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Thieving bitch!
This happened on Sunday and I wanted to give it a day or two to find out how the owners were going to handle it before posting.
Here goes.
On Sundays we're only open for 6 hours, which means there is no shift change. I've asked to work every Sunday because the hours work perfectly for me (12-6).
About 2:00 a woman and man enter. They're kind of straggly and crack-head-ish so I kept my eye on them without letting myself believe that just because they didn't look like they had money they were automatically going to steal something.
I ask them if they need a hand with anything, like I do with every other customer who comes in, and they say they're ok, they're just looking at the shoes.
I tell the woman if she needs a hand finding sizes to just let me know. The boxes are all out and it's such a pain when people try to find their own size because they always make a mess.
She selects a pair of denim knee-high lace-up boots (barf) and asks if I have them in a size 6.
She's very pleasant at this point and actually a nice relief because she's talkative, and most customers just ignore me and go about their business as if I'm not even there.
I find her size and she tries them on. They fit, and she starts to walk around a bit in them, checking how they look in the mirror.
I will now switch to dialogue.
SC: They need a bit of a platform on them; the heel is a bit high to not have one.
Me: I know, it's a pain. But if you walk with your knees slightly bent they're easier to walk in. (I'm a nut for heels and the worst for wearing shoes that aren't exactly functional but look good so I've pretty much mastered the art of walking around in what I call "sitting" shoes.)
SC: I'm just worried that I'll fall on stage - I'm rough when I'm up there.
Me: Hmm, they should be ok if you walk around in them for a few days before hand to get used to them.
SC: So these are $60 no tax, right?
Me: There's no tax if you have a dancer account. Do you?
SC: I've never bought anything here before.
Me: That's ok, we can make you a new account right now. Do you have your license on you?
SC: *in a cutesy way* No, but is that a problem?
Me: Well we need it to make sure that we're giving the discount to actual dancers. Do you happen to know the number off-hand?
SC: No, but I can call you with it later.
Me: Well how 'bout I just make the account, get your name and the club you work at then I can call them later and ask for it. What's your name?
SC: Alicia Knight.*
So I type the name into the computer and she asks if we have any denim outfits that will match the boots. We have one and it's pretty fugly, but I show it to her anyway.
She is still wearing the boots when she follows me over to the lingerie room.
SC: Yeah this isn't really my style - I'll find something somewhere else though. I'm just going to look around a bit more, ok?
Me: Sure.
I go back to the computer to finish making the account but figure I'll check the price of the boots first because the $60 she mentioned didn't seem right to me.
We don't have a lot of shoes but I still don't know the prices of all of them off-hand. Especially the uglier ones no one ever asks about, like the ones she's wearing.
I type in the PLU and they come up $135. Fudge. Just to be sure, because mistakes can be made, I double check the PLU on the box and it matches. It also shows on the box that they're $135. I go over to the boxes on the floor to see if any of them have a $60 sticker on them and I also check the display shoe (we have stickers on the bottom of all the display shoes that tell us the box number, PLU, price and which sizes we have left of that particular style.) Nope, $135.
Me: *to SC very apologetically, because I genuinely DO feel bad that they're more than she thought* Oh hun, the shoes are coming up as $135 and not $60.
SC: No, they're 60 fucking dollars!
Me: Can you show me the sticker that said $60? Maybe something has been improperly tagged and we can fix the mistake. (I'm humouring her but whatever.)
SC: It was on the shoe!
Me: Can I see the bottom of them, maybe it's on there. (Remember, she's still wearing them.
So she lifts each foot and, just as I suspected, there is no sticker on either of them because they had come straight from the box.
Me: Hmm these ones don't have stickers on them. Let's check the display one.
SC: I'm not fucking checking that I just watched you switch the stickers!
Me: I didn't switch anything.
SC: YES YOU DID I JUST WATCHED YOU!
Me: Alright, I didn't switch anything. Either take the fucking boots off your feet or I'm calling the cops. I'm not playing this game.
SC: Then call the fucking cops! They're $60 and I'm not letting you scam me! I watched you switch the fucking sticker and if you try to take them off me I'll knock you the fuck out.
