Section 8

Boricua had hit the jackpot. I was jealous. Over the course of my life I've never been fortunate enough to win anything of great significance. Back in high school I won two nose bleed seats to watch my beloved Celtics (who were awful at the time) get thumped by the Miami Heat. Many years later I won $70 at a slot machine in Vegas upon entering the casino, but I lost $150 the next day. Nothing has come easy to me thus far. Boricua, on the other hand, is set to lead the type of life that I could only dream of having.

Boricua was a slightly older, full-figured woman with a caramel complexion. She's what the fellas would refer to as "thick", or "healthy." Her short dark, kinky hair had auburn highlights. It was pulled back in a messy 80s-style pig tail. I met Boricua while I was waiting to board the bus that was going to New York City. Boricua happened to be getting on the same bus, but she was headed to a different destination.

I was standing across from Boricua charging my phone while waiting for the bus. The whole time she was looking in my direction, but past me, as if somebody (or something) she expected was approaching. All the while, I stood by the window texting friends as I grew increasingly impatient. The bus was running late. Suddenly, Boricua started talking to me in her heavy Spanish accent.

Boricua: Are ju going to Brishport?
Me: Where?
Boricua: Brishport. In Connecticut.
Me: Oh. Bridgeport. No. I'm going to New York City. Is that where you live?
Boricua: No. I lib here, in Worcester. For three months. I moving here.
Me: Oh okay. Do you like it here.
Boricua: Yes. Yes. It much better than Brishport. Brishport is crazy. I like here. It quiet.
Me: It depends on where you live here. Some neighborhoods are crazy here too.
Boricua: I lib in Webster Square. Very quiet. I got Section 8.
Me: That's nice. Congratulations. You have kids.
Boricua: Yes. Yes. I hab 4 kids. 23, 21, 17. and 8. I coming here with the last two.
Me: Why did you choose Worcester?
Boricua: I can go anywhere with the Section 8. Anywhere I want. No problem. You shool get it. It's good.
Me: Oh no. I can't get it. I don't have kids and I work full-time.
Boricua: (adamantly) So! My friend make $25 an hour and she get the section 8. You shool apply.
Me: I don't need it though.
Boricua: Why not? You can get expensive place and no pay a lot. Call. They hab two place. One on Madison Ave and one on Belmont Street.
Me: (passively) Sure. I'll call on Tuesday.
Boricua: (excited) Yeh! If you not working they don't make you pay.
Me: I work, though. I work full-time.
Boricua: (pulling out a sheet of paper) I no work. Look how much they pay.

Not only was Boricua getting $1139 to pay for rent, she was also receiving an additional $72 to pay for utilities. The kicker was her expected contribution. She didn't have to pay anything.

Defense!

Defense is important in every aspect of life. As a defensive minded coach, I stand firm behind this statement. Defense is important on a micro and macro level. For example, your immune system serves as a personal defense to the germs you encounter on a daily basis. A human being without a strong immune system will ultimately succumb to illness. In just the same way, a nation with a weak military (national defense) will eventually fall to its adversaries. Basically, it’s impossible to stay ahead (or even get by) in life without being strong on defense.

Bubblees are typically very guarded people. They don’t share much with others because they’ve been burned repeatedly. As a result of being emotionally battered through life, they’ve developed poor defense mechanisms. This is why they often seek to hurt before they get hurt. Although the rationale may be twisted, it offers them a sense of security.

Faith is an outwardly beautiful young woman who has chosen to dance exotically at a local strip club. Initially when she told me this I thought it was all about the money. However, I determined otherwise as she shared more of her story with me. The method to her madness is quite profound, actually.

Me: Why do you dance? There are other jobs out there. You’re smart. You can do something else.

Faith: Why not? Men do what I want them to do. I work convenient hours.

Me: I’m stuck on the part where you said men do what you want them to do. Aren’t you dancing for them?

Faith: Yeh but they’re giving me money. I’m in control. The more I please their eyes, the more money they put out there. When I give em lap dances, they can only touch me if I want them to. I know they want to, but I don’t let em. Married dudes, single dudes, old dudes. I can make any of em drop serious money on me.

Me: And your boyfriend doesn't mind? Your dad?

Faith: My boyfriend gets to chill all day in the apartment I pay for. He's not going anywhere. He's comfortable. If I had a father figure maybe he would mind, but I don't have that to worry about. Women raised me.

