Clad in colorful clothing and boldly hued bandannas, they descended on us like a swirling gust of wind. We had only seconds of forewarning before they burst through the door and fanned out to form various vignettes of chaos and distraction.
There was a question over here concerning a label on a can, and a query over there about the price of a soda. They moved deftly and quickly – their accents and their “art” proving to be forces too great for a staff of three.
My finger was poised over the alarm button located beneath my cash register. In all my seventeen years, I’d never seen such a spectacle of confusion created for a clear purpose.
The jingling, chattering whirlwind exited with equal energy. Calmness like that after a storm blanketed the convenience store once again.
“Let’s clean up and count our losses,” the storeowner directed in a tone of anxiety mingled with relief.
We tidied shelves and surveyed our inventory, which was conspicuously scant of cherry cigars and Snickers bars.