Ok, now I'm not exactly a large woman at 5'7" and 120Lbs, but damned if I'm not a tough little asshole who can strike fear into the heart of Death himself. Plus she's all of 5'5" in the 3" boots she's wearing. I could take her, but I don't get paid to throw down fisticuffs.
Instead I stood up as tall as I could and took a step forward.
Me: You're gonna try what?
SC: Fuck you! Call the fucking cops, you scamming bitch!
And she takes off!
Wearing my fucking boots!
Now remember, she was with a guy who said nothing the whole time but for agreeing to pay for the boots. He tried to leave.
Me: You're not fucking going anywhere. Get your ass away from the door! I'm calling the cops and either you or her can get arrested, I don't care which.
Man: How much were the boots?
Me: $135 PLUS TAX!
Man: I only have $60 on me. *sets $60 on the counter* I don't think I have enough to cover them.
Me: Not my problem.
At this point I had already dialed 911 and the operator answered.
As I was talking to the operator explaining what happened, what she looked like and which direction she took off in the guy she was with gets a phone call and slips out while I'm on the phone with 911.
As soon as I hang up with them I go to the door and lock it and wait for police.
Oh, and did I mention there's another customer in the store right now who has done and said NOTHING?!
I'm LIVID but I'm still at work and somehow miraculously I am able to still help this customer and right as I'm cashing him out the police arrive.
I'm talking to them as the customer is leaving and, because I'm not thinking right, forget to mention he was there the whole damn time so he leaves without them questioning him.
Stupid of me, I know, but I wasn't thinking. No one has ever ripped me off at work before so I didn't have a plan of action in place in my head.
So I give a statement to police, tell them everything I could remember about the couple and give them the name she gave me when trying to make the dancer account.
One of the officers said, "Looks like you just made yourself $60," while laughing at the obvious crack-baby who had just ripped off my store.
They ask if we have cameras and we do - several, in fact, but I can't access them, only the manager or owner can.
The officer tells me to get the manager or owner to get the tape, call 22 Division when I have it and someone, likely him, would be by to pick it up.
I call the owner to let him know what happened, but his son answers and tells me he's not home. I explain what happened to him (he's about my age so not a kid, and I've met him several times). He tells me to try his dad's cell and I do. I get a hold of him and explain, again, what happened. I call head office to see if they saw anything on camera (sometimes they watch) but no one is there, and call my manager and leave her a message.
Later that day, as I'm about to close up, my manager calls back to ask what's up. I tell her everything and FINALLY I hear the question that neither the owner's son nor the owner asked: "Are you OK? Did she touch you at all? Are you hurt and are you safe?"
I couldn't believe that neither the owner nor his son bothered to ask. Sure I was perfectly fine and she didn't touch me at all, but they don't know that! But my manager is fucking rad and a total sweetheart to boot so of course she would ask.
She wouldn't even let me finish the story until I assured her I wasn't hurt.
The next day (yesterday, Monday) I was set to open the store.
I go in, it's a normal day and the phone rings.
It's an officer at 22 Division telling me they couldn't find anything under the name she gave me, asking me again what happened, and reminding me to get the security footage and reminding me who to call to have it picked up.
Later on the owner shows up to bring in an order and talk to me.
I recount the story for the nth time, show him the money the SC's dude left (I didn't touch it and wanted to leave it there until the owner decided on what to do) and then he told me the one thing that fucking infuriated me:
"Well, it's not a big deal for the police and they have so much else going on. Might as well just take the $60 they left and cut the loss."
UGH! I couldn't believe it. I mean yes, he has a point that the police ARE very busy. I mean frig, I live next door to a fire station and I know how many times they're running out to calls so the police must have more on their plate, plus the added bonus of having to respond every time fire assistance is needed as well.
But that BITCH just took off with our shoes and I'm fucking PISSED!
I want her sent kicking and screaming to jail!
But I have no say and it's the owners decision and he's decided to let it go.
So there - the first blatant thievery I've experienced in my 6 years of retail work.
Fucking ballsack!
*Leaving her name as she told it to me isn't really an issue here, since police couldn't find anything with that name that fit the description I gave them, thus making it an obvious alias.
