You throw off the arm of your captor, and hit him hard in his soft gut causing him to double over in pain and loosen his grip on you. Attendants and employees keep closing in on you, arms outstretched ready to grab you and give you your 'prize', it reminds you of a cheesy zombie movie. You keep stepping back, putting more and more distance between you and the mob, until a particularly large employee sidesteps one of his co-workers, leaving a large gap in his place. Feeling that this is your only chance, you go for it and lunge through the gap. You feel grubby hands tug at your clothes but none of them get a strong grip as you gain momentum and run full speed for the door.
Looking over your shoulder you shout, "I don't want your 'prize', you're all crazy!"
The automatic doors open up and you burst through into the large parking lot. Your feet throb with pain as they pound against the hard pavement, the sound of wind in your ears. You needed to get away, get to your car and get home. There was only one problem, in all of the confusion you forgot where you parked your car in this already unfamiliar lot, and to make matters worse the managers were pouring out of the building shouting to the many people coming in,
"Stop that man! He's our one millionth customer!"
Apparently Fatty Mart's 'Our millionth on the way to a million' campaign was common knowledge to the townsfolk, as normal customers were now trying to stop you. You continued running, scanning every car row by row looking for your truck, easily dodging every slow waddling person coming your way until finally, you find your truck perfectly hidden between two minivans. The managers were tailing you pretty closely despite their size, so you beeline for your truck, hop in and start it up. They were closing in behind you but luckily for you nobody was parked in front of you. You pull forward into the other aisle and speed past pedestrians as you turn onto the highway, the Fatty Mart sign shrinking in your rearview mirror.
You keep silent all the way back to your apartment, your eyes darting in every direction expecting to see white-shirted store managers. You get back to your complex and are relieved to find nobody around. You close your truck door quietly and unlock your front door as fast as you can. In the security of your apartment, you frantically secure every lock, and crawl into bed hoping that all will be normal in the morning.
"Sir! Sir! Open up!" Somebody was shouting and beating on your front door, jarring you from an already restless sleep. Tossing and turning all night long left you horribly tired and looking terrible. You rise unsteadily to your feet and shuffle to your front door. You undo all of the locks, cross your fingers and hold your breath as you slowly pull the door open.
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