“Hello?” I called out, already knowing I’d regret it.

Out he came, wild-eyed and clutching a broken bottle like it was Excalibur. “I ain’t leaving!” he yelled, pointing the jagged edge at me.

I froze. My weapon? A mop. He took a step forward. I took a step back. “Sir, please. The store’s closed.”

He grinned, waved the bottle around. “Then you’ll have to stay too.”

We danced like that for ten minutes before he suddenly bolted out the emergency exit, alarm blaring. By the time the cops arrived, I was mopping up piss in aisle 4.

Locked up for real, went home, and whispered, “Yes, friend. This is fine.”

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5630803&forum_id=2...id#48314563)