A day in the life of a 7-Eleven clerk...
This is the story of my Sunday.
It was more full than a normal Sunday, and if I could not have another day like that ever again, that would be awesome.
In the beginning ...
I clocked in a little before 8 and went outside to smoke with my Assistant Manager.
We finish our butts and I head inside. I take a look at the coffee pots and decide they could use a little attention.
First thing in the morning, we have a myriad of coffee flavors available. French Vanilla, Dark Mountain, Fusion High Energy, Brazilian Bold, 7-Eleven Exclusive Blend (2 pots, AKA Regular), and of course Decaf. Since there are only four brewing spots, pots need to be rotated in order to keep everything fresh. The coffees are supposed to be remade as soon as they hit a half-pot or every half hour, which ever is sooner. I grab the Fusion and Vanilla and start those fresh, move on to the Brazilian and Regular, then look at the cappuccino machine.
A few weeks ago, a lady complained that the cappuccino machine was empty because nothing was coming out. Anyone who has ever had to deal with these knows that when they are empty, just hot water comes out. If you push the button and nothing comes out, there's a clog. Ever since, I've made a point of making sure all the workings are clean and the powders are full.
After setting the empty pots on the burners and hitting the "Make Pot Full" button, I move on to the cappuccino machine. I take the eighth pot, Hot Water, and begin to flush the workings to make sure they stay clear and refill the powder chambers. In to my second powder refill, a customer tells me we have a little problem.
Coffee Pot Overload ...
Apparently, when I set the pots and pushed the button, I forgot the filter basket. To make sure the coffee grounds get fully saturated, the water sprays out in a little fan. If you forget the filter basket, the water goes everywhere except the pot. I throw the filter basket in, stopping the already huge mess from getting any bigger, and proceed to mop up the puddle that had started dripping off the counter.
I tell the customer, while in the process of cleaning off the door of the cupboard under the counter, that the door needed to be wiped down anyhow. She laughs a little and comments on how calm I am after having made this huge mess that I now have to clean up. I tell her if this is the worst thing that happens to me all day, I can live with that.
I spoke too soon.
American History
One of my coworkers, he's the new guy, was humming a song under his breath. Well I recognized it. The Battle Hymn of the Republic is a rather distinctive tune. This leads to a discussion of the Union marching song, the Confederate marching song, and various other musical pieces surrounding the history of the US.
This would include the 1812 Overture. Which leads to my asking him "When was the War of 1812?" He assumes, rightly, that this is a trick question. "I'm going to guess some time around 1812?" "Why yes, 1812, 1813, 1814, and the first two months of 1815." Then this older male customer asks me how did I know that? Was I there? I figured he was kidding around, so I replied (in a tone dripping with sarcasm) "Oh, yes! I was so around then!" Then he says, "I suppose you believe that dinosaurs existed five hundred million years ago just because somebody wrote about it!"
Okay, wait, what? Dino ... huh? Welcome to a new tangent!
I wanted to say, "No! I believe dinosaurs existed sixty-five million years ago because I've seen they bones dug out of the earth!"
That's not what I said, but it's what I thought and what I wanted to say.
What I actually said was, "No, sir, I don't believe dinosaurs existed five hundred million years ago just because somebody wrote about it because if I did I'd have to believe everything they write in those scandal rags about Bat Boy and fish people!"
He struck me as a Bible Thumping moron. I have nothing against Christians, but I believe that it's a good book and you shouldn't thump on it.
Shortly there after, it comes time for my coworker to go on break. Make some coffee, stock some cigarettes, and keep busy.
And then he walked in ...
Drunk Moron
I'm on hands and knees behind the counter stocking cigarettes when the doorbell rings. I sit up and greet the customer. He sets an open half rack on the counter. With only the slightest drunken slurring, he tells me he spent his last ten bucks on a half rack (and I think "You want an illegal refund on a beer we don't even carry???") and he really needs a cigar and would I be willing to swap him straight across for one of his beers?
O_o ... o_O ...
*blink* ... *blinkblink*
"No."
"Well, how about you give me one out of your own pocket?"
Are. You. Serious?
I guess I'm the only one who doesn't carry a spare grape Swisher in their back pocket just in case the Random Idiot Factor shows up.
"No."
"Why not?"
"It's illegal."
"They're not gonna know!"
"Um, you're on seven cameras and two microphones right now. They're gonna know."
"Do you ever feel like you're in that movie?"
*sigh* "What movie?"
"Clerks."