Me: Interesting. Honestly, I can’t even discuss this further because you’re a student. You’ve already told me too much.  

Faith: Are you uncomfortable?

Me: Obviously! There’s a line, you know.

Faith: I bet you want me to tell you more.

Me: I really don’t. Do you need any help with classes or anything else?

Faith: You’re a nice guy so I’ll leave you alone, but I know you’re wondering what I look like up there. Come check me out sometime. Remember. I’m always in control.

Fantasy (Remix)

Reality is lost on today’s youth. Maybe my peers were just as delusional back in the day and I just missed it. I can’t remember any of my boys talking seriously about playing in the NFL or NBA when we were in high school. Every now and then somebody would lie about getting some buns, but every teen boy does that.

Once upon a time I dreamed of playing in the NBA. At the time I was a cocky point guard who lead his sorry middle school team to less than 20 wins in three seasons. Nevertheless, I was the man there. Opposing teams had to stop me in order to beat my team. I liked that feeling. From the moment I set foot at my school as a sixth grader, I was the starting point guard and played every single minute unless I got into foul trouble (which rarely happened).  That could be a major reason as to why I still don’t play a lick of defense in games…

By the time I got to high school, reality had set in about the NBA. It wasn’t happening. I was playing in a winter tournament during my freshman year of high school when I had my moment of clarity. Even though my middle school team didn’t win a lot, it never rattled me. The beating my confidence took in this winter league game was different, though. Not only did my team get destroyed, I literally couldn’t get a shot off. These boys were punching (not blocking) every shot I took. At the time I was merely touching the rim. They were dunking the ball with ease. In one fell swoop, I was suddenly very below average among guys who were my age. At 14, I realized that hours of practice could not bring my game to that level…

Today, I’m a junior college basketball coach at a Division III school. Many players I’ve coached here do not believe they should be playing at this level. I typically get guys who feel strongly that they should be at a NCAA Division I program. Most believe they’re victims of playing in a small basketball market. Others feel like grades held them back. Nevertheless I frequently encounter guys, like Tiny, who truly feel like they have Division I talent.

Tiny (re: Wishing on a Star, March) was the star of his high school basketball team. He is now done with high school. Even though his last day of school is in two days he does not know where he’s going to play this Fall. I talked to him about playing for me two months ago, but he still hasn’t applied even though his GPA is a 1.9. While I was getting a haircut recently, Tiny walked into the barbershop.  I took the opportunity to talk about college with him.

Me: Where are you going this Fall?

Tiny: I don’t even know yet.

Me: Didn’t you apply anywhere?

Tiny: Yeh. I applied to a couple of D3 schools as my last option but I didn’t get in.

Me: Last option? Where did you want to go?

Tiny: I was thinking St. John’s, Providence, or Hartford. (All Division I schools, two of which play regularly on ESPN.)

Realizing that I am just a junior college basketball coach, I spoke to a Division III coach who has a pretty good eye for talent. I wanted to get his take on Tiny.

Me: You ever heard of Tiny?

Coach: His name rings a bell. Actually, yeh, I just saw him play at a tournament last weekend.

Me: Okay. And what did you think?

Coach: He didn’t stand out. I mean, he’s fast but I wouldn’t call him a big-time player.

Me: He told me that he was looking at St. John’s, Providence, or Hartford.

Coach: No way!! Lol. He’s definitely a D3 kid...

Oppressed Soul

There was some heavy weight on Christian’s soul. He and his wife were headed towards a divorce. The marriage was breaking his spirit. Christian was also at a crossroads professionally after some legal issues derailed his career. And Jesus, who had guided him through his darkest hours, was starting to fade from his life.

Right around the time that Christian found Jesus, he met his wife who had also gone through her share of tribulations before being baptized. Christian’s list of vices (pre-Jesus) included alcoholism, fornication, and stealing, among other things. His wife was also a fornicator, which was evidenced by the son she birthed before marriage.

As redeemed sinners, they hit it off instantly. They tied the knot six months into their relationship. After twenty-plus years of agony and loneliness, Christian finally had a loving family of his own—a beautiful wife and her previously fatherless son.  A short while later, the couple had their first child—a girl. Two years later, they gave their daughter a sister.

Their happiness was short-lived, unfortunately. They started arguing a lot. A rift developed between them that neither their Pastor, or Jesus, could close. As Christian was recounting his marriage gone wrong, he started to cry.

