I swung by Walgreen’s on the way home, and as I was in the middle of a conversation with Andy, I became one of those dreadful people entering a store while on a cell. I was probably 10 feet away from the front door of Walgreen’s, walking towards it and chatting away about drag queens, when all of a sudden some hoodlum comes running out the door, his backpack being grabbed by a Walgreen’s employee.
“Oh my god, Andy. Someone’s running out of Walgreen’s. It’s a thief! He’s being chased!”
“Oh my god, girl. They’re chasing him right now?”
“Yes!” I screamed into the phone, as I watched the criminal run in the middle of traffic, sans backpack.
Andy, being highly experienced in urban crime, then asked, “How many are in pursuit?”
“Oh, I love that shit. Damn, right in front of you and everything.”
“I know. Jesus. Okay, I’m going in Walgreen’s. I’ll call you right back.”
I entered Walgreen’s and found an array of people standing around, most of whom were offering the “I’m interested, yet at the same time have shit to do so let’s get back to cashiering, please” vibe.
Leaving Walgreen’s with merely the one item you initially went in to purchase is impossible, and I was forced to procure a basket, my arms were so full with needless crap. By the time I got to the cash register, I had been in Walgreen’s a full ten minutes and the staff was just getting around to examining the contents of the backpack.
I should point out that the staff comprised of three twenty-something Asian guys who had gangsta-ed out their Walgreen’s uniforms. As I unpacked my basket, one said to the other, “Dude, did you find some personal effects up in that shit?”
This was my cue to dive in.
“Is that the bag of the thief?”
“Did he get away?”
“Yeah. But we got that bitch’s bag. Dude, I gotta start running again. I’m winded, yo.”
We then got to examine the contents of the backpack. Turned out, our suspect had a penchant for Zantac. He must have had 10 boxes stuffed “up in that shit”, along with his personal effects. I was perplexed by the obscene amount of antacid and thus decided to ask the most suburban question ever to be uttered.
“What’s up with the Zantac? Can you get high off that?”
The Walgreen’s fellas looked at me like I was nuts. “No. Judging by the quantity he had in possession, he was probably going to sell it to some bitch ass convenience store in the ghetto.”
“Oh yeah. That shit happens all the time. I shoulda been able to catch that fuck, though. Man, I’m fuckin’ winded. You want me to double bag this?”