NationStates Jolt Archive

Mall Force (Story)

25-09-2008, 15:41
I step into the breakroom and automatically seek out the coffee pot. Usually, Duke has a fresh pot already brewed by the time I make it to work. The auroma is different everyday. Sometimes its' a special blend from some South American country that would perish economywise without coffee beans. I don't know where he gets this coffee. In fact, there's not alot I know about Duke Flannigan.

He's a robust man. One of those men you read about. Broad chested, arms like tree-trunks, a deep commanding voice. His hair is cropped short and those blue eyes are like beads of steel. I think he comes from...nevermind, I honestly don't know. He's a mystery wrapped in an enigma. We all take bets on what his story is. I am convinced that he's ex special forces or even black ops. One of those one man armies that are out to win the War on Terror all on their own.

Oddly, there is no distinct aroma emminating from the breakroom. Just the scent of some sort of food that should have been left in the fridge but was not and has been basking in room temperature for an unsafe amount of time. It's completely empty. Just me and all the motivational posters that line the walls. You know the ones, the ones with some sweeping vista and a vague reference to "Reaching that Goal" or "Persistance always pays off". It takes me a minute to formulate a theory. Perhaps, by some freak occurance, I'm actually early to work today! This is a catastrophy for someone like me. I pride myself in being almost late to work. I know it sounds strange but this is one of my habits. If I don't feel something is important, then I take my sweet time. It also annoys the piss out of my supervisor. Because he sits in his office, hand over the phone, ready to yell till his hoarsed in the throat at why I'm late. Of course, I always stride in and wave at him through the window of his office five minutes till.

If anyone was to see me here early then they might get the impression that I-want to come to work. This simply cannot happen. I have a reputation to uphold and I decide to just disappear until five till. As I make my way to the door it suddenly opens an that huge grizzly named Duke Flannigan is standing squared at me.

His eyes narrow, "You're early, Ben"


I slide a hand around the back of my neck and offer an awkward shrug, "Guess every dog has his day, right?"

Duke makes an attempt at a smile but fails and simply walks past me and straight to the coffee pot and produces a rustic looking small bag with coffee grounds in it. This is Duke's routine. He makes every attempt to act "human" but I know his fucking secret. He's not much of a talker. He's always reading a Soldier of Fortune or Guns 'N Ammo magazine. This fortifies my black ops angle.

"So...what did you do over the weekend?" I attempt at conversation.

He's finished pouring the water and placing the grounds in the maker and settles down into a chair, "Meh, nothing much. Saw a movie on saturday-about it"

I contemplate asking what movie but decide against this and just mozy on over to my locker and get my guard belt. Now it's time for you to know the ugly truth of my profession. I am-a Mall Cop. It's a thankless job, full of unsung deeds. I always try to find a better term for us but can never manage. So, I sink into the realization that I am the very same thing that I ridiculed when I was a teenager.

Things aren't quite panning out the way I'd hope in my life but we'll tackle that White Wale later. Anyways, this is where I found myself once the dust settled and it works fine for me. I'm pretty much my own boss, get to hang out at the mall all day. There's plenty of hot women to watch as they carelessly and innocently bend down to pick up a DVD on the bottom shelf. Nothing much ever happens, just the occasional shoplifter or teenagers causing a ruckuss.

Duke's another mall security guard or however you choose to label us. The other ones that work on my shift are Frank Delroy, an obese older man with thinning hair and a protruding beer gut. Then there's Dale Peterson, bottle glasses for glassesd, thin as a rail, mainly works as our dispatcher. To conclude our ensemble is Greg Stanwick, a descent enough guy who's in a similar situation as myself. We're a small group but ardent defenders of the Mall Code. We are: Mall Force. This is my joke name for all of us. It is really a joke. The Security Manager, Harry Wexler is the Bob Villa of tools, her redefines the term "tool". I hate him and try to make his life difficult at every turn. The feelings are mutual.

Everyone's trickled in by now and Harry stands in front of the rest of us. With a clipboard in hand he stands infront of the white board at the front of the room. I often picture him as George C. Scott at the beginning of Patton. Striding confidently up infront of that massive and imposing American flag. Someday, I'm going to put one up behind him to complete my idea.

"Good morning, people" Wexler begins, adjusting his glasses, "It's supposed to be a busy day today. As we all know-Halloween is fast approaching and the Horror Store is back in business and we expect a rush of people to buy costumes to get ready for the holiday"

I cock my head back and stare at the ceiling

"Last night that vandal struck again and spray painted severl slurs on the southwestern wall outside near JC Penny's. Try to keep a lookout out there today, he may come back. Surveillance footage is bad once again and there's no clear image of the perp"

I like how he uses the word perp like we're on an episode of NYPD Blue or something. he takes this job way to seriously.

"There's also an update to the barment list and that will be posted in the main office for everyone to look at" he clears his thoat and by this time. I've lost all touch with reality and am in my own little world.

Finally, I see that his mouth has stopped moving and it's time for us to go to work. adjust my belt and shuffle out of the room.

"Where you heading to first?" Greg asks as we enter the main part of the mall. It's going to open its' doors in about five minutes.

"I dunno, somewhere where no one will find me" I simply reply.