Stranger Than Fiction

Often, I have found truth to be stranger than fiction and the following story happens to be one of those I experienced. The names have been changed and the dates are approximate, but beyond that, the story is true.

Throughout my life, I have had flashes of premonitions, but there was one I had in 1985, that far surpassed the rest. I was twenty-nine-year-old white male, working at a 7-Eleven store in a run-down part of Dallas. A mix of customers would come through the doors, which included workers from Love Airfield and a few regulars, who stopped in for gas and cigarettes. But most of the of the clientele that walked through those doors consisted of undocumented Hispanics who bought out the Marlboro cigarettes and Budweiser beer. During weekdays, the store would get busy during lunch hour and between five and eight in the evening, but Saturday afternoons, when the Hispanics were thirsty and off from work, business was nonstop. It was one of those Saturdays when this story occurred.

It was July 6, 1985, and it was my turn to work the three to eleven shift. Normally, two people are scheduled to work together, but at the last moment, my coworker, Barry, ditched me, saying he was sick. It was hard enough with two people to tend the customers and keep the beer stocked up in the cooler, but with just me, I had my hands full and then some.

As customers ran in and out the store, I barely had time to greet anyone or pay attention to see if anyone was shoplifting. The faces of the customers became a blur and the conversation turned to white noise. The line of customers waiting to checkout was endless. Those moments when the store had only a few people I had to run into the walk-in cooler and restock the beer. Yes, I was busy, but thankfully time would fly quickly by.

Around six o’clock, I found myself overwhelmed with customers and oblivious to the door as it opened. Not knowing why, I glanced to see to entered, and found myself transfixed to this man. He stood at about five foot six, dressed, casually, and had a short scraggily beard. His outward appearance showed nothing remarkable, but when I peered at his eyes, I could feel something dark and sinister about him.

As I continued to wait on customers, I watched this stranger as he casually shopped in the store. What seemed like forever, he finally came to the counter, bought a can of Coors, and walked out. As he disappeared around the corner. Feeling relieved, I continued to work.

Around six-thirty, the customers began to thin out for the night, leaving me time to take a break. As I stood there, sipping on a Slurpee, I nearly choked as I saw that man glancing inside, as he walked past the front window. It was a common sight for me to see people walking by and I never thought much about it. If people were not coming in the store, they were either going to the auto parts store or the authentic Mexican restaurant next door. Still, when I saw him passing by at that moment, it made the hairs on my neck stand up.

Nervously, I scanned the aisles, I found three or four people still shopping. Never had I felt more alone and wished the store were busy again. As my next customer placed a twelve pack of beer on the counter, I asked him to wait, picked up the phone and called the police.

Now, you may think you when you are hired at 7-Eleven, you step into the store and go right to work. This may be true in a franchise store, but in Dallas, all the stores are owned by Southland Corporation and being so, you had to attend one week of orientation at corporate headquarters. During that training, you learned all the ins and outs of what is expected of you. Most of the training I received went in one ear and out the other, but two things did stick in my mind. One was if you were being robbed, do not resist. Just give them whatever they wanted. Second, if you see someone who looks suspicious, call the police and have them do an ID check. That is what I did.

As I waited for the police to respond, I prayed more customers would come in, keeping me company. Though I had no evidence he meant any harm, I still felt afraid. Thankfully, as one customer would leave, another would come in.

Two minutes, past, then five. Ten minutes after I called, I spotted the man pass in front of the window a second time. My heart began to race, as the last customer walked out the door. It was at that moment when a police car pulled up.

Two officers stepped out of the car and walked around the corner, out of my eyesight. A few minutes passed, then they returned to their squad car with that man wearing handcuffs. The transformation I witnessed in that man was unimaginable. Minutes before, he was a man who I feared, standing straight, full of confidence, but now, seeing him bent over and broken, left me pitying him.

Soon after, a second police car arrived the officers from that one talked to the other officers. Soon after, the first car left taking the stranger with them. When the car disappeared down the street, an officer from the second car came to talk to me.

“I just wanted to thank you for calling us in, Howard,” he began. “His name was John Phillips and in case you’re wondering, he was wanted for the murder of a convenience store clerk about a mile from here. Thanks to you, he’s off the streets and can’t hurt anyone again.”

I nearly dropped to my knees when he told me that. The thought of him stalking me and knowing what he was capable of, made me realize how close to death I had come.

As I said at the beginning of this story, I have had premonitions my whole life. Usually, they had to do with what the sex was of unborn babies, or the point spread of baseball and football scores. But as for something of the magnitude of catching a murderer, that was in a class of its own. I do not know if my ability to have premonitions is a forgotten survival instinct or a gift from God, but I do know my life was spared because of it.