At this point, the scene where Dante and Randal are discussing their horrible customers leaps to mind.
"Yes."
"Do you want a beer?"
"No."
"Just one?"
"No."
"What's your favorite band?"
Is this actually happening?
At this time, unbeknownst to me, my Assistant Manager is watching this on the monitor in the back room. She tells my coworker to cut short his break and come out to make his presence known. Not, she says, because I can't handle it, but just so this yahoo doesn't think I'm alone.
Serenade
"I don't have a favorite band."
I start walking away.
"Are you a Beetles fan?"
Well, yes I am, but "No."
"She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah."
He started singing to me.
He. Started. Singing. To. Me.
Then, realizing I'm a she, "He loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah."
Seeing that this isn't working ...
"So, can I go outside and ask people for a dollar so I can buy a smoke?"
"No, but you can leave the property."
"But I can't ask people for money?"
"No."
"But if I get a dollar, can I come back in and buy a smoke?"
"You can't come back in with that." That, of course, being the beer that he brought in illegally.
"Okay, but can I hang out outside?"
"No, you need to leave the property."
My Assistant Manager has come out of the back room as well.
"Time to go, buddy."
He rambles something about corporate management and how it's evil, tries to flash the shocker, but gets it wrong, counts on his fingers something about how cool Hollywood is, and something else I wasn't able to make out.
"Dude, nothing you just said made sense. It's time for you to go."
"Okay."
And he leaves.
My coworker asks, "What was that about Hollywood and the counting off on the fingers?"
"Your guess is as good as mine."
Oh. My. God. People like this drive me batshit.
Coworker goes back into the back room to finish his break.
I make some more coffee, wipe up the Slurpee machines, the usual.
Then the doorbell rings.
He's baaaaaa-aaaaack.
"Can I have a book of matches?"
I'll give him the benefit of the doubt, even if he did just leave a half rack sitting on the sidewalk outside the store.
I hand him a book and my coworker starts walking toward him and herding him toward the door.
"Do you like Megadeath? You look like a Megadeath girl!"
I ... I what? Moron!
"No."
I'm walking away, around machines, and my coworker is still herding him out.
"What about Metalica? Do you like Metalica?"
Patheica? Selloutica? Madonica? The Backup Band for Prince?
"No."
Please let him not start singing again.
Dude walks outside and, just as my coworker gets to the door, Bellingham's Finest pull up.
Perfect. Timing.
Police the First
My Assistant Manager says I should go outside and thank the Boys in Blue for showing up.
So I go outside.
Two cops: Riding shotgun is the shorter cop with long pants. Driving is the taller cop with shorts (and I think I know him from somewhere, like maybe he's a regular when he's off duty or something).
I get outside just in time to hear Shotgun; "We've talked about this. Remember? Just two months ago we talked about you being intoxicated in public."
Dude starts arguing about why cops were called on him the first place.
About this time, a lady pulls up to return her DVD to the Red Box outside.
I ask if I'm in her way, she says she just wants to wait so she's not in the cops' way.
Which could take a while since Dude is hunkered right next to the machine.
Driver gets out of the black and white and asks me if I want Dude gone.
Thought pattern: No, let him move in!
I nod emphatically.
Dude starts griping about people calling the cops on him.
Driver says that someone called because they saw him throwing trash over the fence toward what used to be Burger Me.
Dude launches in to this diatribe about how he doesn't litter, and he picks up after other people, and he tries to make the world a better place for society, and he tries to be a good citizen, and he's just trying to help.
Driver: "Go help Seattle. Get out of Bellingham."
Thought pattern: High five, officer!
Driver and Shotgun start pushing Dude to move along.
I notice that he's got two Papa Murphy's pizzas. Where he got these with no money is open for debate, but I'm assuming the dumpster.
Dude starts walking away mumbling about needing to find an over to cook his pizzas.
Shotgun asks what the story is.
I fill him in on the high points, including being asked for a cigar out of my own pocket.
"Yeah," Shotgun says. "Because you should always keep one handy for people like him."
I kid you not, cop said what I was thinking.
He walks on down the street, the cops tail him.
Presumably trying to catch him with an open container in public so they can pop him.
I have a break, discuss with Assistant Manager what the cops said, what I said to the cops, etc. Most of the rest of the day progresses smoothly.
Until Dude shows back up.
I go to change the chili and cheese in the machine.
It's kind of a messy process, so I have to take some of the parts in to the dishwashing area.