Christian: We married too young. It was too quick.

Me: Divorce is hard on anybody, man. Marriage is just as difficult. Is it your pride getting in the way of making this work? Y’all have two kids together.

Christian: I’ve thought about that. I don’t know. Like, I don’t feel any affection from her. She doesn’t give me affection like she used to.

Me: Have you told her that?

Christian: Yeh, but nothing changes. It just doesn’t feel like she loves me. I’m part of the problem too, you know, but I don’t know. It’s just lost, I guess. She’s the reason I’m going back to school.

Me: Why is that a bad thing?

Christian: So, you know how I’m an EMT right?

Me: Yeh.

Christian: Well, now I got problems because of my wife. We argue a lot. One time we was arguing and she called the cops and told them I hit her.

Me: Did you hit her?

Christian: Nah. I was holding her down because she was scratching up my face and the only way I could get her to stop was by holding her down. When the cops came they asked me if I hit her and I told them no. The cop asked me if I put my hands on her, and I said yes, to hold her down. They arrested me and now I’m screwed. I don’t even know if I could do anything with this Human Services degree even if I get it.

Me: If anything, can’t you just go back to your old job at the mall.

Christian: lol. Nah, I can’t go back there.

Me: Why not?

Christian: Back before Christ, I stole like $70,000 worth of merchandise from there.

Me: What?!?! Did you do time for that?

Christian: Nah. I never admitted to taking the stuff.

The Good Book

Christian didn't always walk with Jesus. Once upon a time he was a just a kind-hearted, tall, chubby teen with family issues. School didn't come easily to Christian either. Other than his natural charm he had nothing going for him.

During the summer after my Sophomore year of college, I worked as a Residential Counselor at a camp for teens. That's where I met Christian. He was incredibly lazy. This was especially troubling given that this was an academic enrichment camp. Christian slept through most of the classes and completed a handful of homework assignments. Despite his aversion to school work, and unwillingness to stay awake through anything oriented around academics, the counselors liked Christian. He was the prototypical good misfit.

Christian dropped out of the program after that summer. It wasn't for him. Eventually he was transitioned from his mainstream high school to the alternative one in town. Things were going in the wrong direction for Christian. With the help of new friends, Christian turned to alcohol to solve his problems until a moment of clarity came about one night.

I hadn't seen Christian in roughly five years when we reconnected in my office. A lot had changed since I law saw him. The first obvious change was his weight. He wasn't chubby anymore. Christian had matured into a lean, olive-complexioned, father of three.  He was also unhappily married. Part of the reason Christian was at the college looking to change his career from an Emergency Medical Technician to a Youth Counselor was because of some drama with his wife. The bigger story, however, was Christian's transformation.

Me: Man, you've changed. Wow. I remember when you were sleeping in the back of class way back when. Look at you now!
Christain: God is good, man. Anything can happen through Christ. My life has been different since I found him.
Me: It looks like it. How'd you find Christ?
Christian: Long story, man. I don't know if  you knew but I had some family issues growing up. I basically grew up on my own. My father wasn't around and my mom wasn't there for me. All I did was work since I was like 14. School was whatever. You remember.
Me: Of course!
Christian: So I started chillin with the wrong people, doing stupid stuff until one night everything changed.
Me: What happened?
Christian: I was waiting for one of my boys so we could drink and he never showed up. I was callin other people to go out but nobody wanted to do anything. I was mad and stuff. I felt like I was alone so I started drinking by myself. While I was drinking I started thinking about how lonely I was. Nobody cared for me. Me and my sister was fighting. My mother wasn't there for me. I started crying like crazy then I got in the car.
Me: You were driving drunk?
Christian: Yeh. I was driving around then I got on the highway. When I got on the highway I started driving really fast, like really really fast. Then I heard a voice telling me to cut the wheel, like jerk it. The voice said do it and nothing would happen. I tried to ignore it, but the voice kept telling me to do it so I called my mom while I was crying and told her. She started praying with me on the phone then I got off the highway.
Me: That's when you found God?
Christian: It happened a little later. I was sitting by myself in the car outside of Jillian's and all of a sudden I felt this peace come over me. Since then, I've been walking with God. My life's totally different now. 

