is there a particular size of sign you are wating for?

i'm an idiot. got just enough brains to be dangerous. mostly, dangerous to myself.

i run a record store. that in and of itself makes me stupid. what kind of life could i hope for? pissant wages, sullen and irritating customers, a dying industry. but enough about the big picture, let's talk about tonight.

tonight, just a couple of hours ago, our store was robbed. i was sitting on my ass, waiting for the time to go by, my co-worker was printing up a sales report from a computerized cash register. a guy who's been milling about the store comes up and asks my co-worker for change for a buck. the exchange is completed, the cash drawer is closed. the guy then lifts up his shirt and shows a gun tucked into the waistband of his pants to my co-worker, and tells him to "empty the fucking register". being a computer based system, he has to use a mouse to click the "no sale" icon, which freaks out the robber. that's when i notice something is amiss. the drawer is opened, he grabs the cash and runs.

this is why i'm stupid. after being told not to, i run after the guy. and i keep running. the guy goes a couple of blocks, and i'm still in pursuit, cell phone out, calling 911, giving descriptions and directions and so on. this dumbass robber gets into his own car, which is diagonally parked in front of a 4 way stop. i chase down a car, and convince them to block this guy in for a moment until i can see cops in the area. the robber starts his car, he's flashing his lights, honking his horn and revving his engine. my good samaritan gets out of the way, at the same time cops enter the area, and soon enough, there is a chase. i found out later that this guy tried to shake the cops, but eventually buried his car into a light pole about a mile or so away. my co-worker was summoned to give an i.d. on the guy. his night is over. by this time, i'm shot up full of adrenaline, pacing, swearing like a sailor, ready to punch or be punched.

but eventually, the go juice wears off, and i'm left questioning why i did what i did. it certainly wasn't to save my stupid-ass record store $800. i could a shit about being some sort of hero. i'm no vigilante. i'm not what you would call a brave man. the needle on my meter that shifts between right and wrong isn't finely calibrated. so here's what i got left: i'm stupid. and tonight, i might have gotten lucky.

i've thought about this before, everyone has. i think that i am completely capable of dying in a fucked up and unexpected way. i've had many, many dreams that end with me looking up and saying to myself, in the minute moment allowed to think such thoughts, "ohshitthatcarscomingrightatme!". blam. awake and spinning from the pillow. many times, with the "car" part of that exchanged with "meteorite", "tree" or even "cannonball". let's put it this way, if i had been shot tonight, it would be a quick story among friends: "he got shot chasing an armed robber". people would roll their heads back and say "ooohhh." i could see myself being hit by a drunken hipster losing control of her valiant and putting it up on pike, takin' fools like me out. i could see myself getting whomped by that gracefully aged falling tree, while out on a peaceful hike. the meteorite, a little more far fetched, but these are specific dreams i remember. and that reminds me that i should walk into situations with my eyes a little wider, and bend at the knees in case i need to ninja jump.

i learned a couple things about my neighborhood constabulary. cops act pretty quick when they hear about "armed". the officer i talked to was surprised the sergeant allowed them to give chase, considering it was during the first rain in quite a while, just after dark. it turns out they were really worried about him running into a house and holing up.

odd night. i'm pretty much over it all, now. that store sucks. between this and that other thing that happened a coupla months back, i'm done caring, and i gots to, gots to get a new career.