When I get back, the Assistant Manager asks me if my friend is back.
I look up and yes, yes he is.
She goes to the door and tells him he'll need to vacate the premises unless he wants to deal with more cops.
He left. Quickly.
Shift change comes upon us.
As we're doing all the fun shift change procedures, the phone rings.
Coworker and I start making comments about how that had better not be one of our replacements 'cause it would be rude to wait until the last minute to call in sick and/or late.
Fire Department
It is also important to note that the store manager's boss is here to do an inspection of the store. He's recovering from surgery, so he's sending his kids around the store to check us.
Assistant Manager comes out, phone to her ear, looking for something, telling the person on the other end that she can't find it.
Relief 1 comes in, followed shortly by Relief 2.
Then we get the word from the phone call.
According to them, we're on fire.
Since I didn't actually answer the phone, I'm only going off what I heard.
*ringring*
Assistant Manager: "Lakeway 7-Eleven."
Caller: "This is the Bellingham Fire Department. We have received a signal from your building that a fire is active on the premises."
AM: "We don't have any indication of a fire. Are you sure you have the right location?"
C: "1300 Lakeway Drive? Could you walk around the store and check for smoke?"
AM: "Have you seen this store?" It's pretty small.
C: "Locate the red panel."
AM: "What red panel?"
C: "The red panel. If you don't have one, you'll get a serious fine. Locate the red panel."
AM: "Where is this red panel supposed to be?"
C: "It should be in the office."
Uh, the office is locked two thirds of the day. Having it in the office would be useless.
AM: "It's not in the office. Where else would it be?"
C: "You should be able to see it, it should be very visible."
AM: "I'm not seeing it."
C: "We're still getting a signal, so you need to evacuate the building of customers until we can get there to evaluate the situation."
AM: "Evacuate the customers?"
C: "Yes. Right away. We're on our way to your location."
AM: "Alright?"
Then she tells us what's happened and that we need to evacuate. We hustle the one customer out of the store, the guy who's here to check our store and his kids, and we start turning people away from the door.
All this while, we're all sniffing for smoke, looking for this phantom red panel, and tidying up the store for a better score on the review.
I'm looking around.
"I've got red signs, red fire extinguishers, red shirts, no red panel."
My coworker starts to take the cardboard out to the recycle bin when he sees the DVD machine.
"You've got a Red Box."
Thought pattern: The curtains don't match the carpet. Oh, I'm going to Hell. Go to Hell. Go directly to Hell. Do not pass Go. Do not collect $200.
After about ten minutes of turning people away, sniffing for smoke, looking for the phantom panel, and cleaning little things, we *69. Area code 213. Los Angeles.
Mother. Fucker.
So we let people in, and I call Police Dispatch.
I tell the story of the phone call, the discovery, and not being able to find a non-emergency line for the Fire Department. Dispatch tells me that they're going to send an officer out to investigate and she's going to transfer me to the FD.
FD: "What is the address of your emergency?"
Me: "I do not have an emergency."
FD: "What is the address of your location?"
Me: "1300 Lakeway drive."
FD: "What is the nature of your situation?"
Me: Short and to the point version.
FD: "That's a police matter."
Me: "I just talked to them, they transferred me to you."
FD: "Well, I can tell you no one from here called you."
Me: "I just wanted confirmation that you are not receiving any kind of signal from us.
FD: "The police said that they would send an officer out."
Me: "Thank you much!"
I tell the Assistant Manager. She tells me that I get to hang out and wait for the cops.
Joy. Another round with the Boys in Blue.
Police the Second
A little while later, after we've hustled the boss's boss out with his kids (we got an A+ on our evaluation BTW), my coworker goes home, and the cop shows up.
I head outside to talk to him.
I tell him about what the callers said, pointed out that I didn't actually take the call, mention the panel (he looked very confused at this, too), and told him we started turning people away.
Cop: "You actually turned people away?"
Me: "Yeah. Prank or not, we have to take this crap seriously."
Cop: "Well, I can tell you right now that we will never tell you to evacuate. Nor will the Fire Department."
I give him the number, tell him that after trying to call it from both the store phone and my cell, we got the *do do do* Your call cannot be completed as dialed. Please check the number and try your call again.
As he's writing all the info down on his little note pad, he asks for my info. As I'm spelling my last name for him, I notice that he's spelled my first name correctly. It took almost a full two seconds to remember I wear a nametag.
That having been dealt with, I go smoke.
Then I clock out, about half an hour late, and head home.
