Armed Robbery: The Post Game

Once we leave the restuarant, Tim wants to go to a convenience store to get some beer.

“Are you crazy?” I exclaimed. “They’re even better targets for robberies than burrito places. No way.”

“But, sweetie,” he patiently explains. “I don’t have any cold ones in the… ”

“No, no, no, no NO!” I cry. I will not relent, so rather than upset me more, he agrees to the compromise that I make him the martini of his choice. No problemo; I was planning to down a few myself. Actually, Tim wasn’t too upset that he couldn’t get a beer. He was in a great mood, as he figured that now, my bus phobia simply had to be cured.

In retrospect, the would-be assailant was none too bright. Why didn’t he wait outside until the woman was near the till rather than toward the back? And, since he was already in the joint, why didn’t he run over and take our money? Frankly, it kind of adds insult to injury to be so frightened by a robber who’s such a moron. I think I might be feeling better by now if he had been just a teensy bit higher up on the food chain.