J. Cross, Manager
"Hello? dude, wake up, we got a problem."
"I hate problems," you mumble...
"come on, get out here"
Shit... you pace out of the break room after much thought of hating problems in the store. Your management position wasn't supposed to come with responsibilities. Well, actually the word "responsibility" was practically all the handbook said when they handed it to you.
You walk into the shopping area looking for this problem. You see nothing for a while, but then arrive at the front of the store and see a man sitting on the ground propped up against the wall. His clothes were in tatters and he was obviously homeless.
He was screaming irrational junk at people walking in the door, and at all your "sensitive-feelings" cashiers. You never liked hearing about Vietnam; in fact, you were there, on vacation. Why were other old people so upset about Vietnam? And why were all of them smelly? These people come into the store every once in a while, and you're pretty sure they have set up a small village in some remote part of the parking lot. You're pretty sure they were quite sophisticated, and probably had their own hobo government, and homeless army armed with stray dogs and smelly urine clothing. You're pretty sure them having people sit in your store was some form of biological chemical warfare meant to give everyone in the store diseases to close it down so the homeless could take over new territory.
Never mind why he's in there, he's irritating and scaring customers, and you're pretty sure he just peed on himself right in front of you. It's time to do something about this guy.
"I hate problems," you mumble...
"come on, get out here"
Shit... you pace out of the break room after much thought of hating problems in the store. Your management position wasn't supposed to come with responsibilities. Well, actually the word "responsibility" was practically all the handbook said when they handed it to you.
You walk into the shopping area looking for this problem. You see nothing for a while, but then arrive at the front of the store and see a man sitting on the ground propped up against the wall. His clothes were in tatters and he was obviously homeless.
He was screaming irrational junk at people walking in the door, and at all your "sensitive-feelings" cashiers. You never liked hearing about Vietnam; in fact, you were there, on vacation. Why were other old people so upset about Vietnam? And why were all of them smelly? These people come into the store every once in a while, and you're pretty sure they have set up a small village in some remote part of the parking lot. You're pretty sure they were quite sophisticated, and probably had their own hobo government, and homeless army armed with stray dogs and smelly urine clothing. You're pretty sure them having people sit in your store was some form of biological chemical warfare meant to give everyone in the store diseases to close it down so the homeless could take over new territory.
Never mind why he's in there, he's irritating and scaring customers, and you're pretty sure he just peed on himself right in front of you. It's time to do something about this guy.