Here goes.
On Sundays we're only open for 6 hours, which means there is no shift change. I've asked to work every Sunday because the hours work perfectly for me (12-6).
About 2:00 a woman and man enter. They're kind of straggly and crack-head-ish so I kept my eye on them without letting myself believe that just because they didn't look like they had money they were automatically going to steal something.
I ask them if they need a hand with anything, like I do with every other customer who comes in, and they say they're ok, they're just looking at the shoes.
I tell the woman if she needs a hand finding sizes to just let me know. The boxes are all out and it's such a pain when people try to find their own size because they always make a mess.
She selects a pair of denim knee-high lace-up boots (barf) and asks if I have them in a size 6.
She's very pleasant at this point and actually a nice relief because she's talkative, and most customers just ignore me and go about their business as if I'm not even there.
I find her size and she tries them on. They fit, and she starts to walk around a bit in them, checking how they look in the mirror.
I will now switch to dialogue.
SC: They need a bit of a platform on them; the heel is a bit high to not have one.
Me: I know, it's a pain. But if you walk with your knees slightly bent they're easier to walk in. (I'm a nut for heels and the worst for wearing shoes that aren't exactly functional but look good so I've pretty much mastered the art of walking around in what I call "sitting" shoes.)
SC: I'm just worried that I'll fall on stage - I'm rough when I'm up there.
Me: Hmm, they should be ok if you walk around in them for a few days before hand to get used to them.
SC: So these are $60 no tax, right?
Me: There's no tax if you have a dancer account. Do you?
SC: I've never bought anything here before.
Me: That's ok, we can make you a new account right now. Do you have your license on you?
SC: *in a cutesy way* No, but is that a problem?
Me: Well we need it to make sure that we're giving the discount to actual dancers. Do you happen to know the number off-hand?
SC: No, but I can call you with it later.
Me: Well how 'bout I just make the account, get your name and the club you work at then I can call them later and ask for it. What's your name?
SC: Alicia Knight.*
So I type the name into the computer and she asks if we have any denim outfits that will match the boots. We have one and it's pretty fugly, but I show it to her anyway.
She is still wearing the boots when she follows me over to the lingerie room.
SC: Yeah this isn't really my style - I'll find something somewhere else though. I'm just going to look around a bit more, ok?
Me: Sure.
I go back to the computer to finish making the account but figure I'll check the price of the boots first because the $60 she mentioned didn't seem right to me.
We don't have a lot of shoes but I still don't know the prices of all of them off-hand. Especially the uglier ones no one ever asks about, like the ones she's wearing.
I type in the PLU and they come up $135. Fudge. Just to be sure, because mistakes can be made, I double check the PLU on the box and it matches. It also shows on the box that they're $135. I go over to the boxes on the floor to see if any of them have a $60 sticker on them and I also check the display shoe (we have stickers on the bottom of all the display shoes that tell us the box number, PLU, price and which sizes we have left of that particular style.) Nope, $135.
Me: *to SC very apologetically, because I genuinely DO feel bad that they're more than she thought* Oh hun, the shoes are coming up as $135 and not $60.
SC: No, they're 60 fucking dollars!
Me: Can you show me the sticker that said $60? Maybe something has been improperly tagged and we can fix the mistake. (I'm humouring her but whatever.)
SC: It was on the shoe!
Me: Can I see the bottom of them, maybe it's on there. (Remember, she's still wearing them.
So she lifts each foot and, just as I suspected, there is no sticker on either of them because they had come straight from the box.
Me: Hmm these ones don't have stickers on them. Let's check the display one.
SC: I'm not fucking checking that I just watched you switch the stickers!
Me: I didn't switch anything.
SC: YES YOU DID I JUST WATCHED YOU!
Me: Alright, I didn't switch anything. Either take the fucking boots off your feet or I'm calling the cops. I'm not playing this game.
SC: Then call the fucking cops! They're $60 and I'm not letting you scam me! I watched you switch the fucking sticker and if you try to take them off me I'll knock you the fuck out.
