That one time when I wasn’t robbed…
Just so you know a little background info about me, I have worked just about every menial job imaginable. I’ve been the checkout girl at a grocery store, I’ve delivered disgusting, inedible pizza, sold Amway, waited tables, cleaned houses, even pole danced. So it should come as no surprise that someone attempted to rob me at one of my menial jobs.
This time I was working for a local pizza restaurant in 1988. It was a minimum wage job, but the work was fun and not too hard. The employees got along really well and would often stay after closing playing video games and socialize in the restaurant.
When I got hired for the job, I had recently torn my ACL on my left leg and was in a full leg cast. It was a walking cast, and I did a pretty good job of hiding the cast under my clothes during the job interview. It was one of those fiberglass casts, so it wasn’t as bulky as a plaster cast would have been. Since I was able to wear my jeans over the cast, only someone who was either keenly observant or was already aware of the cast would have noticed it. I got the job, and nothing was mentioned about my condition, ever. As a matter of fact, when it was time for the cast to come off and I needed to make sure I had the day off to go to the doctor, the manager had no idea what I was talking about until I showed her the cast.
I hadn’t been working at the restaurant for long, maybe three weeks, when two homeless men came in at almost closing time. The restaurant was almost empty with only one table of customers left in the whole place. The restaurant was kind of “U” shaped, with the service portion on one leg of the “U” and the dinning area on the other side. Unless the customers in back walked around to the front they never would have seen the homeless men.
The men approached the counter, and I asked for their order. One man was tall with long gray hair and in serious need of a shave. He was wearing army surplus clothes and carrying one of those old fashioned duffle bags like you would see in World War 2 movies. His friend was younger and looked more like a wannabe punk rocker without the fashion budget or imagination. The old guy approached the counter holding a knife. It was unsheathed and had a blade that was probably 8” long. It had a carved handle that resembled ivory, but it was probably plastic. He gripped the handle in his fist and pounded it on the counter.
“Gimme a beer,” He said.
I asked, “What kind would you like?” I was one hundred percent business. Just because the guy was homeless, didn’t mean he doesn’t get to buy himself a beer. Besides, I had worked at the McDonald’s down the street and would see homeless people in there all the time buying cheap food and coffee. I wasn’t shocked at his presence or the fact that he was carrying a knife. I saw nothing out of the ordinary.
Apparently my question caught him off guard.
“What kind you got?” he asked. I listed off the types of beer and the available sizes and prices.
He pounded the knife handle on the counter again and said, “Gimme a pitcher of Miller.”
“Ok,” I said, “That’ll be $5.25 plus tax.”
He just stood there and stared at me for what was probably fifteen seconds, but felt like all night.
I repeated myself, “That’ll be $5.25 plus tax for a total of $5.61.”
His friend leaned over and said, “Let’s just go.”
The old man looked back at me and said, “You’re going to bring me that beer, and I’m not going to pay for it.” Punctuating his words with another pound on the counter, like a judge issuing a verdict.
“I can’t give you any beer if you don’t pay for it.” I said and gave him my best you-must-think-I’m-stupid face.
One of the customers from the back room had walked past the counter to use the restroom, and shot me a really strange look. The old guy looked at the customer as he hustled into the bathroom.
He looked back at me and said, “I have a knife, and you are going to get me that beer now.”
“Ha ha!” I stepped away from the counter and overly-pronounced my limp toward the pizza cutting station. I picked up the pizza knife that was easily 20” in length and looked more like a sword that Sinbad the Sailor would carry than a kitchen utensil.
“I, too, have a knife. And I’d say mine is much bigger than yours.” I said with a smile, “The beer is $5.61. Take it or leave it.”
“I’m outta here.” The young punker-wannabe said as he left. The old guy picked up his duffle and mumbled something about fighting for his country in ‘Nam and started to leave too.
He didn’t get far, because the police had come in the back door, and another officer had been waiting outside the front door. The customer who shot me the strange look had called for the police instead of using the restroom. The presence of the cops confused me for a bit.
“Miss, please just wait in the back room.” One of the officers told me. I went into the office where the manager and another employee were waiting. There was a pass-thru window where we could see what was happening. The men were calm and the cops were just talking to them at that point.
“What the hell do you think you were doing?” My manager hissed at me.
“What? Those guys didn’t have any money. Besides, I’m not old enough to serve beer. What did you expect me to do?”
“You don’t thwart a robber by threatening him with the pizza knife!” The manager yelled back at me. She was furious and red faced and obviously shaken. “You just give him whatever he asks for!”
“Robber? Those guys were jerks, but they weren’t robbers.” I replied.
My coworkers just stared at me, gape mouthed and blinking for a moment. Then the manager spoke to me in over annunciated syllables.
“They demanded you get them beer by threatening you with a knife. You do know the meaning of the words armed robbery, right?” She said.
I glared at her for a moment, thinking that she was being a wise ass trying to take advantage of the youngster.
“Are you messing with me?” I asked, “Because at no time did I feel like they were trying to rob me. I think you are over reacting.”
She didn’t get a chance to answer before one of the cops ducked his head into the office and said he needed to talk to us.
Yep, it was for sure an attempted robbery, and I was so naïve that I didn’t even recognize it when it was happening. The sight of a knife didn’t in the least bit freak me out because I knew lots of men carried them. My dad even carried a bowie knife most of the time. As I gave my statement to the officer, I even reiterated that I didn’t think they were trying to rob me, just looking for a handout.
The officer chastised me for being heroic (I wasn’t!) then the manager did the same (I still wasn’t!). Strangely, the owner seemed to have a soft spot for me after that. Maybe it is because he thought I was slightly retarded or something.
Unsurprisingly, only the manager was asked to testify, even though I was the one who dealt with the men. Either I was very smart, and knew that they men didn’t have it in them to make good on a threat against a teenaged girl in a full leg cast. Or, more likely, I was really stupid and since they didn’t utter the words “this is a robbery” I didn’t get what was happening until it was all over. Even then I still wasn’t sure.
The moral of the story is that if you want to rob someone, you should probably explain the situation as clearly as possible. Otherwise, the very people you are trying to rob will make your robbery attempt more difficult.
