Don't Taze Me Bro
Arriving at the coffee shop after working a full day at the Other Job, a huge sigh escapes me as I look at the mess left for me on the counters and in the sink. Grabbing the squirt bottle and a rag, the counters are quickly wiped down and the dishes are tackled. Looking around and seeing everything in its place, I begin to tackle the point-of-sale system, updating yesterday’s tickets with customer names.
It is quiet inside. The hum of the display cases keeps me company. The weather is nice and the few customers who choose to hang around here on a Friday evening are sitting at the outside tables.
I look up as the door opens. A young woman runs into the store yelling, “Somebody help me! This man is trying to hurt me!” Close behind her is a policeman giving chase. She runs into and through the store, turning at the end of the counter into my area. She must have seen the drive-thru window and thought it was an exit. Running for her freedom, the policeman tazed her and she fell face down on the ground, blocking my access to the drive-thru window.
Well damn, I hope nobody needs a coffee quickly tonight. The policeman handcuffs the woman as she loudly chants, “Jesus Christ” over and over. Slowly, the customers and my fellow co-workers begin to circle around the front of the counter area to see the show. Rubber Neckers.
The policeman calls for backup as I begin to wonder what I should do. I don’t want to just stand there and stare. The woman is chanting and the policeman is waiting. I ask the policeman, “Would you like a cup of coffee?” Of course, the answer is no – what a duh. So, not knowing what else to do, I turn back to my tickets.
Back-up arrives and the two policemen lift the woman up from the ground and lead her towards the exit. As they pass in front of me, the woman begins to struggle, trying to gain her freedom. Is she retarded? They trip her to end the struggle and she falls forward onto the ground, smacking her head on the hard tile floor. She’s lucky she didn’t hit one of the concrete table corners! The struggle ends and they continue on their way.
No sooner did they leave, in come the neighbors from the call center next door, the hair salon, and the other business owners. Everyone is giving their piece of the story – some saw her come running from the gas station by the highway – all trying to work out the full details. I listen, still somewhat awestruck that such a thing happened, and then, finally, the laughter starts when The Boss says, “Make sure you pay for your coffee.”