Ok, now I'm not exactly a large woman at 5'7" and 120Lbs, but damned if I'm not a tough little asshole who can strike fear into the heart of Death himself. Plus she's all of 5'5" in the 3" boots she's wearing. I could take her, but I don't get paid to throw down fisticuffs.
Instead I stood up as tall as I could and took a step forward.
Me: You're gonna try what?
SC: Fuck you! Call the fucking cops, you scamming bitch!
And she takes off!
Wearing my fucking boots!Now remember, she was with a guy who said nothing the whole time but for agreeing to pay for the boots. He tried to leave.
Me: You're not fucking going anywhere. Get your ass away from the door! I'm calling the cops and either you or her can get arrested, I don't care which.
Man: How much were the boots?
Me: $135 PLUS TAX!
Man: I only have $60 on me. *sets $60 on the counter* I don't think I have enough to cover them.
Me: Not my problem.
At this point I had already dialed 911 and the operator answered.
As I was talking to the operator explaining what happened, what she looked like and which direction she took off in the guy she was with gets a phone call and slips out while I'm on the phone with 911.
As soon as I hang up with them I go to the door and lock it and wait for police.
Oh, and did I mention there's another customer in the store right now who has done and said NOTHING?!
I'm LIVID but I'm still at work and somehow miraculously I am able to still help this customer and right as I'm cashing him out the police arrive.
I'm talking to them as the customer is leaving and, because I'm not thinking right, forget to mention he was there the whole damn time so he leaves without them questioning him.
Stupid of me, I know, but I wasn't thinking. No one has ever ripped me off at work before so I didn't have a plan of action in place in my head.
So I give a statement to police, tell them everything I could remember about the couple and give them the name she gave me when trying to make the dancer account.
One of the officers said, "Looks like you just made yourself $60," while laughing at the obvious crack-baby who had just ripped off my store.
They ask if we have cameras and we do - several, in fact, but I can't access them, only the manager or owner can.
The officer tells me to get the manager or owner to get the tape, call 22 Division when I have it and someone, likely him, would be by to pick it up.
I call the owner to let him know what happened, but his son answers and tells me he's not home. I explain what happened to him (he's about my age so not a kid, and I've met him several times). He tells me to try his dad's cell and I do. I get a hold of him and explain, again, what happened. I call head office to see if they saw anything on camera (sometimes they watch) but no one is there, and call my manager and leave her a message.
Later that day, as I'm about to close up, my manager calls back to ask what's up. I tell her everything and FINALLY I hear the question that neither the owner's son nor the owner asked: "Are you OK? Did she touch you at all? Are you hurt and are you safe?"
I couldn't believe that neither the owner nor his son bothered to ask. Sure I was perfectly fine and she didn't touch me at all, but they don't know that! But my manager is fucking rad and a total sweetheart to boot so of course she would ask.
She wouldn't even let me finish the story until I assured her I wasn't hurt.
The next day (yesterday, Monday) I was set to open the store.
I go in, it's a normal day and the phone rings.
It's an officer at 22 Division telling me they couldn't find anything under the name she gave me, asking me again what happened, and reminding me to get the security footage and reminding me who to call to have it picked up.
Later on the owner shows up to bring in an order and talk to me.
I recount the story for the nth time, show him the money the SC's dude left (I didn't touch it and wanted to leave it there until the owner decided on what to do) and then he told me the one thing that fucking infuriated me:
"Well, it's not a big deal for the police and they have so much else going on. Might as well just take the $60 they left and cut the loss."
UGH! I couldn't believe it. I mean yes, he has a point that the police ARE very busy. I mean frig, I live next door to a fire station and I know how many times they're running out to calls so the police must have more on their plate, plus the added bonus of having to respond every time fire assistance is needed as well.
But that BITCH just took off with our shoes and I'm fucking PISSED!
I want her sent kicking and screaming to jail!
But I have no say and it's the owners decision and he's decided to let it go.
So there - the first blatant thievery I've experienced in my 6 years of retail work.
Fucking ballsack!
*Leaving her name as she told it to me isn't really an issue here, since police couldn't find anything with that name that fit the description I gave them, thus making it an obvious alias.
If these horrid boots really had such a high heel, then couldn't someone easily catch up to her? How fast could she possible run? 
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