One would believe that getting kicked out of a major-chain department store would not require all that much work, wouldn't you? We didn't either. When I was working at camp, one of the major destinations was the K-Mart in Sonora. This wasn't your usual schlocky trailer-trash variety of K-Mart, either. Since this was the biggest department store this side of Sacramento, it was actually pretty nice inside--almost as nice as a Target. Living up in the mountains, there's pretty much nothing to do except to go shopping, so we were fairly regular attendees at K-Mart as we tried to find excitement in a one-horse town.
The previous weekend we'd been in something of a mood. Perhaps we'd been spending too much time in K-Mart or something. We goofed around with the merchandise, and were our usual boisterous selves. Dan decided that he wanted to try on the rollerblades--in the store. After rolling around for awhile, a salesperson politely told him that he'd have to take his rollerblades off. When he replied that they still the store's blades, she offered to accompany him outside so that he could check them out properly. In retrospect, we should have kept touch with this woman, as she was obviously The Most Helpful Salesperson In Creation. Dan dropped the skates, and we left the store shortly after.
Realizing that it would take a bit more severe action on our part, we decided to intentionally sack the store with the express intent of getting kicked out of K-Mart. The next weekend we were amped. Already in the spirits, Dan jumped one of the disabled-shopper cart things and cruised around Payless--again without store comment. He rode around the parking lot for a while, past several clerks, none of whom felt inclined to comment.
We all finally approached the K-Mart en masse: numbering about 20 late teens and 20somethings, we entered simultaneously. Chris and Jesse hit the toy isle, encouraging a raging three-isle gun battle. Dan bee-lined for sporting goods, while the rest of us fanned out turning up radios, fiddling with the TVs, rearranging merchandise, sitting in the middle of a lawnchair display. I ran blocking for Dan, who grabbed a bicycle helmet and a golf club to round out his attire as a hockey madman. We cruised the back isles of the store, sure that security cameras had us, rearranging merchandise the entire way.
We'd cruised the store for nearly 10 minutes, and still had not gotten ourselves noticed. We stood in a knot towards the back of the store, discussing our next move. Saying nothing, Dan took off towards the front of the store, executing a perfect turn and waving as he passed all the checkout stands and the customer service kiosk.
From the back part of the store burst two fat manager-looking types who demanded to know if we were the ones on the rollerblades. Looking down out our booted and sandaled feet, we all shrugged askance at the managers. They stormed off in search of Dan who was cornered and forced to take off his ill-gotten booty, threatening him the entire time. It was demanded that we all leave the store immediately. Our remaining members were rounded up and also unceremoniously expelled from the store.
It wasn't until we were all outside recounting the trouble we'd gotten into that we realized that Martin, an exchange Scout from Ghana that spoke little English, was still trapped inside, and wouldn't know what became of us. That, of course, didn't sway the managers who stood guard at the entrance. We stood at the entrance and sang "We Shall Overcome" for some period and wondered if they could stop all of us from getting in at once. Fortunately, he simply finished the rest of his shopping and exited soon thereafter, preventing us from bum-rushing the store. I'm sure we wouldn't have wanted to experience the local pokey.
