Boogerhead

In a retail environment, whether it's a department store or a grocery, there is a certain amount of what we call "Shrinkage", or items lost to theft. It is an industry secret that a little over 60% of shrinkage originates internally, meaning it was stolen by an employee. the remaining 40% of shrinkage is external, meaning someone came in off the street and shoplifted. So, you could catch every single shoplifter that comes in off the street, and still not reduce shrinkage by half. At some point, you have to watch your colleagues, and it isn't easy. Sure, if it's someone you don't like, it's fun. But it never is. It's always someone you like, someone you have established rapport with, someone you might even admire. Observing fellow employees only feels dirty for, like, the first hour or two. Even if it lasts longer than that, when you do see a colleague steal, it is way more personal. The externals, they aren't aware of what you've invested in the store, in the relationships you've built and the trust you have earned. But the employees do, and it is especially insulting when they take advantage of that knowledge. Not all are malicious, some steal out of necessity, some from madness or substance abuse, but most are just opportunists who haven't learned that some opportunities are better left unexplored. The first employee I had to help arrest was a guy named Tariq. Tariq was an employee when I started, and after my first year, I had gotten pretty familiar with him. Tariq was a guitar player, as am I, and he carried his guitar to work with him every day. I didn't think too much of it, as I was kinda impressed by his drive. "I should do that..." I thought, imagining all the practice I could squeeze into the work day. After a while, though, I noticed that in addition to the guitar, Tariq usually had a bag full of clothes on his back, and, come to think of it, I never actually saw Tariq enter the store. He was just always there. So we observed Tariq on video one shift. As Tariq was in logistics, he worked a graveyard shift and had full access to the store. Following him on the camera system required both a mental map of the store, but a full knowledge of each of our over 400 cameras in the building. After an hour of observation, Tariq had been observed stealing clothes. After the entire shift, we realized he had been living in the store. Now, this might be unbelievable, but it is what it is. There are many, many areas one can disappear into in our flagship. Tariq had chosen a remote corner of the sub-basement, and had hidden his tracks quite well. We observed for a week, tallying up his theft and annotating when he left the store, which wasn't often. Usually, just to the drug store for some supplies, then back down to the sub-basement. After his shift ended, he went into the employee break room for 6 hours, then down to the SB when no one was looking. That was the most difficult conversation I had to have with anyone. It didn't help that he had developed a meth addiction and was high as a kite when it went down, and by the time Tariq told me "God told me to come in here.", the police were already enroute. After SPD escorted him off the property, he tried four or five times over the next week to get back into the store, until, finally, SPD had enough and arrested him. I haven't seen him for over a year.

Just hit the floor at the beginning of my shift, having a new agent shadow me for the day, and a call comes over the radio about drug use in the Metro mens 55(restroom). Walk into the bathroom real quiet like, and listen for a second. I hear splashing in the stall nearest me, and when I kneel down to check the footwear, I see a dingy yet familiar pair of converse attached to an even dingier pair of legs. Michael's back. As he is violating a trespass order by even being in here, I figure I'll fuck his day up. In order to gain a full awareness of what I am about to step in, I peek through the crack in the door, and am fully disgusted. In disbelief, I pull my head up over the stall door to get the full picture, and my disgust is total. Because what I see, is Michael, abscess legs, heroin hands and all, washing his collection of syringes out in our toilet. It's not something you can unsee, and will fully turn your stomach if you have an iota of humanity left within. I hit the stall door with my most aggressive "cop knock", and say "Michael, that is the single most disgusting thing I have ever fucking seen. You're breaking the law even being in here, and I swear to god if you don't get the fuck out of here with that shit, you won't know what happened. You'll just wake up handcuffed to a bench. SPD is on the way." I looked at the new agent, Jason and winked. I never called the police. A bluff was enough to get Michael moving. Michael was totally embarrassed, but he kept his syringes. I mentioned there was a needle exchange, but he said they'd cut him off. I don't know how one gets cut off from the needle exchange, but someone who "cleans" their rig in the shitter can probably find a way.