Not a day I'd like to repeat any time soon.
It was more full than a normal Sunday, and if I could not have another day like that ever again, that would be awesome.
In the beginning ...
I clocked in a little before 8 and went outside to smoke with my Assistant Manager.
We finish our butts and I head inside. I take a look at the coffee pots and decide they could use a little attention.
First thing in the morning, we have a myriad of coffee flavors available. French Vanilla, Dark Mountain, Fusion High Energy, Brazilian Bold, 7-Eleven Exclusive Blend (2 pots, AKA Regular), and of course Decaf. Since there are only four brewing spots, pots need to be rotated in order to keep everything fresh. The coffees are supposed to be remade as soon as they hit a half-pot or every half hour, which ever is sooner. I grab the Fusion and Vanilla and start those fresh, move on to the Brazilian and Regular, then look at the cappuccino machine.
A few weeks ago, a lady complained that the cappuccino machine was empty because nothing was coming out. Anyone who has ever had to deal with these knows that when they are empty, just hot water comes out. If you push the button and nothing comes out, there's a clog. Ever since, I've made a point of making sure all the workings are clean and the powders are full.
After setting the empty pots on the burners and hitting the "Make Pot Full" button, I move on to the cappuccino machine. I take the eighth pot, Hot Water, and begin to flush the workings to make sure they stay clear and refill the powder chambers. In to my second powder refill, a customer tells me we have a little problem.
Coffee Pot Overload ...
Apparently, when I set the pots and pushed the button, I forgot the filter basket. To make sure the coffee grounds get fully saturated, the water sprays out in a little fan. If you forget the filter basket, the water goes everywhere except the pot. I throw the filter basket in, stopping the already huge mess from getting any bigger, and proceed to mop up the puddle that had started dripping off the counter.
I tell the customer, while in the process of cleaning off the door of the cupboard under the counter, that the door needed to be wiped down anyhow. She laughs a little and comments on how calm I am after having made this huge mess that I now have to clean up. I tell her if this is the worst thing that happens to me all day, I can live with that.
I spoke too soon.
American History
One of my coworkers, he's the new guy, was humming a song under his breath. Well I recognized it. The Battle Hymn of the Republic is a rather distinctive tune. This leads to a discussion of the Union marching song, the Confederate marching song, and various other musical pieces surrounding the history of the US.
This would include the 1812 Overture. Which leads to my asking him "When was the War of 1812?" He assumes, rightly, that this is a trick question. "I'm going to guess some time around 1812?" "Why yes, 1812, 1813, 1814, and the first two months of 1815." Then this older male customer asks me how did I know that? Was I there? I figured he was kidding around, so I replied (in a tone dripping with sarcasm) "Oh, yes! I was so around then!" Then he says, "I suppose you believe that dinosaurs existed five hundred million years ago just because somebody wrote about it!"
Okay, wait, what? Dino ... huh? Welcome to a new tangent!
I wanted to say, "No! I believe dinosaurs existed sixty-five million years ago because I've seen they bones dug out of the earth!"
That's not what I said, but it's what I thought and what I wanted to say.
What I actually said was, "No, sir, I don't believe dinosaurs existed five hundred million years ago just because somebody wrote about it because if I did I'd have to believe everything they write in those scandal rags about Bat Boy and fish people!"
He struck me as a Bible Thumping moron. I have nothing against Christians, but I believe that it's a good book and you shouldn't thump on it.
Shortly there after, it comes time for my coworker to go on break. Make some coffee, stock some cigarettes, and keep busy.
And then he walked in ...
Drunk Moron
I'm on hands and knees behind the counter stocking cigarettes when the doorbell rings. I sit up and greet the customer. He sets an open half rack on the counter. With only the slightest drunken slurring, he tells me he spent his last ten bucks on a half rack (and I think "You want an illegal refund on a beer we don't even carry???") and he really needs a cigar and would I be willing to swap him straight across for one of his beers?
O_o ... o_O ...
*blink* ... *blinkblink*
"No."
"Well, how about you give me one out of your own pocket?"
Are. You. Serious?
I guess I'm the only one who doesn't carry a spare grape Swisher in their back pocket just in case the Random Idiot Factor shows up.
"No."
"Why not?"
"It's illegal."
"They're not gonna know!"
"Um, you're on seven cameras and two microphones right now. They're gonna know."
"Do you ever feel like you're in that movie?"
*sigh* "What movie?"
"Clerks."
At this point, the scene where Dante and Randal are discussing their horrible customers leaps to mind.
