep, flat, and normal, meaning not strung out and I might get out of this alive. I pulled the drawer out of the register, and pulled out the bills.
"Your wallet."
I reached down. "It's in my back pocket, I'm just reaching down for it, and now I'm pulling it out and putting it on the table." Not sure why I was talking him through it - just seemed like a good idea to slowly explain every motion to the man with the gun.
He looked around. "Is there anyone in the back room?"
My mind froze. Yes - Gina. Still filling out here paperwork and hour and a half after her shift ended. Gina, who started making high pitched squeaking noises from three customers in line. And what will she do with an armed robbery?
It was clear now. She will panic and flip out. And we're gonna die. It had all been going so well.
"Yes," I squeaked out.
He paused. "Fine - just give me the bills in the register."
I pulled them out as quick as I could, and he stuffed them into his pockets. "Don't even think of picking up that phone," he said, and ran out the door.
I slowly counted to thirty, and listened for the sound of a car. I didn't hear one. Waited again, picked up the phone, hit 911.
"Yes, sir - how can we help you?"
"I'm at the Irving Station in Augusta near UMA and we were just held up." I was reassured someone was on the way, and hung up the phone.
At that moment, Gina opened the door. "Did you just say we got robbed?"
My legs gave out - the adrenaline that had been keeping me up swept out and dropped me to the floor. I sat for a few moments while Gina got me some coffee, and then the police arrived.
I knew the officer, and he looked a bit sheepish walking in. Irving had a policy of free coffee for law enforcement, but the Maine State Police had told officers about a week before that they couldn't accept free coffee. The robbery had happened during the time he was normally getting his first cup of the overnight.
The only part of the questioning that annoyed me was listening to Gina talking about the two men at the window behind the building talking back and forth, and how grateful she'd been when then finally shut up and went away right after Jake left. She could finish her counting now that they weren't muttering back there. She didn't think they could have had anything to do with it though. And she nearly broke down sobbing when her husband came to get her.
At that point I finally called my manager to tell him what had happened - he was on vacation for a few days, and had asked he not be called. But I figured this was important.
"What happened? Alright - I gotta call the guy at the office up in Bangor. There's someone who's sent out when stores get held up. Should be there in a couple of hours. And you can't run the register until he gets there. Just lock the door from the inside and wait for him."
"Ummm...you're not coming out?"
"I'm on vacation. Unless you want me to call Martin to keep you company until the guy gets there - I could probably squeak that pay authorization by."
It was 12:30 by this point. Martin was a recently divorced, bitter, angry man given to loud rants about women and the unfairness of life. Not really who I had in mind for company.
"No, I'll be fine. I'll just clean."
He started to say something about buffing, and I hung up on him.
Everyone cleared out, and I locked the door. I drew a sign in marker saying "CLOSED" and taped it to the window. Then made a fresh pot of coffee, and started cleaning.
Most people who came by saw the sign, shrugged, and walked off. I was feeling a bit skittish, so anytime I saw headlights I headed for the back. The only time I came out was when I heard banging and someone screaming "I know you're in there - I see your FUCKING CAR."
I looked - not the holdup guy. He had long scraggly hair. "We're closed. Can't unlock the door."
"I need a gallon of milk and I need it RIGHT FUCKING NOW. Just one gallon."
I point at the sign. "We got held up - I can't sell anything tonight."
"Just one gallon, you ungrateful shit! This is a store!"
"And there are others open 24 hours - go away."
He stood there, staring at the window, fist raised to start pounding again. The he relaxed it, hung his head down, and walked back toward his car. He pulled out of the driveway at a snails pace, looked over to see if I'd changed my mind, then peeled out of the parking lot and off into the night.
Finally, at about 3am, the guy from Irving Central shows up. He took a look around and asked me where my manager was.
"Home sleeping, I guess."
He raised an eyebrow. "You got held up and he didn't come in?"
