For a long time, I was a bookstore manager in the highest volume store in our district, stretching across the southern part of the U.S. from Florida to Vegas. The two-story store, loosely connected to a high traffic mall, was always a madhouse. And it was plagued with shoplifters.
Back then, the first floor contained the sprawling Fiction areas, a large Gift department, and the multilevel cafe with seating on the upper and lower decks. Among the tables and chairs, in the far corner, was a simple push-bar door that provided a quick path to the mall entrance.
It also provided thieves with an easy escape route.
The second floor housed most Nonfiction books, Children's books, Toys/Games, and a large Music/DVD department. Remember those? This was before the physical market shrank, so we had an enormous selection of that ancient product. The department sat behind a low divider wall, and the only way in or out was through the electronic gate that politely beeped when CDs, DVDs, or Blu-Rays passed through. The gate was a deterrence, but it didn't stop determined thieves.
One afternoon, a tall, thin man started gathering a stack of about fifteen DVDs in his long arms. He wore a t-shirt, sweat pants, and sunglasses. The hawkeyed manager (R.I.P., Peter) was fully aware that the thin man was a shoplifter, so he provided "excellent customer service," hovering and talking to him, another level of deterrence. Inevitably, the manager was pulled away to help another customer, and that's when the thief lifted the armful of DVDs over his head and slipped through the gate. The manager called him back, then shouted at him, then chased him. Down the escalator they went, the thief taking multiple steps at a time, pumping his long legs, while the manager raced after him, commanding him to drop the DVDs. Attracted by the commotion, other booksellers and customers joined in the chase toward the back exit. The thief cut through the cafe, weaving between tables and chairs and customers, and hopped over the iron railing of the wheelchair ramp to the lower level. He was twenty feet from the exit. The manager, still in pursuit, desperately shouted one last time for someone to stop the thief.
Just then, a small, blonde cashier from Victoria's Secret was approaching the cafe from outside. As the thin man pushed through the back door, she heard the manager's call for help and hip-checked the thief. She was a rugby player and knew what she was doing. The thin man flipped head over heels and crashed hard to the pavement, and the DVDs flew in all directions.
By then, the manager and booksellers had caught up. Outnumbered, the thief scrambled to his feet and hurriedly limped away, empty-handed and injured.
Among the scattered DVDs, a bookseller noticed a worn wallet. She picked it up and shouted, "We've got your wallet, asshole!"
While the DVDs were celebratorily collected, the manager treated the blonde cashier to a drink from the cafe. Meanwhile, the bookseller found a driver's license inside the wallet. Behind it, she found something even better.
It was a business card for a parole officer.
Comments