(To be continued)

Scarface

Scarface looked as if he had been beaten up. He had a couple of bruises on his face, but the slash across his nose was very noticeable. He had clearly been through a lot since the last time I saw him.

I met Scarface eight years ago before the scar. At the time, I was a senior in college working as a Student Development Specialist for a local non-profit agency that served troubled youth. Scarface was a 15 year-old student working towards his GED at one of the agency's therapeutic high schools.

Scarface had a very distinguishable Napoleonic-air, and look, that made it difficult not to notice him. He was short, light-skinned, and had freckles. Light skinned black folks with freckles are pretty rare. Even though Scarface wasn't on my caseload, he and I developed a rapport with each other that has lingered over the years.

I honestly don't recall many of our interactions other than the times we shot around at the shabby, makeshift basketball court that was in the basement of his school. Other than that, I really wasn't around Scarface much. I assumed that he just gravitated towards me since I was the only black dude on staff.

Every so often, Scarface and I run into each other around this rather large city. One night, a few years ago, I crossed paths with him randomly at a Store 24. Another time he happened to be with one of my players who was registering for classes at the college. More recently, I reconnected with him at a bar while he was meeting with an old white man wearing a suit. People who fit Scarface's profile (cornrows, baggy clothes) usually don't hang at this bar with well-dressed men, so I figured there was a reason beyond the booze for why he was in the joint. I waited until after his meeting to catch up with him.

Me: Yo! What you been up to??
Scarface: Nothin' man. Just chillin. I saw you a lil while back. You was joggin or something around Piedmont Street.
Me: Nah man. I don't jog. I was just walkin. Who was that dude?
Scarface: He might be defending me.
Me: Yeh? For what?
Scarface: I got into some trouble. He's asking me for like 15K to defend me. Crazy! I feel like he's pressuring me for money.
Me: What's up with the scar on your nose?
Scarface: It's all wrapped up in this.
Me: You get into a fight?
Scarface: Something like that. I was runnin from the cops cuz I had a gun on me and what not. When they caught me I punched the cop in the face and they did this to me.
Me: Damn, man. I've always thought of you as a good dude. Why are you into all the dumb stuff?
Scarface: I'm not a bad person at all. It's just hard to shake this lifestyle. Since I was a kid, it's all I've ever known.
Me: Don't die young, man. You gotta get more out of life.
Scarface: I know. I tried to get my GED but I failed the test and what not. My boy who was sellin with me is a pastor now so I went to his church to see what it was about.
Me: That's good. How was that?
Scarface: I like it, but I don't know. I see all these people gettin the Holy Spirit and stuff, but it never happens to me so I don't know. I'm thinkin maybe it ain't for me.

Slasher

Slasher comes from a rough home situation. For this reason, basketball means the world to him. It's his saving grace. That's why he plays with reckless abandon, driving aggressively to the basket every chance he gets. Yesterday I found out that he'll be donning our uniform after finishing as one of the city's leading scorers this past season.

I went to Slasher's high school a couple of months ago after finding out through a reliable source that his grades sucked. He had a 1.5 GPA. Despite that, Slasher held out hope that a couple of interested Division III coaches would find a way to get him in. He was wrong.

Before Slasher got the inevitable rejection letters from those colleges, I scheduled an appointment to meet with the rail-thin, scoring machine at his high school to get a read on his personality. I wanted to make my pitch to Slasher in case his financial aid offers were meager if he happened to get into the colleges that were recruiting him.

Slasher greeted me politely. I introduced myself and explained what he could get out of my program. I told Slasher that many players with lesser skills than what he was coming in with played for me and successfully transferred to a 4-year college. I reasoned that he would have even more options than those guys because he was actually being courted heavily by some programs as a high school senior. Oddly enough, Slasher began to sob as I was talking to him.

Slasher reluctantly offered information about himself after my pitch. I ended the meeting with him abruptly. He wasn't ready to deal with the reality of attending the local community college. Before leaving the building, I stopped in to chat with the former Head Coach of the boys' basketball team who had sent me a few players in the past.

Coach: Slasher might be coming to you. He'd be a real steal!
Me: I know. Do you think he can get into those schools?
Coach: I doubt it. One of them is trying really hard, but let's be real. He has a 1.5.
Me: Does he have any older siblings? He looks like an older guy in town. They even have the same last name.
Coach: Yes. He has a couple of older brothers. The one you're referring to is gang involved. He's a lost cause. Slasher is a good kid, though. You won't have any problems with him. Didn't you read about his family in the paper not too long ago?
Me: No. What happened?
Coach: Some family dispute or something. To make a long story short, during an argument at their apartment, the older brother grabbed a knife and slashed the father!

