March Madness

“Can I help you?” the attractive thirty-something woman behind the Walgreens counter asked, routinely.


“Give me whatever benzodiazepines you have,” I stated, as naturally as if I were asking the time.


“I’m sorry, but you need a prescription for those,” I could tell she was starting to figure out that this was no ordinary transaction. I placed my hands in my pockets in such a way to insinuate that I had something in them that would be relevant to any decision she would be making in the very near future concerning this particular customer.


“I don’t have a prescription; get them for me anyway.” Now she knew the score, but was still processing the oddity of my calm demeanor. I raised the pockets of my leather jacket suggestively. She responded by heading to the shelves and choosing a rather large bottle of Valium, but as I picked it up off the counter, I realized the bottle was nearly empty.


“This bottle is almost empty, do you have anything else?” I was in no hurry and I could tell she knew I wasn’t in a panicked state.


“I have another milligram, if you’d like. I’ll be right back.” for the first time, fear began to creep into her voice.


“Alright, but don’t do anything stupid.” I replied. My tone had changed to a threatening one as I raised my hands in my jacket once again to put emphasis on an inferred threat. I had nothing inside my jacket, mind you, it was completely empty, but I’m sure the ease of which I had carried out the robbery up to that point had made it appear to the clerk that I had something backing me up and allowing my relatively calm demeanor.


She came back within seconds with two large bottles that seemed completely full. I grabbed all three, smiled widely, and with a wink said, “Thank you. Have a nice day!”


I exited the pharmacy without even a glance over my shoulder, hopped in my car with the engine still running in the alleyway behind the building, and drove off into oblivion.



-Allen Masterson



©2013 Jerry Allen Masteron