"Yes."
"Do you want a beer?"
"No."
"Just one?"
"No."
"What's your favorite band?"
Is this actually happening?
At this time, unbeknownst to me, my Assistant Manager is watching this on the monitor in the back room. She tells my coworker to cut short his break and come out to make his presence known. Not, she says, because I can't handle it, but just so this yahoo doesn't think I'm alone.
Serenade
"I don't have a favorite band."
I start walking away.
"Are you a Beetles fan?"
Well, yes I am, but "No."
"She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah."
He started singing to me.
He. Started. Singing. To. Me.
Then, realizing I'm a she, "He loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah."
Seeing that this isn't working ...
"So, can I go outside and ask people for a dollar so I can buy a smoke?"
"No, but you can leave the property."
"But I can't ask people for money?"
"No."
"But if I get a dollar, can I come back in and buy a smoke?"
"You can't come back in with that." That, of course, being the beer that he brought in illegally.
"Okay, but can I hang out outside?"
"No, you need to leave the property."
My Assistant Manager has come out of the back room as well.
"Time to go, buddy."
He rambles something about corporate management and how it's evil, tries to flash the shocker, but gets it wrong, counts on his fingers something about how cool Hollywood is, and something else I wasn't able to make out.
"Dude, nothing you just said made sense. It's time for you to go."
"Okay."
And he leaves.
My coworker asks, "What was that about Hollywood and the counting off on the fingers?"
"Your guess is as good as mine."
Oh. My. God. People like this drive me batshit.
Coworker goes back into the back room to finish his break.
I make some more coffee, wipe up the Slurpee machines, the usual.
Then the doorbell rings.
He's baaaaaa-aaaaack.
"Can I have a book of matches?"
I'll give him the benefit of the doubt, even if he did just leave a half rack sitting on the sidewalk outside the store.
I hand him a book and my coworker starts walking toward him and herding him toward the door.
"Do you like Megadeath? You look like a Megadeath girl!"
I ... I what? Moron!
"No."
I'm walking away, around machines, and my coworker is still herding him out.
"What about Metalica? Do you like Metalica?"
Patheica? Selloutica? Madonica? The Backup Band for Prince?
"No."
Please let him not start singing again.
Dude walks outside and, just as my coworker gets to the door, Bellingham's Finest pull up.
Perfect. Timing.
Police the First
My Assistant Manager says I should go outside and thank the Boys in Blue for showing up.
So I go outside.
Two cops: Riding shotgun is the shorter cop with long pants. Driving is the taller cop with shorts (and I think I know him from somewhere, like maybe he's a regular when he's off duty or something).
I get outside just in time to hear Shotgun; "We've talked about this. Remember? Just two months ago we talked about you being intoxicated in public."
Dude starts arguing about why cops were called on him the first place.
About this time, a lady pulls up to return her DVD to the Red Box outside.
I ask if I'm in her way, she says she just wants to wait so she's not in the cops' way.
Which could take a while since Dude is hunkered right next to the machine.
Driver gets out of the black and white and asks me if I want Dude gone.
Thought pattern: No, let him move in!
I nod emphatically.
Dude starts griping about people calling the cops on him.
Driver says that someone called because they saw him throwing trash over the fence toward what used to be Burger Me.
Dude launches in to this diatribe about how he doesn't litter, and he picks up after other people, and he tries to make the world a better place for society, and he tries to be a good citizen, and he's just trying to help.
Driver: "Go help Seattle. Get out of Bellingham."
Thought pattern: High five, officer!
Driver and Shotgun start pushing Dude to move along.
I notice that he's got two Papa Murphy's pizzas. Where he got these with no money is open for debate, but I'm assuming the dumpster.
Dude starts walking away mumbling about needing to find an over to cook his pizzas.
Shotgun asks what the story is.
I fill him in on the high points, including being asked for a cigar out of my own pocket.
"Yeah," Shotgun says. "Because you should always keep one handy for people like him."
I kid you not, cop said what I was thinking.
He walks on down the street, the cops tail him.
Presumably trying to catch him with an open container in public so they can pop him.
I have a break, discuss with Assistant Manager what the cops said, what I said to the cops, etc. Most of the rest of the day progresses smoothly.
Until Dude shows back up.
I go to change the chili and cheese in the machine.
It's kind of a messy process, so I have to take some of the parts in to the dishwashing area.
When I get back, the Assistant Manager asks me if my friend is back.