Dancing Queen

Faith's melancholy moment turned instantly into joy. She immediately stopped crying once she heard the news. For the second consecutive semester, she had earned a perfect grade point average despite her dire circumstances. Even though Faith had never met me before, she was comfortable doing her own version of the "happy dance" in my presence. She put her laptop down just to jump around and swing her arms in jubilation.

I was happy to bring some sunshine into her life. I congratulated her. A hug seemed appropriate for the moment, but I was careful not to cross boundaries. Instead, I extended my fist and offered her a pound. Faith smiled as she accepted my congratulatory gesture.

We walked out of the building together. On the way out she talked about the two courses that threatened to shatter her goal of keeping a 4.0 grade point average. The courses required her to write many research based essays. While Faith enjoyed doing research, it was often difficult to complete assignments with her boyfriend in the way.

In addition to hiding Faith's books and taking the car (minutes before she'd have to leave for class), he would play music very loudly to disrupt her concentration as she worked on homework assignments. He even resorted to worse tactics on other occasions, like smoking weed in their small apartment so that Faith would get a "contact high" as she typed. On those days she simply opened the windows in her bedroom, then bundled up her three year old daughter to watch tv while she worked on her essays.

Immediately, I started to think of ways she could free herself from this character. Her designer outfit suggested that she was not short on cash, so I asked if she was working.

Me: Do you work?
Faith: Yes, I do. Why?
Me: I was thinking that I could talk to my Supervisor about creating a part-time position for you in our office. Your situation is something else. I don't even know what to say. Hooking you up with a job is the least I could do to help.
Faith: I really can't work during the day. That's my class time. I work at night. That's why I stay with this idiot.
Me: He works with you? 
Faith: No. He watches my daughter for free while I go to work. He puts her to bed and all that. He does it every night and doesn't complain.
Me: We offer evening classes. Why don't you switch your classes so you could work during the day?
Faith: My job doesn't offer day time hours. lol. It pays way too good to leave.
Me: What do you do?
Faith: I dance. 

Sleeping with the Enemy

I could see death in the eyes of Faith. She was reduced to the little bit of hope that was clinging to her soul. Sensing that life wouldn't be kind to Faith, God equipped her with an extraordinary amount of hope at birth to fight through the harsh conditions that she'd encounter through her young adult life. By the time I met Faith, she seemed ready to trade her gift for death.

Faith stumbled upon my office by accident. She was looking for somebody from Counseling Services to talk to. Nobody was there. The Counselor on duty had left for the day. I was just about to log off my computer to go home when Faith found me. Seeing the look in her eyes, there was no way I could turn Faith away.

Faith had recently taken final exams and wanted to see her grades. All students can acess their grades online through the college's "Student Portal." I looked at the laptop Faith clutched under her right arm wondering why she hadn't just checked the grades herself in a wireless zone on campus. She also could have requested her marks to be sent via mail. After our exchange, it became clear to me why Faith sought neither option.

Faith: Excuse me, sir. Is there somebody else from Counseling Services who could help me with something?
Me: (looking at time) Probably not at this time. Most people are out of here by 5 p.m. and it's already five minutes past the hour.
Faith: (saddened) Oh okay. Can you look up grades?
Me: Yes, I can. Do you have ID to verify who you are?
Faith: (hands me her license) Here you go.
Me: Thanks

She had just turned 21 in February and lived in a shady part of the city.

Faith: Thank you so much for doing this. I don't come across many nice guys these days. (slight chuckle) 
Me: It's really not a problem at all. 
Faith: (looking around my office) You work for the basketball team here?
Me: I'm the Head Coach. You have any male relatives who are over 6 feet?? lol
Faith: My boyfriend is about 6'3 and plays ball. He's an idiot, though.
Me: An idiot? That's harsh.
Faith: No, it isn't. He's the worst thing that ever happened to me.
Me: (confused) How so?
Faith: He does everything possible for me to not be here taking classes, or do well. He takes the car when I need it. Sometimes he hides my books. He says I'm going to leave him once I get a degree. So stupid!
Me: Oh wow. That has to be a tough situation. 
Faith: You must be wondering why I'm still with him.
Me: I would think that's personal. 
Faith: (sobbing) I have nobody else but my 3 year old daughter and the people who work here. I have nobody whatsoever. Nobody wants me. Nobody cares. I take classes in the Human Services program just to have people in my life who care. 
Me: I'm so sorry to hear that. I know it sounds cliche, but I can't even imagine how you feel. I can tell you something to cheer you up just a little bit.
Faith: (crying) What's that?
Me: You got straight "As." 

