“Surf Shop Jackin'” submitted by Nicole. 4/28/08

The summer after I graduated from highschool, I was really excited because I’d gotten a job at this cool surf shop where a bunch of my friends worked. All of the people who worked there were really laid back, stoner, surfer types, except for my manager who was a total idiot but that’s another rant.

My second day on the job, my female manager and I are alone in the mens’ department and she has me hanging up board shorts while keeping an eye on the fitting room. So I’m going about my business when I see this 50 year old guy walk behind the fitting room counter. My first instinct is that he’s shoplifting, and I go over to check it out. I walk around the counter and ask him if he needs any help, when I see that he’s taken his johnson out of his pants and is jerking himself off behind the fitting room counter. We had these shirts hung up that had a graphic of a woman in a bikini, and I guess it was just too much for him to contain himself.

Now, I had no idea what to do, so I went to go get my manager, who started flipping out because, despite being 30 years old, she was still a virgin who lived at home with her parents. So she starts flipping out too and we go back there to investigate. They guy is nowhere to be found. There’s no back exit from the store and we were standing in front of the door to our department the whole time, so we figured that he must have hidden in one of the dressing rooms to finish the deed.

My manager was really freaking out, shaking and walking back and forth with no idea what to do, until she got the brilliant idea to call upstairs and have some guys from the surf department come downstairs and kick the guy out of the store. Instead of coming down and asking the creep to leave, three of our guys comes downstairs, one armed with a broom. A 20 minute standoff ensued with the old guy refusing to come out of the dressing room. I personally don’t blame him, I would have been too scared to come out myself.

We have no choice but to call the police and let them into the dressing room, where they have to subdue the guy and lead him out in handcuffs. It turns out that he had just been released from a mental institution and was living at a halfway house down the street. I had to give a statement to the police about exactly what I had seen.

Then, my manager and I had to go through the shirts in the back to make sure that he hadn’t “damaged” any merchandise. All of this occurred during my first shift, before I even took my lunch break. To this day, the image of that disgusting, wrinkly thing is burned into my brain.

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