The Accidental Millionaire by Gary Fong

Author:Gary Fong
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: BenBella Books
Published: 2010-06-21T16:00:00+00:00

Targeted at Target

I forget what I had to buy, but they only had it at Target. Being in Westchester, California, I was exactly between two Target locations. One was in Culver City; the other was in Manhattan Beach.

I went to the one in Culver City. Big mistake.

While walking down one of the aisles, a large African American woman barreled into me with the full weight of her body. A deliberate body bump. I thought it was pretty strange, but I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. Then she shouted out loudly, for the whole store to hear, “Excuse me!”

I mumbled something lame and hurried on my way.

When I got through the checkout, a woman in a red Target vest was standing with two beefy Target security officers behind her. The large black woman, also waiting at the front of the store, said, “That’s him, officer! Arrest him!”

I looked around to see whom she was referring to. It took me a few seconds to realize that they were all staring at me. Just to make certain there was no doubt in anyone’s mind, the large black woman shook an angry finger at me and said, and “That’s him! That’s the man who tried to kill my baby!”

Uh-oh.

A five-year-old boy was clinging to the woman’s trunk-like thigh, and I noticed for the first time that she was pregnant. Really pregnant. Either that or she was Budweiser’s number one customer. Shock and puzzlement were swirling around in my head.

The Target security guys calmly informed me that I was accused of attacking this woman in the store. They said they had no authority to detain me, but that they had contacted the Culver City police, who were on their way. They “suggested” that I stick around for questioning. They said I was free to leave, but if I did so, they would have to report my license plate number to the P.D.

The strange thing was, they were apologetic and courteous, even as this woman was screaming in rage that I was her assailant. They even offered to help me with my three bags of purchases as I followed them to the security office.

In the Target security office we stood in front of a bank of security monitors. On one of the monitors, my accuser sat on the floor, spread-eagled, propped up on her doughy arms, visibly panting as her young son stared at her in worry. She was clearly trying to dramatize some kind of injury. Her name, I learned, was Glenda Violet Washington.

About three minutes later, two officers from the Culver City Police Department arrived. At that point I got a little nervous. I mean, here I was being accused of a violent act, and even though I was innocent, I knew it would be my word against hers. Ms. Washington had made sure to body-check me when nobody else was looking. I recalled that clearly. And she had cried out quite convincingly after our bodies had made contact. I recalled that too.

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