Bush Baby

Teenie Bopper stared at me longingly from across the table. Her eyes were fixed squarely upon me as I spoke to the woman who accompanied her. She didn't blink or sway. All she did was stand there with her eyes on me. It was like a scene straight out of a horror flick.

There wasn't much I could do to make the situation less awkward. I had to keep a straight face on as a representative of the college, and deal with her tactfully. The woman who was speaking to me happened to be her foster mother. She wanted to learn about the different majors we offer at the college. I did my best to focus on Teenie Bopper's guardian instead of giving into her desire to have a staring match. She wasn't budging.

After gleaning all she could from me about our academic offerings, the woman attempted to engage Teenie Bopper in a conversation about the information she received. It wasn't happening. She had no desire to talk college in that moment. Sensing this, her guardian walked away annoyed realizing her attempt to inspire was futile. Unfortunately, this meant that Teenie Bopper and I were alone amidst the hundreds of students sauntering about the college fair.

Realizing that I was unwilling to do the eye thing with her, Teenie Bopper stepped right into my line of sight. I couldn't avoid her any longer. I had to engage her in a conversation.

Me: How old are you?
Teenie Bopper: 15
Me: Have you heard of our school before?
Teenie Bopper: (giggling) yeh
Me: That's good. What are you thinking about studying?
Teenie Bopper: (tracing me) You tell me..
Me: I don't know what you're interested in.
Teenie Bopper: Yes, you do. 
Me: (feeling really uneasy) I really don't. I can't read minds. Do you know where we're located. 
Teenie Bopper: (giggling) Of course.
Me: You've been on our campus?
Teenie Bopper: Yeh. Many times.
Me: Oh okay. For what? An information session?
Teenie Bopper: (giggling) No. I hang out in the bushes.
Me: Sorry. I don't understand. The bushes?
Teenie Bopper: (giggling) Yeh. That's where I take the boys after school...

Halfway Crook

Looks can be deceiving. I never expected Manu to do what he was being accused of. He didn't strike me as the type who would do such a thing. In thinking more about it, his actions should not have surprised me. The red flags were there all along. I just failed to connect the dots.

Often times, the person who is least expected to commit treason does so because nobody else is expecting it. I've fallen into this trap as a Coach, trusting certain guys more than others because they don't seem like the shady type. Although Manu gets good grades (2.8 GPA overall) and is very mild mannered, he is not the sharpest knife in the drawer. Experts have shown that delinquency and low intellect are intrexicably linked.

Manu is easily one of the most simple minded individuals I have ever met, much like Manny Ramirez--the hitting savant who recently went down as the only Major League Baseball player to get pinched twice for violating the league's drug policy. Manu has had his fair share of "Manu Moments" where he doesn't seem to be thinking that have left me puzzled. For instance, a few weeks ago he admitted needing help applying to school here even though we require nothing more than biographical information.

Yesterday, Manu was supposed to bring me his completed college application for review. He's guaranteed admission to this school as long as he submits his application by the deadline. He didn't show up or call to cancel, however. As I was driving home in the evening Manu texted me, asking for a "very important" favor. I asked him to call me so we could talk.

Manu: I need you to write me a letter of recommendation.
Me: For your college application?
Manu: No. I got into some trouble.
Me: Where? What did you do?
Manu: Well, at work they're accusing me of doing some stuff.
Me: Okay, so what am I supposed to be writing for you?
Manu: Just a letter talking about how I'm a good citizen and everything.
Me: What kind of trouble are you talking?
Manu: They're saying I took shoe laces, food, and money.
Me: Did you do it?
Manu: Yeh.
Me: How'd you get caught?
Manu: After a customer paid for their order at the register, I pocketed the money and they came to get me.
Me: Cmon, man. Really? How much money are we talking?
Manu: Over $1000 total. They were watching me do this on camera for awhile. They're charging me with larceny and I got court in two days.