I shook my head. He wrote down something in a notebook, pulled the register tape out of the cash register, and then got down to helping me clean the store. He even showed me how to change the pad on the buffer so the floor was actually clean.
Betty, who is on first shift, came in and was surprised to see the HQ guy. I explained what happened, and she gasped. "Oh you poor thing! And you were here by yourself all night! How could he!"
"I'll be okay. But for right now I just need to go home and get sleep - I'm on tomorrow night."
She gasped. "Are you sure you'll feel safe?"
I nodded. "What, they're gonna hit the same store twice in two nights?"
I walked out to my car, climbed in, and started it. Friends from college were coming up to visit - it was spring break week, and they were going slightly crazy at home. There would be a chance to talk, decompress, and sort it all now. But right now, I needed breakfast.
I worked overnight shift - 10pm to 6am, or roughly thereabouts. It was understood that you show up at 9:30 in order to get things set up, and then might get out by 7 once the paperwork was done. But you got paid for 10pm-6am.
Overnight shift was when supposedly all the actual work around the store got done - cleaning, organizing, inventory, etc. But we always had a rush from the 2nd shift over at the semi-conductor plant come bombing through at 11pm to stock up on soda, snacks, and a few snuck beers to get through the overnight. So it didn't always get done. And my manager had no compunction about yelling at me in front of customers if something didn't get done. And there was usually something every day.
Relevent to this particular story, my manager was upset and yelling at me in front of customers for not properly spacing my "drops". You know that sign in front of a convenience store that says "Cashier has no more than $50"? The reason for that is when you get $100 in your drawer, you are supposed to put $50 in an envelope, mark the time and amount, and "drop" it in the safe under the counter. If it's more than $50, you better have a good explanation as to why.
My explanation of being the only one on duty to handle a rushing crowd from the semiconductor plant was not enough. "Nick, if it were $75 or $100, I could understand that. But you are regularly making $200 and $300 drops! This has got to stop! Keep on top of this! This is one of the most important things for overnight shift!"
Anything I didn't do was always the most important thing for overnight shift, so I filed this away as "manager rant", and headed out to Friendly's for breakfast and a chance to flirt with the cute waitress.
A few nights later, I was joking around with Jake, the full service pump attendant as he was headed out the door for the night. "Gina still back there?"
I nodded. "Going over her count. Again. In the back room."
He laughed. "You know, she had a nervous breakdown today with three people in line. Started this high-pitched shrieking and flailing her arms. Man, she needs to find a no-stress job before she has a heart attack. See ya later."
Fifteen minutes later, I was restocking the overhead cigarette counter, which when slid down blocked my view of the door. I pushed it up, and standing there in the doorway was a man in black pants, a black hooded sweatshirt, black sunglasses, and a black bandanna wrapped over his mouth. I could just see the top of his black moustache under his nose.
And a gun. Black automatic looking something or other, pointed straight at my stomach. I could feel my guts clenching where he was pointing the gun at me. The opening looked about two feet across staring down at it.
Fortunately, my hands were already raised from pushing up the cigarette rack. My mouth went dry, and I couldn't speak for a second.
I didn't have to - he did. "I want the money in the register, your wallet, and the setup drawer for the morning shift in the back."
"Yes, sir," I said. His voice sounded deep, flat, and normal, meaning not strung out and I might get out of this alive. I pulled the drawer out of the register, and pulled out the bills.
"Your wallet."
I reached down. "It's in my back pocket, I'm just reaching down for it, and now I'm pulling it out and putting it on the table." Not sure why I was talking him through it - just seemed like a good idea to slowly explain every motion to the man with the gun.
He looked around. "Is there anyone in the back room?"
My mind froze. Yes - Gina. Still filling out here paperwork and hour and a half after her shift ended. Gina, who started making high pitched squeaking noises from three customers in line. And what will she do with an armed robbery?
It was clear now. She will panic and flip out. And we're gonna die. It had all been going so well.
"Yes," I squeaked out.
