The Problem with Nice Customers

I can’t even begin to tell you some of the things I’ve seen. My Gramps used to say how good of a people-watcher I am. You might have met him; he’s quite famous. The last thing I heard was that he was in a museum going to India for whatever reason. Oh, so back to my story. It was probably 4 years ago. I live right above the Civic Center station. There was this clean-cut guy who used my services every Thursday night at 8:15 on the dot. He had a buzzed head and a scruffy beard. I liked him. He used to always talk about his girlfriend Molly, the snow, and China. He was a smart fellow. Probably studied International Relations or something. Well, one Thursday he seemed a bit off. His voice was shaking and he kept looking around. It’s not the nicest of neighborhoods so I understand, but I have

always felt safe. He was rambling on about how excited he was to go snowboarding because there was supposed to be a big snowstorm. He was getting angry about timing being off, which is weird because he already missed rush hour traffic. What more does he want? All of a sudden, I was surrounded by a dozen or so police officers. They were yelling at him to drop to the ground. I tried to tell them that he was a good guy, but nobody could hear me. Actually, he was probably the nicest customer I had. I really don’t like guns so I was uncomfortable beyond all measures. He eventually dropped to the ground with his arms and legs spread apart. He was handcuffed and placed in the police car. While they read him his Miranda Rights, his face lost all color. I feel so sorry for that poor guy. He always treated me well and fed me only the shiniest of coins. I hope Molly visits him often.