The 5 elements of an shoplift are: 1.) Entry. Agent sees a subject enter the store, and spots an indicator. Indicators can be many things. Furtive eye movement, erratic shopping, empty bags, "Heroin Hands" (while not an indicator of theft, an indicator of addiction, which tends to inspire theft.), sensor removal devices, anything that might indicate an intent to steal. 2.) Approach. Agent and camera operator should be working in tandem at this point, and the approach, or entry into the department should be on video, as well as the rest of the subjects visit. 3.) Selection. Subject sees and selects item for theft. 4.) Concealment. Subject conceals items previously selected. From the moment of concealment, constant visual sight must be maintained. Subjects can easily ditch an item, and if you lose sight of them, you lost sight of the item. If they ditch the item and you make a detention without arrest, you are fired. It is best to have 2 or 3 agents on the floor, and a camera operator all communicating on concealed radio transmitters. If you triangulate properly, there will always be at least two sets of eyes on the subject. 5.) Exit. Agents and camera operator have maintained constant visual surveillance from the point of concealment as the subject passes all points of sale and approaches the exit. Usually, other agents or ambassadors will have posted up outside whichever exit the subject approaches. Sometimes, you just have to go it alone. As long as the camera operator gets it on video, you can usually cover your ass from any claims made by the detained subject. Once the subject crosses the threshold, an arrest is allowed and encouraged as long as the lead agent has maintained constant visual and given the "Green Light" for the waiting personnel to move. And the last part always goes sort of sideways, but is always a little fun and exciting.

THat's kinda a good deal, comparatively. I just paid off my student loan. From 1995.

OMG I MISS YOUR FACE!!!!

Michael was really fond of heroin and Gucci tee shirts. Addicted to both, and it was sometimes difficult to tell which one was worse for him. I mean, the heroin, obviously, but he stole the Gucci to get the smack, so they were kind of the same addiction. He was always nice, polite even. But he was always high, too. The first time I met him was in the men's restroom on our fourth floor. A customer had reported some strange sounds coming from the ADA stall. The ADA, or Americans with Disabilities Act stall is often called the "Handicap Stall", but not ours. Ours was the ADA stall, and it was a favorite place to shoot up for many junkies. Like I have said before, there's always some one to watch in the restrooms... I walked into the men's room, looked under the ADA stall door and saw an utterly derelict pair of converse tied onto some of the most abused legs I have ever seen. Abscesses, scars, burst capillaries and weeping wounds. Then I saw the flash of orange and I attacked the door. He was slow to leave, but cordial on the walk out. Someone recognized him on camera, I think it was our LPM, and told me to remind Michael that he was trespassed from our property for another year and a half, so I did. And he tells me he is going to clean up, enroll in school and I would never see him again. Any bets on how long he could stay away? Not even 24 hours. I had kicked him out around 5 pm, and he walked in about 10:15 the next morning. I had seen him on the street when I went in that morning, as I do, the long way, and had told my camera operator Emelio to keep an eye our for him. Emelio had spotted Michael walking out of Pacific Place, the mall across 6th avenue from our store. Funny thing was, Michael was coming out of their fire escape, which ought to have sounded an alarm when he entered the stairwell, and again when he exited. The alarms were silent when Michael exited the mall, which means he or someone he knew shunted their alarm system. It isn't difficult to do, especially at Pacific Place. I had been a projectionist at that same mall about 20 years earlier, and had shunted the fire escape alarm that led from my projection booth to the roof, so I could smoke. Michael crossed the street, and walked right into our store. Emelio and I watched, me on the floor and him on cameras as michael walked through women's shoes, into and out of the bridge handbags, and into the Gucci boutique. I walked in right behind him, as I had been following him pretty close, and said "Hey, Michael." He just looked at me with a sheepish grin, I pointed at the 5th ave exit, and he used it. Two trespass reminders in one 24 hour period. And he was easy...

This is how we now elect our leaders.

"Hey, 0ne-0ne, come up." It's ESA in my ear, 1-1 is my call number, my sign. "Go for 0ne-0ne." I call back. "Brandon's back." "Great. You going to tell me where, or are we playing hot and cold?" "Metro, furnishings. Has another backpack." "Goddamnit! On my way." I run down the 5th avenue staircase and stop at the bottom. Men's shoes are on my right, in between me and men's furnishings where Brandon is. Into my mic I ask ESA, "Any more selections?" "Nah, just the backpack." It's not the Kenzo again, that'd be too predictable. THis time Brandon has found a Givenchy that was unlocked. Actually, I ought to be thanking Brandon, as he is finding all the gaps in our system. This thousand dollar backpack ought to have been locked down, so I will have to train a salesperson in after I make this recovery from Brandon. Still in men's shoes, I see Brandon across the aisle in furnishings, trying to look nonchalant about his desire to be out into the tunnel. As he already knows me, I am sneaking up toward the tunnel exit so he can't see me. I backwall it all the way around until I get behind the column next to the exit, and I wait. "ESA, let me know when he is approaching the metro tunnel exit. You see me?" I radio. "Yeah, I got ya." "Cool." Brandon is still shopping in furnishings, but has made his way to the edge of the department, and right as he steps out onto the aisle that leads to the exit he wants, ESA is in my ear, "He's on the hard aisle, heading toward metro exit. Passing the last mannequin now." And I step out from behind the column with my hand outstretched, palm up toward Brandon. He sees me, doesn't even skip a beat. Slides the backpack off his arm and hands it to me as he exits the store. "Thanks, Brandon. Don't come back." $1,000 recovery, trespass reminder.