He paused. "Fine - just give me the bills in the register."
I pulled them out as quick as I could, and he stuffed them into his pockets. "Don't even think of picking up that phone," he said, and ran out the door.
I slowly counted to thirty, and listened for the sound of a car. I didn't hear one. Waited again, picked up the phone, hit 911.
"Yes, sir - how can we help you?"
"I'm at the Irving Station in Augusta near UMA and we were just held up." I was reassured someone was on the way, and hung up the phone.
At that moment, Gina opened the door. "Did you just say we got robbed?"
My legs gave out - the adrenaline that had been keeping me up swept out and dropped me to the floor. I sat for a few moments while Gina got me some coffee, and then the police arrived.
I knew the officer, and he looked a bit sheepish walking in. Irving had a policy of free coffee for law enforcement, but the Maine State Police had told officers about a week before that they couldn't accept free coffee. The robbery had happened during the time he was normally getting his first cup of the overnight.
The only part of the questioning that annoyed me was listening to Gina talking about the two men at the window behind the building talking back and forth, and how grateful she'd been when then finally shut up and went away right after Jake left. She could finish her counting now that they weren't muttering back there. She didn't think they could have had anything to do with it though. And she nearly broke down sobbing when her husband came to get her.
At that point I finally called my manager to tell him what had happened - he was on vacation for a few days, and had asked he not be called. But I figured this was important.
"What happened? Alright - I gotta call the guy at the office up in Bangor. There's someone who's sent out when stores get held up. Should be there in a couple of hours. And you can't run the register until he gets there. Just lock the door from the inside and wait for him."
"Ummm...you're not coming out?"
"I'm on vacation. Unless you want me to call Martin to keep you company until the guy gets there - I could probably squeak that pay authorization by."
It was 12:30 by this point. Martin was a recently divorced, bitter, angry man given to loud rants about women and the unfairness of life. Not really who I had in mind for company.
"No, I'll be fine. I'll just clean."
He started to say something about buffing, and I hung up on him.
Everyone cleared out, and I locked the door. I drew a sign in marker saying "CLOSED" and taped it to the window. Then made a fresh pot of coffee, and started cleaning.
Most people who came by saw the sign, shrugged, and walked off. I was feeling a bit skittish, so anytime I saw headlights I headed for the back. The only time I came out was when I heard banging and someone screaming "I know you're in there - I see your FUCKING CAR."
I looked - not the holdup guy. He had long scraggly hair. "We're closed. Can't unlock the door."
"I need a gallon of milk and I need it RIGHT FUCKING NOW. Just one gallon."
I point at the sign. "We got held up - I can't sell anything tonight."
"Just one gallon, you ungrateful shit! This is a store!"
"And there are others open 24 hours - go away."
He stood there, staring at the window, fist raised to start pounding again. The he relaxed it, hung his head down, and walked back toward his car. He pulled out of the driveway at a snails pace, looked over to see if I'd changed my mind, then peeled out of the parking lot and off into the night.
Finally, at about 3am, the guy from Irving Central shows up. He took a look around and asked me where my manager was.
"Home sleeping, I guess."
He raised an eyebrow. "You got held up and he didn't come in?"
I shook my head. He wrote down something in a notebook, pulled the register tape out of the cash register, and then got down to helping me clean the store. He even showed me how to change the pad on the buffer so the floor was actually clean.
Betty, who is on first shift, came in and was surprised to see the HQ guy. I explained what happened, and she gasped. "Oh you poor thing! And you were here by yourself all night! How could he!"
"I'll be okay. But for right now I just need to go home and get sleep - I'm on tomorrow night."
She gasped. "Are you sure you'll feel safe?"
I nodded. "What, they're gonna hit the same store twice in two nights?"
I walked out to my car, climbed in, and started it. Friends from college were coming up to visit - it was spring break week, and they were going slightly crazy at home. There would be a chance to talk, decompress, and sort it all now. But right now, I needed breakfast.
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