Click to Subscribe
▶  More from Harm City Crackpot Mailbox Dark Age
Retail Crime and PTSD
Crackpot Mailbox: Don Qutays and James Tilt at a Taboo Windmill
10:59 AM (3 hours ago)
James,
The link below covers the effects of violent encounters on retail staff in the UK. I must assume various USA locales have similar issues.
Of course, there is zero mention of who these criminals might be.
The one thing not mentioned, that you occasionally do see in the USA, is any mention of staff fighting back.
Don Quotays

Sir, thanks for the cucked version of the facts in the Old Country.
The single most stressful aspect of running a retail food outlet in Baltimore was violence.
The neighborhood was a flat 50/50 residential area, all ebony and ivory. Of almost 3,000 violent encounters, off the top of my head, almost all just threats:
-3 were by cops, 2 ivory, 1 ebony
-a couple hundred were by ivory crackheads
-a couple thousand involved ebony oppressed from youth to middle age
These are rough numbers from memory. My incident log over the last year of my tour was about 2,800 I think.
I and my security man suffered shakes, cold sweats, heart-sinking anxiety and other ill effects due to the following factors:
-We were necessarily passive, fixed targets, 1 or 2 men trying to defend a 30,000 foot store and an acre of parking lot.
-We were in more legal jeopardy than the criminals as we could be criminally charged and civilly sued and lose our jobs, putting us at roughly triple the social risk.
-We were in more physical danger than the attackers as we were committed to soft touch restraint and they could do anything including deploy firearms.
-We became infected with a besieged mentality, as we could not go looking for these guys and fuck them up on the street, but had to await their bad intentions.
-Most of our duties involved other activities which were all made more stressful by the fact that we were turning our backs on potential offenders and avengers all of the time.
Since he was ebony and I was ivory we paid close attention to racial dynamics, defaulting to same-race contact, with the security man of the opposing race staying in a support role.
Basically, you know that almost all ebon males will either run or fight, all ebony queens will scream and fuss and threaten law suits, while most ivory males hang their head in shame and ivory wenches offer you a blow job to let them go.
Any time you dealt with a person of an enemy race, as they saw us, then the simple shoplifting, panhandling, drug dealing or other disruptive situation went from one where social justification for action switches immediately from the defending retailer to the offending criminal.
I think I only touched 4 offenders, as I always sought noncontact resolutions:
-1. I pulled the arms away from the body of an alcoholic cracker with steaks under each arm and then finger jabbed him in the throat and deployed my pen for defense when he advanced on me. A male customer called me up and cheered my effort.
-2. I tried to grab the coat of a 350-pound ebon man who had broken two tackles by security and clerk, running past me with a Christmas ham and was unfortunately unable to get a grip on the slick windbreaker, which deprived me of the joy of being dragged across the parking lot like a teacup Yorkie attacking the mailman's pants cuff.
-3. I grabbed Eddie Horn, retarded crack-head psycho, by the sleeve to get him off a customer and when he clinched with me I broke it with a head butt and then lied to the pigs about the contact so they arrested him.
-4. I grabbed Jerome T. Crackhead by the coat sleeves as he ran by me, climbing the front window with his sneakers like Spiderman, as he refused to take his hands out of his pockets, which each had an open knife in it, and eventually stripped his coat with the liner filled with 72 bars of Dove soap. I soon received a phone call from a female customer who had seen it and asked me if I would do to her what I did to Jerome, only not stop stripping her after her coat came off. I'd like to say I was a better man than that, but...thanks Jerome!
Generally speaking such encounters do not result in PTSD, because you get contact release, a resolution, a fist bump from the stock clerks and a wink from Big Titty Tannika while she wags her heavy breasts at you and chirps, "Who ma baby daddy! Who ma baby daddy!"
The post event stress doesn't come from "trauma" but from the static threats, the internal stress of governing your response to threats with an iron will against all natural instincts, along with the hunted feeling of being the target of violence while doing your everyday job under strict restrictions where your defensive responses are concerned.
When my co-manager Duz got chased by a gunman and a Buick driver while he ran with ten grand under his arm in a brown paper bag he said, "It was great!" like a cross between playing football and being a movie stunt man, especially after the Buick failed on contact with his stupendous Polack buttocks and wrecked!
The high stress comes from the facts that:
-Individual employees are not supposed to resist aggression [personal negation]
-Groups of employees are not supposed [on pain of being fired] help beleaguered coworkers [collective alienation]
-And you absolutely are not allowed to beat the piss out of a man that tries to kill you in the American workplace—like the Chuck Norris rule minus 50%, [agency negation]
What this modern straight jacket does is make us sheep, lower than cattle, in our meek workplace, prohibited from standing up for yourself, standing up for each other or standing up for what we know is write, atomizing and alienating us so that we may be, as souls, more tenderly devoured by the vast machine dedicated to eating our identity and our spirit. One thing that is missed on this subject is the high stress placed on an employee—usually a ghost—who has a customer—usually a wraith—bring charges of rudeness, racism, or lack of submission to the employer and insist that the employee be fired demoted or at least scolded in front of the customer for their crimes against the customer hierarchy, of which the clerk is the serf and is only permitted to grovel.
While most of Western Humanity yet fancies itself, from within its fishbowl of delusion, as "free" I never met a retail food employee who did not know—and painfully so—that he or she was a slave, surrounded by masters, from employee, to police to customer...the very aggressor who is at once always right and given the liberty of plying their might to either threaten you [if you respond you are fired], get you fired for some perceived petty slight or beat your ass, while you must kneel and take it or be sentenced to economic oblivion, and possibly criminal charges and civic suits. In fantasy terms, the retail food employee is the Ork commanded by dark lords and terrorized by wraiths, hated by all, fated to do the work of their masters while better-educated humans are blinded to their own plight, parading like peacocks until they fall.
The most fun we ever had in supermarkets was when there were natural or manmade disasters which guaranteed no police response, so that we could defend ourselves with pallet slats and the vast arsenal of tools available to the grocery clerk—about 10 days out of 12,000 as a man rather than as an ork.
The Hunt for Whitey
Recognizing and Surviving the Condition of Anarcho-Tyranny
prev:  'No Clue with Guns'     ‹  harm city  ›     next:  Mr. O-soto-gari
eBook
predation
eBook
the lesser angels of our nature
eBook
behind the sunset veil
eBook
thunderbird
Add Comment