(A teen approaches my cash register very slowly.)

Me: “Can I help you?”

Customer: “Give me all the f****** medicine!”

(The teen pulls out an airsoft pistol with orange tip still glued to the front.)

Me: “The pharmacy is in the back of the store.”

Customer: “Oh… okay.”

(He holsters the airsoft gun in his belt and darts down the aisles to the back of the store. My manager comes out of the back room because of the commotion.)

Manager: “Who was that?”

Me: “Some kid looking for drugs. He went back to the pharmacy.”

Manager: “Why didn’t you call the police?”

(The teen runs screaming from the back of the store, out of the front door, followed closely by the pharmacy technician, a 35-year-old boxer built like a fridge.)

Me: “Doug started working today.”