It’s funny. Everyone I know refers to KingSoopers as KingStoopids; they always have. Which probably isn’t a secret: in the nineties, I wrote a couple of cheques to pay for stuff there, realising only later that I’d paid them to the order of King Stoopids. They’ve probably trademarked the extra name by now.

In any case, that people call these twerps KingStoopids is a bit of a coincidence; it’s got nothing to do with News of the Stoopid. Or, it had nothing do to with it until tonight.

Tonight, at about two in the morning, Hunter reminded me that she was out of soda. Which kinda sucks at two in the morning, since everything’s closed. Unless you count KingStoopids, which I really don’t. I’ve had a problem with these imbeciles for a while: they stay open all night, in the sense that they don’t lock every door; they lock the main doors, requiring you to go in through the customer service door, which is on a noncripplefriendly hinge, go back out through the automated sliding doors, grab a cart, and sprint back inside [fun, when I've got my cane that night] before the automated doors can close on you. Then of course you get to move the cart around all the boxes they’re restocking things with, fill it up, and go deal with a damned bot.

The bot’s the worst part. I’d always figured that KingStoopids were just trying to save money, having this ridiculous DIY ’droid which understands even less than the meatbot clerks you see in there during the day.

So that’s the setup here. We walked over to KingStoopids for soda and stuff, raced to get the cart into the store through the automated exit, got the soda, got some munchies, looked at every checkout lane to see that they were all closed because no one works there, tried to get Old Bob the checkerbot to understand that, yes, really, that was one case of soda, and it’s in the bag now, and this is another just like it, and damnit I already put the first one in the bag, and you know what: just go download enough selfawareness to compete with the computer in my watch, okay?

All of this, of course, during Day Three of a decent headache. Hunter fought with the bot most of the time; I was only involved when it demanded my ‘loyalty card’ [because I have the utmost loyalty to a company which figures that, if I’m awake at night, I deserve only this bothersome machine] and my creditcard; she actually tricked the damned thing into believing that the soda in the bag was in the bag.

Now it’s time to go. So we try to. Except that, suddenly, KingStoopids are in a hiring mood. Meet Eugene.

Eugene is the Night Manager. Not that you can differentiate his goofy little golfshirt from anyone else’s. Except that, astoundingly enough, Eugene is actually in the store. And he has this to say....

EUGENE: Hang on; I need to search your backpacks.

I guess I should mention that, since we walked over to KingStoopids [Hunter likes to brag to ecotards in SUVs that, by walking to the store, she's doing more to save the planet than they are], we’d brought along a pair of backpacks in which to carry the soda and stuff home. And why not: every time we make the mistake of hoping all to hell that tonight’ll be the night that we get a meatbot instead of the Computer That Casio Forgot to ring everything up, we bring along backpacks. There are no signs outlawing them; no one’s ever cared before. Until tonight. So, let’s take this massively entertaining [if infuriating] dialogue from the top....

EUGENE: Hang on; I need to search your backpacks.
GREMLIN: No thanks.
EUGENE: What’s that?
GREMLIN: I said I’m a big fan of the constitution.

I talk fast, but I walk faster. By now, I’m out the automated door. Unfortunately, Eugene has hurried up behind me and blocked Hunter, who’s pushing the cart with the backpacks where the kid would go if we had a kid; it’s probably best that we haven’t got a kid, since no one wants Eugene searching an infant. The pervert.

I light a cigarette and turn back to see this criminal bodily prevent Hunter from leaving the store. She gives me a look. You know the look. It’s the one you get from a disabled veteran diagnosed with PostTraumatic Stress Disorder, like Hunter is, when a criminal is kidnapping her.

EUGENE: I still need to search your backpacks.
GREMLIN: Have you got a searchwarrant?
EUGENE: I don't need one.

I wave to Hunter to go around the idiot.

HUNTER: He won’t let me out; I’m being restrained.
EUGENE: I just need to search your backpacks.
HUNTER: I’m being detained against my will.
EUGENE: No you’re not. You can go. You’ll just have to leave your backpacks here.
HUNTER: I’m not leaving my property with you.
EUGENE: Then empty them.
HUNTER: I can’t. They’re already empty.
EUGENE: Did you drive here tonight?

Here's where Eugene looks around a bit for my car, and for my numberplates, and for the ability to call the cops to pull us over if we escape our hostage situation with our empty backpacks.

HUNTER: No; we walked; hence the empty backpacks.
EUGENE: Well, I need to search them.

At this point, I decide it’ll be fun to kinda walk halfway back inside through the automated exit with my cigarette. Sure, it’s illegal; but, in my experience, kidnappers aren’t wont to call the police.

