Used to be the news stations would report the news.
Then came the insidious VNR’s and the news was now not what it is, but what the news stations want you to think it is. Colored by whatever political affiliations and agendas, news is now identified as “red” or “blue.”
Either way, a load of bullshit.
Sometimes you see part of a story, and you instantly know the location without being told. For example, I saw a story where a man bit an officers ear, drawing blood, spit in his face, and was merely arrested and charged with assault.
I might not know exactly where the incident took place, but I know it wasn’t here in this country.
It wasn’t here.
With the temperament, proper protocol, and fear running through police officers’ minds, there remains very little room for error.
Security cameras caught a family of six Defrauding an Innkeeper and running out on a dinner bill. And again, no, not here in America.
I hope each one of them contract a horrible, deadly, uncurable disease. I hope they suffer from leprosy and get the Plague. I hope they are burned slowly to death at the stake.
You are losers, your ancestors were losers, your progeny are losers, their polluted kids will be losers and all of their souls are damned to an eternal fiery hell.
You are slime, filth, miscreants, douchebags, swine and not worthy to breathe the air of honest humans.
Other than that, it’s cool.
I worked in the restaurant business and now, that time has passed and things like Statutes of Limitations have expired, I can tell of my big brothers’ unique method of dealing with those dine-n-dashers that attempted to beat us out of their checks.
For the most part, it was easy to spot the people we suspected who might try to eat and run.
The obvious things, like if they just looked dirty and foul, but mostly it was the nervous look of contentment in what they were doing.
Once we were certain of an impending “runner,” (we coined the term well before Logan’s Run), we would mobilize any available kitchen staff and jump in the back of my brother’s old ’65 Ford pickup.
Once they hit the front door, the chase was on. It never ended very well for the offenders. We did not merely hunt them down. The kitchen boys each had mop handles or broomsticks and they always put them to good use in these encounters.
Invariably, we would call the police to cart their useless asses away.
After more than several calls, one of the Sheriffs remarked to me, “it seems we are always taking these guys to the medical center after you catch them for leaving your restaurant.”
I knew better than to extend the conversation in the least.
“Indeed,” I remember saying (told you I was a politician’s son).
As you can tell, I do not hold those criminals in very high esteem.
The thing is, in the decades I spent in food service, I never once turned down someone who asked me if they could work for a meal.