By Dick Johnson
I waited for my boss to leave the hardware store with the night deposit.
I never imagined how excited I would be to kick his ass. I honestly could not wait. All day long, I thought about it and giggled.
I wore a mask and I walked with a limp. I said nothing, as I came up to him in the darkness. I had been waiting in an alley till he came out, and knocked him down while he was unlocking his car.
His keys went scattering across the lot, and so did the bank bag.
I kicked him a few times with my steel toed boots. Good ol’ steel toed boots are one of the best weapons you can have.
He grabbed his side and held on while I kicked him. His grunts were kind of making me feel bad. So, I quit. Then I grabbed the bag, and ran off back down the alley by the store. I was probably on video, but I made sure I did not look like myself.
Honestly, I still feel guilty about it. The guy had given me a job, when no one else would. But, he held the fact that I was a felon over my head, and treated me like I was a punk. I didn’t hate him. I prayed for him. But, it’s just business…isn’t that what he told me, when he cut me short?
It would be ok to fire me and put me on the street, and ruin my life, and the life of my kids, at his will, and call it business. But, I can’t?
He can steal my time, but I can’t steal his money? I can’t take it out of his hide? What’s the difference? Is physical violence, worse than financial violence and abuse? Would you rather be punched in the face? Or watch your kids and wife suffer through poverty? I rest my case….
The next day, the other employees told me he was robbed and I acted surprised. I’m a pretty good actor.
Then, later that day the cops came to talk to me. They asked me where I was, and if I could prove it?
“I was home watching Netflix. I ordered a pizza some time that evening, not sure when.” I said.
I had ordered a pizza earlier in the evening, which really didn’t give an alibi, but I had left it cold, so the time might be odd enough to work out. I didn’t eat it till I got back. The timing was pretty close. Course, I didn’t say anything about any of that because I was not supposed to know what time he got robbed exactly.
“How much was taken?” I asked.
“About, $1000” they said.
Now I didn’t feel so bad. I only got $400, so someone was inflating the amount stolen for some reason. If they are going to be liars and thieves why should I feel guilty?
The boss got out of the hospital with a mild concussion, and bruises. So, he was ok. But, it was nice not having him there for the day. I might have to beat him regularly.
(Bio: Dick Johnson is a writer from St. Louis, Mo.)