GREMLIN: We all have needs.
EUGENE: Look. It’s our store.
GREMLIN: Good for you.
EUGENE: That gives me the right to search your backpacks in our store.
GREMLIN: Not legally.

He turns back to Hunter, approaching her menacingly. An adverb I use specifically, since Menacing Behaviour is in this state ameliorated to Class Five Felonious Assault. Which matters little, while we’ve got this plebeian on kidnapping: that one’s federal.

Hunter backs away from him and he grabs the backpacks, dropping them to the floor and unzipping the hell out of them to search the air inside. After a moment, shyly:

EUGENE: That’s weird.

Hunter grabs the backpacks and puts them back where thank zeus we haven’t got a kid for this communist to search.

HUNTER: Now. What’s your name.

Hunter traipses over to grab a commentcard thing. Which is funny, since I’ve got one in my jacket from the last time we were here; I’d meant to tell Corporate how thrilled I’m not that I have to sprint to get the cart in through the automated exit before I can dodge boxes finding stuff the bot has laughable trouble ringing up correctly. Maybe Hunter knows I’ve got one, and wants a second one for the extra room needed to tell Corporate that the FBI are likely to drop by to discuss their compliance in Eugene the KingStoopids Representative's crimes.

About that:

EUGENE: Gene. I’m the Night Manager.

So. Eugene N Manager. I like it when one’s surname happens to reflect his vocation like that.

Hunter has the commentcard now.

HUNTER: The last name?

Instead of the criminal identifying himself properly, he takes another step toward her. Somewhat aggressively, I thought. Possibly to search her pockets and girlparts for pineapples. And it’s then that I remember that my mobilephone records video. I began filming at 3.24:

GREMLIN: All right: go.

He says nothing for a few seconds. Maybe he’s trying to work out whether a guy who shoplifts air can afford a mobilephone which records video. Who knows.

GREMLIN: You, ah...you illegally searched my backpack why?
EUGENE: I didn’t illegally search—
GREMLIN: I didn’t give you permission to search my backpack; you searched it.
EUGENE: Look around. Whatever you bring in here....
GREMLIN: ...becomes your property? Seriously? That’s your excuse...?
EUGENE: Yeah, it—
GREMLIN: That’s enough for my lawyers; thanks.
EUGENE: [eugenic mumbling]

If you watch the video, you’ll see the kidnapper finally see the error of his ways and step aside so Hunter can go be a free disabled veteran warhero chick again. Nice of him, wannit. I just really wish I’d thought of the phonecam earlier, and filmed the twerp breaking laws from the beginning; these headaches wreck my brain. Though, I suppose that the CCTV within KingStoopids got most of it; that I’ve got the timestamp of when I started filming should give us an idea where to look within the footage which, ironically, Eugene was probably thinking about the whole time he was expecting to find something stolen during his kidnapping and illegal search. But, he should be happy that a crime was filmed in any case, just as I’m happy that it was he who perpetrated it.

Here's what I'd really like to understand, thinking about it: supposing I or Hunter had stolen something, and supposing Eugene had found it during his illegal search and potential seizure, what good would that have done the drooling moron? It would be inadmissible, after all; at best, the security video in the store would show him stealing something from our backpacks, without defensible cause. What in hell was the moron thinking in the first place? 

UPDATE: Having got some feedback now, from various sources, my lawyers and others have compiled a list of potential crimes within Eugene's single act. They are:

Kidnapping
Assault
Malicious mischief
Theft
Extortion
Coercion
Sexual assault
Destruction of evidence
Conspiracy

The explanations behind the list are varied; the sexual assault stems from Eugene failing to intimidate me and instead trying to intimidate Hunter, based on her gender; the conspiracy comes from the apparent plan [and possible success] of blaming his crimes on corporate policy; et sequitur.

I'm currently waiting for a response from Corporate to the EMail alerting them to 'their' policy and its effects; if it's goofy enough, there may be more here later.

ANOTHER UPDATE: No real news yet; but I got round to mentioning this at gremlin.net with some extra information: http://gremlin.net/main/2008/06/04/kingstoopids  

YET ANOTHER UPDATE: The actual manager of the store got the EMail we sent within minutes of the event itself. Meaning that we sent it within minutes; she got it after a week. So she called, told me some neat stuff on the phone, told me more neat stuff when we went into the store during her shift, and promised to tell me still more neat stuff as she discovers it. I'm now plotting out http://KingStoopids.com [at the moment, it redirects back here; eventually, it'll have its own site] where I can go into detail without going over too many megabytes per page. So, watch for that in the future....

Of course that’s just my opinion; and that of my legal department, now that they're awake.