I'd been working the Pine St. West door for about four hours, and I had to pee. By the time I arranged coverage for a spot of relief, I was dancing in place when they got there. I skipped down the stairs to the Metro level, and danced my way to the men's room. After taking care of business and zipping up, I was washing my hands and looking in the mirror, which reflects the toilet stalls. Through the crack in the stall door I noticed a flash of orange. That particular shade of orange, it gets your attention. It's almost hunter's orange, but with a touch more red than yellow. It is the orange of biohazard and medical waste. It's the color of a syringe cap, and I know what they're doing in there, but need a little confirmation before I release the hounds. I step closer to the stall, but am facing the exit. In my peripheral vision I scan through the crack in the door by the locks, not the hinges. I see the spoon, and the black liquid therein, and the syringe dips into it. I remain quiet long enough to see the guy pop the needle into his vein, and at precisely the moment he wants to push the plunger in I attack the stall door with the hilt of my pocket knife. BANG! BANG! BANG! "Store Security, YOU NEED TO LEAVE IMMEDIATELY. SPD HAS BEEN CALLED AND ARE EN ROUTE. GET YOUR DRUGS OUT OF OUR STORE NOW!" I lied. Never called the police. Into my radio I transmit, loud enough for the junkie in the stall to hear: "ESA, Bring up camera 13 and get a face shot of the next person to leave Metro Mens." "Copy." The stall door swings open, and this kid is looking at me like I am insane, which is how I prefer they think of me. Keeps things flowing. Then the stall next to him opens and I see he had a friend next door. This can get dicey sometimes, but these guys were riding the slow horse and already thought I might be insane. Kid number one keeps looking at me and says, "It's my insulin, man." "Really?" I say, "They're making black insulin now?" Kid number one grins, and i shit you not, kid number two says, "That's racist!!!" I look at kid number two, a total mouth-breathing acne farm, and I say "You're an idiot." Kid number one looks at kid number two and says "Shut the fuck up, It is not. Let's just get out of here." "Good call." I say and escort the two out onto 6th avenue.

Some effed up, hobgoblin shit right here.

In the ships i worked on, the commode had the shitter in the shower. Efficiency is a cruel mistress.

OMG!!!! Ninja is PERFECT! Fuggin' hilarious. Beavis IS Yolandi Visser.

Galapagos gonna Galapagos...

Santa Steve has a stalker. As the holidays approach, the store builds out "Santaland", and a store Santa poses for pictures and listens to the litany of things children want from him. As Santa needs breaks, and sleep, the store actually hired like 12 Santas. Santa Joe, Santa Brian, Santa Steve, Santa Chris, Santa Tom, you get the pattern. These guys would come back every year from November through Christmas to play Santa. Thing is, they're individuals, and underneath the beard and suit, can be recognized. Apparently, the year before I was hired, a certain middle-aged white lady had taken a liking to Santa Steve. Santa Steve didn't tell us about her when he started the next year. Probably because he didn't really think the lady would come back a year later and recognize him. Santa Steve was wrong. I don't know when she first showed up, but Steve did. At first, she'd stand across the street and peer in through the window. After a few days of spotting her outside, Santa Steve called in to LP about his stalker. It's not that she really frightened him, but anyone goofy enough to stalk a store Santa might also be goofy enough to bring some sort of weapon with them. He pointed her out from our office, on the video cameras. We got the pictures and started a file. Santa Steve didn't know her name, so we had very little information to operate on. Eventually Santa Steve's stalker came into Santaland, and it was on. As she had no children with her, her request to sit upon Santa Steve's lap was curtly denied. A call was placed to LP, and I responded. Having never addressed a stalker, I was unsure how to approach her. I felt she was probably not the most stable individual I was going to encounter, so kid gloves might be in order. She wound up being surprisingly compliant. I asked her if she had ever been trespassed from our property, and she answered honestly, that yes, she had. As the incident in question had occurred one year ago, and our standard trespass was two years, I gently reminded her that she was not allowed on our property for at least another year. I asked her to leave the property, and she did... but she came back every day until christmas. She never came back inside the store, but would stare at Santa Steve through the window for hours, or until LP told her to take a walk. Still, she made Santa Steve really nervous, so we escorted Santa from Santaland to the employee locker room, and to his car every night until christmas. I never did get a name out of her.