Once Upon A Tactical Time

Once upon a tactical time, long, long ago, in the Land of Freedom and Prosperity there was an invention that changed the way the common folk beheld amusement. This new contrivance allowed the pauper to enjoy the best of the jester, the thespian, and the minstrel in the comfort and solace of their own lodgings. Such amusement was no longer available only to the king, the wealthy, or the land owner — it was now available to everyone. And thus began a time of mirth and merriment throughout the land.

That contrivance, that invention — the Video Cassette Recorder — became known far and wide as the VCR.

Be Kind, Rewind

In those days the commoners would travel to a local merchant where they could borrow, or “rent,” Video Home System cassette tapes for a nominal fee. The VHS tapes were inserted into the VCR and then “played,” resulting in moving pictures projected onto their ox cart-sized television sets. However, when the allotted time of borrowing was over, the tapes would have to be returned to the merchant. But, if they were not diligent, the borrower would incur additional fees if they were late returning the VHS tapes or if they were unkind and didst not rewind.

The greatest video home system merchant in all the land was Blockbuster Video, who, by the mid 1990’s, had over one thousand stores in the Land of Freedom and Prosperity alone. And at the very threshold of one such store is where our story finds us.

Doing The Right Thing

One day I journeyed to the Blockbuster Video in town where I lived and worked with my two small children in tow. My daughter was about six years old, and my son about three. I carried my son in one arm and held my daughter’s hand with the other as we walked across the parking lot to the front door. I was in full dad-mode as I anticipated the rent-two-get-one-free sale boldly advertised in the window.

The entry way to the store was a glass vestibule, with an interior and exterior all-glass door and a space in between. I reached the door and noticed a man through the glass on his way out.
Because I believe in doing the right thing and wanted to set the example for my kids, I paused and allowed this man to leave the store first and pulled the door open for him.

Hasty Exit

With my son still in my arms and my daughter at my side, I held the door and waited for the man — who seemed to be in a bit of a rush — to exit. As he flew past me heading for the parking lot I realized that he was carrying a large, lumpy pillow case and there was an employee hot on his heels.

She seemed flustered as she jotted something down on a small slip of paper cradled in the palm of her hand, her eyes bouncing back and forth between his back and her pen and paper. He made his way to a parked car, hopped in, and sped away. The wheels in my head started turning.

2 Plus 2

In that moment I put two and two together and realized that I had just held the door and facilitated the timely escape of The Pillowcase Bandit — a name I just made up. Apparently he had grabbed like a hundred movies, stuffed them into his ratty old pillow case, and made a run for it like a crack-head version of the Grinch.

Thanks to me he didn’t have to contend with some pesky double-door glass vestibule that might have inhibited his flight. Oh no. I made sure he had a clean exit. To my credit (that’s what I tell myself) at least I had the presence of mind to catch his license plate and call it in to the station.

After the initial excitement was over, I carried on with the purpose of my journey, got our movies, and headed home, not waiting around for whoever had to come out and take the report. And yes, for those wondering, I took full advantage of the rent-two-get-one-free sale.

Hypothetical

A couple days later I went to the locker room to change into my uniform before my next shift. There for all to see were a bunch of frame-by-frame still images from Blockbuster’s surveillance video taped to my locker door.  The pictures were of me holding the door and the thief running out; indisputable proof of my involvement. A little something like that would not go unnoticed and may never hear the end of it.

Every time someone brought it up I would get all defensive and protest, “I had my kids with me! What was I supposed to do!?” To which they inevitably replied with some hypothetical version of me tripping the guy by throwing one of my kids at him like a stick into the spokes of a bicycle wheel. I suppose that could have worked and would have made a great story, but I’m fairly confident my wife would have left me and I would not have lived happily ever after.

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