I look up and yes, yes he is.
She goes to the door and tells him he'll need to vacate the premises unless he wants to deal with more cops.
He left. Quickly.
Shift change comes upon us.
As we're doing all the fun shift change procedures, the phone rings.
Coworker and I start making comments about how that had better not be one of our replacements 'cause it would be rude to wait until the last minute to call in sick and/or late.
Fire Department
It is also important to note that the store manager's boss is here to do an inspection of the store. He's recovering from surgery, so he's sending his kids around the store to check us.
Assistant Manager comes out, phone to her ear, looking for something, telling the person on the other end that she can't find it.
Relief 1 comes in, followed shortly by Relief 2.
Then we get the word from the phone call.
According to them, we're on fire.
Since I didn't actually answer the phone, I'm only going off what I heard.
*ringring*
Assistant Manager: "Lakeway 7-Eleven."
Caller: "This is the Bellingham Fire Department. We have received a signal from your building that a fire is active on the premises."
AM: "We don't have any indication of a fire. Are you sure you have the right location?"
C: "1300 Lakeway Drive? Could you walk around the store and check for smoke?"
AM: "Have you seen this store?" It's pretty small.
C: "Locate the red panel."
AM: "What red panel?"
C: "The red panel. If you don't have one, you'll get a serious fine. Locate the red panel."
AM: "Where is this red panel supposed to be?"
C: "It should be in the office."
Uh, the office is locked two thirds of the day. Having it in the office would be useless.
AM: "It's not in the office. Where else would it be?"
C: "You should be able to see it, it should be very visible."
AM: "I'm not seeing it."
C: "We're still getting a signal, so you need to evacuate the building of customers until we can get there to evaluate the situation."
AM: "Evacuate the customers?"
C: "Yes. Right away. We're on our way to your location."
AM: "Alright?"
Then she tells us what's happened and that we need to evacuate. We hustle the one customer out of the store, the guy who's here to check our store and his kids, and we start turning people away from the door.
All this while, we're all sniffing for smoke, looking for this phantom red panel, and tidying up the store for a better score on the review.
I'm looking around.
"I've got red signs, red fire extinguishers, red shirts, no red panel."
My coworker starts to take the cardboard out to the recycle bin when he sees the DVD machine.
"You've got a Red Box."
Thought pattern: The curtains don't match the carpet. Oh, I'm going to Hell. Go to Hell. Go directly to Hell. Do not pass Go. Do not collect $200.
After about ten minutes of turning people away, sniffing for smoke, looking for the phantom panel, and cleaning little things, we *69. Area code 213. Los Angeles.
Mother. Fucker.
So we let people in, and I call Police Dispatch.
I tell the story of the phone call, the discovery, and not being able to find a non-emergency line for the Fire Department. Dispatch tells me that they're going to send an officer out to investigate and she's going to transfer me to the FD.
FD: "What is the address of your emergency?"
Me: "I do not have an emergency."
FD: "What is the address of your location?"
Me: "1300 Lakeway drive."
FD: "What is the nature of your situation?"
Me: Short and to the point version.
FD: "That's a police matter."
Me: "I just talked to them, they transferred me to you."
FD: "Well, I can tell you no one from here called you."
Me: "I just wanted confirmation that you are not receiving any kind of signal from us.
FD: "The police said that they would send an officer out."
Me: "Thank you much!"
I tell the Assistant Manager. She tells me that I get to hang out and wait for the cops.
Joy. Another round with the Boys in Blue.
Police the Second
A little while later, after we've hustled the boss's boss out with his kids (we got an A+ on our evaluation BTW), my coworker goes home, and the cop shows up.
I head outside to talk to him.
I tell him about what the callers said, pointed out that I didn't actually take the call, mention the panel (he looked very confused at this, too), and told him we started turning people away.
Cop: "You actually turned people away?"
Me: "Yeah. Prank or not, we have to take this crap seriously."
Cop: "Well, I can tell you right now that we will never tell you to evacuate. Nor will the Fire Department."
I give him the number, tell him that after trying to call it from both the store phone and my cell, we got the *do do do* Your call cannot be completed as dialed. Please check the number and try your call again.
As he's writing all the info down on his little note pad, he asks for my info. As I'm spelling my last name for him, I notice that he's spelled my first name correctly. It took almost a full two seconds to remember I wear a nametag.
That having been dealt with, I go smoke.
Then I clock out, about half an hour late, and head home.
Not a day I'd like to repeat any time soon.