Reports from the Edge of Order and Chaos: Code 6 Crisis at SuperMart

Author’s Note: Prepared in strict compliance with Departmental Sarcasm Protocol 6.5. No towels, vending machines, or Swiffers were harmed in this report and all grapes confirmed organic.

It began with a single phrase — “Code 6 in Housewares” — and ended with paperwork nobody will care about except the people now worshipping the miracle towels.

Incident Report – Disturbance at SuperMart

Case #: 25-0719-143

Date: June 6, 2025

Officer: Sgt. P. Daniels (still wondering why I didn’t call in sick — or why we keep pretending nonsense is order)

Summary:

Dispatched to SuperMart for what dispatch relayed as a “Code 6 in Housewares.” Partner and I arrived to discover that not a single person on site — not the caller, not the staff, not even management — had the slightest idea what Code 6 actually meant. Nevertheless, it was apparently catastrophic enough to pull me away from my sandwich, which, unlike this emergency, was real.

Dispatch, in their infinite wisdom, repeated “Code 6” three times as if the repetition would somehow unlock its meaning. My partner nodded solemnly like he was decrypting state secrets. Spoiler: he wasn’t. By the time we rolled up, I’d already accepted this was going to be one of those calls that ends with me hungry, annoyed, and writing this report, which is to say: most calls.

Findings:

Employee #1 claimed “Code 6” meant “vomit cleanup.” She delivered this with the seriousness of a hostage negotiator, though it was clear she was more worried about smudging her fresh manicure than addressing any biohazard. I’ve seen plenty of bodily fluids in retail stores; trust me, vomit cleanup doesn’t rise to the level of a police emergency, unless the vomit is armed.

Store Manager asserted “Code 6” meant “shoplifter in progress.” No shoplifter was located (unless the five-year-old openly eating grapes without payment qualifies, which apparently it did not for anyone but me). The child had apparently been conducting his produce crime spree for hours, entirely unnoticed by staff too busy hyperventilating over imaginary codes. In a sane world, I’d have written the kid up for larceny, but here it barely made the list of priorities. To this day, that grape-lifting klepto remains the only suspect with a clear motive, means, and opportunity.

Union Rep declared Code 6 was “corporate code for downsizing,” then immediately demanded my badge number in case this somehow became a labor dispute. Why the Union Rep was lurking in Housewares on a Tuesday afternoon remains one of the day’s great mysteries. If Code 6 really did mean layoffs, you’d think HR would be calling, not me.

Customer #9 loudly announced “Code 6” indicated an active shooter, sparking instant chaos. Roughly half the store dropped behind a stack of bath towels — because apparently polyester blends stop bullets and are ballistic rated. Shockingly, the towels did in fact absorb two rounds fired accidentally by a panicked shopper’s concealed handgun (permit confirmed). Customers later refused to return the “miracle towels,” declaring them now sacred relics. Other shoppers attempted army crawls across tiled floors, resulting in scraped knees, bruised egos, and one black eye from colliding with a sale rack of blenders. One man ran in circles wielding a Swiffer like a rifle, which I’m fairly certain is not covered in active shooter protocols anywhere.

Emergency Medical Technicians rolled in claiming “Code 6” meant “lights-and-sirens transport.” Which was touching, considering not a single soul was bleeding. After determining the crisis was far beneath their skill set, they settled into their usual role of looking busy while raiding the vending machines. They argued for ten minutes over the last bag of Cool Ranch Doritos, which was the closest thing to a real emergency I witnessed on scene. If public safety really hinged on snack distribution, I’d recommend we deputize the vending machine.

For the record, in my training, Code 6 meant “free coffee at the station.” Needless to say, no coffee was present — only disappointment. And honestly, even that definition was more useful than anything else I heard that day.

Housewares appeared stable, aside from a crooked display of candles and one clerk crying into a stack of towels. Said clerk later insisted the candles had mysteriously rearranged themselves to spell out “CODE 6.” Unfortunately, nobody thought to document this miracle, so I am left relying on the word of someone who was actively sobbing into 60% off throw pillows.

