I was a chicken at White Hen!

During the month of February our community had an All-City Read. The adult reading selection was The Rocket Boys by Homer Hickam. The book is a memoir and one of the many activities planned for the month was a workshop focused on memoir writing. A bit of arm twisting from a friend found me at the three week session. 

Each participant wrote three different short pieces, based on a theme, along with a 6-word memoir. Last night we each read one of our selections aloud at a coffee shop. While it would have been much easier to read my six word memoir, “Underwater creatures never mind candid photos”, I read the following:

A Day at Work

He looked sketchy the first time he came into the store. He showed up again several hours later. I’m not sure if I had looked intimidating, but when he attempted robbery my co-worker was behind the cash register, and I was behind the deli. Previously I had been alone.

He asked for all the cash in the register. Had it been me, he would have gotten it, all bagged and ready to go. My co-worker had different ideas. She decided to engage in conversation. She started with “you can’t be serious” and progressed to “I know you!”

They bantered back and forth. Yes, she was convinced he had been in her history class. No, he argued, he had gone to a different high school altogether. Were they flirting? I stood behind the deli case and just shook my head thinking stop it, Stop It, STOP IT! I’m no martyr, this store isn’t worth it, and besides, he said he had a gun.

They continued the discussion, a pocketed gun pointed in her direction. I was frozen in place. She was laughing at him and he was continuing to press for the money. Finally, he got frustrated and left. I ran to the door, threw the lock and told her to call the police. The squad arrived and she asked them to call her sister to drop off the high school yearbook.

Twenty-minutes later, she had found his picture and pointed him out. Later that evening the officer came by again and said they had found him at his parent’s house, watching TV in the basement with his dad. He had only a comb in his pocket, no gun. My co-worker felt like a hero having saved the store! I wanted to kick her.

I went on to work there for another year, calling in the occasional shoplifter. Once, the dumpster was set on fire, and the whole back of the store had to be hosed down by the fire department. But never once did I ever feel the need to best the hero of the store.

True story and thanks for indulging this brief writing detour.

Music that resonates:

The Theme from Rocky -- Bill Conti