I looked around for Darryl, our security guard, but of course, he was gone, probably nursing another Big Gulp in his car. The guy started grabbing loose apples, muttering to himself, “These are mine now.”

I stepped in, tried to keep my voice steady. “Sir, you can’t be here.” He turned, eyes burning, and screamed, “WHO’S GONNA STOP ME? YOU?”

For a second, I thought about letting him take the apples, but he hurled one at my head before I could finish the thought. It missed, barely. I grabbed a broom and held it out like a shield, forcing him toward the exit as he cursed and threw a handful of spinach.

He finally stormed out, suitcase wheels screeching on the tile. Darryl waddled in five minutes later, slurping his drink. “Everything good?” he asked, like nothing happened.

I cleaned up the spinach, leaned against the register, and whispered, “Yes, friend. This is fine.”

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5630792&forum_id=2...id.#48314533)