Witness Statements:

Collecting witness testimony was like asking pigeons for their day's flight plans: noisy, contradictory, and guaranteed to leave a mess.

Customer #14: “When they yelled Code 6, I thought the Russians were attacking. I grabbed two blenders and hid.” (Because nothing stops foreign aggression like a kitchen appliance.)

Employee #2: “It sounded official. You try working here on minimum wage and tell me you wouldn’t believe him.” (Translation: willfully gullible.)

Union Rep: “This proves management is hiding secret codes from staff. We’ll see them in arbitration.” (Because obviously the real emergency here is labor relations.)

EMT: “If this wasn’t a Code 6, don’t call us. We don’t come out for Code 5.5.” (Partner and I are still perplexed by this statement.)

Customer #27: “I always knew Housewares would be the first to fall. That’s why I only shop Automotive.” (Excellent foresight; still useless.)

Employee #5: “Management told us if anyone asks about Code 6, we’re supposed to smile and say ‘everything’s fine.’ Nobody told me what to do if I’m the one asking.” (Sounds like a management problem.)

Random Passerby: “I thought Code 6 was a discount. I only ducked because everyone else did.” (Darwinism at work.)

Disposition:

No actual emergency located. Nobody on site claimed responsibility for making the call or shouting it across the store, which conveniently left me to untangle their circus. The result: chaos, paperwork, and the honor of explaining to three entire departments of SuperMart employees that “Code 6” does not, in fact, require police intervention.

Protocol required me to file three separate incident forms, one memo to the watch commander, and a follow-up email to Risk Management, all of which will probably be ignored. Witnesses were about as helpful as the EMTs (i.e., not at all), and my partner contributed the same way he always does: by existing quietly and letting me do all of the work. Meanwhile, the grape thief remains at large — sticky-fingered, happy, and maybe the smartest one of us all, taking what he can and walking away satisfied. (He is my new hero).

That said, I cannot explain why towels absorbed live ammunition or why candles allegedly spelled out “CODE 6” on their own. If that doesn’t qualify as impossible, then I guess my next report will be on unicorn traffic violations — right after I finally get to finish a lunch on duty.

Officer’s Note:

Tomorrow I’ll get a reprimand for “tone,” because apparently sarcasm is more dangerous than live ammunition in Housewares. Fine. Let the brass smile through the next Code 6 while a kid walks out with half the produce aisle stuffed in his backpack. Sometimes I wonder if the real emergency is just how numb we’ve all gotten to chaos.

And as for my partner — sure, I give him grief for doing nothing, but sometimes that quiet nothing is the only thing keeping me from losing it.

If SuperMart corporate doesn’t publish an official definition of “Code 6,” I recommend they ban the number six entirely from their manuals. At this point, it’s a public safety hazard. Until then, I’ll assume it means “wasting police time while a kid shoplifts produce unchecked.”

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Police Captain’s Response:

Captain J. Crampton

June 7, 2025

Sgt. Daniels — Your report once again contains excessive personal notes, consumer product reviews, and references to unicorns. None of these are recognized under departmental protocol. “Code 6” does not mean vomit, layoffs, or miracle towels, and it certainly does not mean free coffee. This is your third warning. Please confine future reports to the facts, not your personal commentary or lunch schedule. A missed sandwich is not a public safety hazard — though with you on duty it might be the most honest line in your report.

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SuperMart Corporate Statement

June 7, 2025

At SuperMart, the safety and satisfaction of our valued guests remain our guiding light. The events of June 6th in our Housewares department were not an ‘incident,’ but rather an unplanned customer engagement experience. At no time were shoppers in danger, though we applaud their commitment to practicing emergency preparedness drills among the bath towels.

Reports of bulletproof towels are exaggerated. However, we are thrilled to announce our new Miracle Absorbency™ Limited Edition collection, inspired by guest feedback, available in select stores this weekend at 60% off.

We remind all customers that ‘Code 6’ is not an emergency designation, but our internal shorthand for “Everything’s Fine.” Please continue to shop with confidence, and remember — at SuperMart, there’s always a discount waiting in Aisle 6. As long as you believe everything’s fine, then maybe we can all pretend it is.