“Where’s the bottle?”

“I brought it out. Set it on the bar. You don’t have it?”

“No! I saw you set it down, but by the time I came over to that end of the bar to move it to the mirror, it was gone. Somebody must’ve stolen it.”

“Ah shit. I’ll go check the cameras.”

I missed that conversation between the manager and bartender at the bar & grill where I work nights, but I heard the recap a few minutes later. My manager was looking at the closed circuit monitor, scratching his head, wondering how in the hell to use the thing without a keyboard or mouse.

I stepped into the office. “That’s my day job. Cameras, registers, digital video recorders, and so forth. I should be able to figure this thing out. If I can’t, I oughtta quit my day job. Let me at it.”

The DVR was up on a high shelf, so I stood up on a padded swivel chair, and after carefully adjusting my balance to prevent any unexpected falling injuries, I starting pressing buttons and making guesses. My manager stood on a chair next to me, his eyes darting back and forth as I rifled through several baffling menus.

I eventually determined how to assign a single camera to take up the entire display, and then I discovered playback mode. Bingo.

The culprit: male, mid-twenties, short spiked blond hair, black Fox Racing hoodie. The thief was likely some local faux-rural fuckstain who came in after taking in the motocross event at the arena across the street. He was definitely too old to be stealing cheap booze and dashing away, giggling and proud of his misdemeanor. (Like I did as a teenager. It’s okay for teenagers to steal booze from the grocery store. Hell, it should even be encouraged. Adults? Not so much.)

My manager took this positive identification back to the bar and asked his staff questions about the douchebag, eventually learning the moron asked for directions to our competitor, Chili’s, just down the street.

Cops were called. An attractive, cheerful policewoman came in the watch the video, take a report, and finally, dispatch units to Chili’s to secure the miscreants and the pilfered alcohol.

The Hoffman Estates cops nailed all four of the scumsucking bottom dwellers. I heard everything through the police radio.

The policewoman, my manager, and me were all yelling, cheering, and high-fiving. Congratulating each other.

It was nice to be on the right side of the law for 1 day out of 365.That’s my quota for the year.

11:08 AM - Bottle Rocket Fire Alarm