Me: (whispering) Excuse me. You have a couple dead flies in your meat case.
She: Oh, that happens.
Me: ...
She: Yeah, this isn't my department.
Me: Maybe you could tell someone, then.
She: Oh, yeah. I will.
Oh, yeah. I believe you.
While working in the grocery store decades ago, I passed by the dairy case during my lunch break.
And, I had a wicked idea…
Preface:
If you pay attention in your own grocery store, you will notice that the shelves of milk are not so much in a refrigerated case as much as they are in a giant refrigerator. Look beyond the shelves of milk. It’s a walk-in refrigerator so large that it can contain not just entire shelves of milk but also several more racks of milk jugs behind those.
Your access to the milk from the shopping side of this walk-in refrigerator is actually a big, gaping hole in the wall covered by either sheets of clear plastic or a series of glass doors.
This setup allows employees to walk through the refrigerator between the shelving units you see in front and the storage racks in the back. The employees can restock the display shelving units from the back without ever taking any milk out of cold storage.
Are you following me?
Okay, then. Back to the story…
As I strolled past the grocery store dairy case, a jug of milk caught my attention as it slid from the back of the case forward… almost magically. It was unnerving to see at first, but I quickly realized someone was inside the refrigerated room restocking the shelf one jug at a time.
Heh.
The game is afoot.
I pushed the jug back. And quickly stepped aside.
A moment later, the jug slid forward again and was joined by a second.
I pushed them both back.
And stepped aside.
It was a longer while before either jug slid forward again. And when one finally did, it moved s.l.o.w.l.y. I could see two more jugs placed behind these two.
Quickly, I removed the front two jugs intending to hide them completely, and was in the process of pulling on the back two when a face peered through the shelf. It was Don, a classmate of mine who'd been hired the same week as me.
“YOU!" he shouted. "Don't move!!”
I put the milk back in the case where it belonged as my co-worker exited the rear of the fridge and came out to the store side.
"I gotta tell you a story," Don said....
Stock boys are supposed to stay busy at all times. Bagging groceries is a good way to stay busy, but when there aren't many customers, the guys are expected to tidy and restock shelves and sweep the floors. If they can't find anything to do, they're supposed to ask a department manager for ideas.
No one wants to ask department managers for ideas.
Because they have ideas.
Somewhere along the line, Don discovered the beauty of the dairy case. There was always something to do in there.
His favorite thing to do was sit on an upside down milk crate and restock the milk jugs one at a time. If he went slow enough, customers would take jugs, and he could keep refilling the case. Wearing a jacket and a pair of gloves, he could comfortably hide in that dairy case for a long time without anyone coming to look for him and assign "ideas".
That's what he was doing when I'd wandered by.
He had waited while customers took enough product off the shelf so that he could shuffle the jugs around to clear out an entire display shelf. While sitting on the upside-down milk crate, he'd grab a gallon of milk off the rack in the rear of the refrigerator, pivot to the side that made up the display, and shove the milk toward the front. Then, turn back to the rack for another jug.
It was a simple, mundane chore where no one bothered him until the one time he pivoted back to the front to find the milk he’d just loaded wasn't where he'd put it. He thought this was curious, but he convinced himself he must not have pushed it all the way forward. So, he pushed it up where it belonged, and added the second.
By the time he retrieved the next two jugs from the back and pivoted, the milk wasn't where he'd put it.
Again.
Once was odd, he thought. Perhaps he’d only imagined it. But twice? That was freaky.
The third time, when two whole gallons were missing, and he saw my hands reaching for the other two, it all made perfect sense.
“That,” he said to me, “was brilliant!”
He may have even applauded a little with his refrigerator gloves.
*sigh*
Maybe I expect too much because I worked at a grocery store for four years...
But, when I tell the grocery bag boy, "Please put all my groceries in one bag so I can carry the milk in one hand and the bag in the other," and he replies, "Okay," I really do expect all my groceries to be placed in ONE bag.
So, when he hands me two bags, I get kinda testy.
And I huff and puff just a little bit as I make a big show of placing one bag inside the other just to illustrate what I'd originally requested and what I was told I'd get.
Is it so hard?
Am I expecting too much?
... which we weren't, but this forehead-smacking post by Richmond reminded me of a boyfriend story:
Must've been about 18 years old.
Still dating "Peter", still working at the grocery store.
Did I mention that Peter and I worked together at the store?
That's how we met.
Funny, I met the husband at our place of work...
And we still work together...
Hmmm...
But I digress!
One of my classmates was a third-degree black belt... in some martial art. She taught classes in self-defense. She was only 18. The local TV station came and did a big "thing" about her.
I thought she was cool.
Anyway, she was sitting in Biology class one day telling all the girls self-defense tricks like how to carry your keys so you're ready to unlock your car, not between your fingers to punch someone because a guy could squeeze your hand and break your fingers. She also said to make sure all your car doors are locked when you drive because someone could jump in your car when you stop for a red light. (This almost happened to a friend of mine, but she did have her doors locked!) And this classmate said you should always look under your car before you approach it because a bad guy could hide under there and slash your ankles rendering you unable to run away while he climbed back out from under your car.
Scared me, let me tell you.
So, I made a habit out of carrying my keys just so, and locking my doors, and glancing under my car like a paranoid freak.
But late one night...
I was walking out of the grocery store alone.
Adjusting my keys, listening for approaching footsteps, glancing under my car...
Under my car.
Under my car was a glove.
A glove laying on the ground just under my car by the driver's side door.
Did I remember seeing it there when I'd parked?
Did I drive over it then?
And then I realized the glove under my car was attached to an arm!
There was someone under my car!
I froze several parking spaces away.
Far, far away from any slashing knives, but still, I was alone in the dark!
"Don't be scared!" a muffled voice said. "It's just me!"
The glove waved, the arm moved, and my boyfriend wriggled out from under my car.
"You idiot!" I spat.
"I know! I know, that was stupid! I'm sorry!" he groveled.
"You scared me!"
"I scared you? Once I realized how not funny it would be to grab your leg when you got close enough, I realized you were going to kick my ass!"
And I would have, too.
Idiot.
This post by Bitterroot made me think of an odd series of dreams I used to have during the four years I worked at this grocery store.
My dream was always the same:
I am stationed at the cash register on the end, closest to the frozen foods section. I am swiping groceries over the electric eye, beep! beep! beep! And I realize that I am tired. I wonder how long it will be before I can take a break, so I look up to see how many more customers are in line.
The line is long.
The line of people and their shopping carts extends past the candy and magazine racks, backs up against the health and beauty aisles, and winds around to the frozen foods where it disappears around the corner.
I keep swiping and swiping, and I realize I will never get to the end of this line.
Beep! Beep! Beep!
And I wake up tense and unrested.
Now, sometime during this four year period I heard that, if you try, you can change your dreams as you are dreaming them.
So, I tried to think of some solution to this dream, some way to change it so that I could get some rest from checking out customers.
I decided I would try to put up my "Lane Closed" sign.
So, the next time I realized I was having that dream, I grabbed the sign and placed it behind the customer I was serving.
It sort of worked.
The line behind her disappeared, but she was buying area rugs. I tugged on the rugs, looking for the scanner code to swipe. Tugging and pulling, over and over...
In the morning, I woke exhausted with all of my blankets and sheets piled next to my pillow.
One time, I tried to just walk away. But that made me feel guilty.
Another time, I tried to imagine my supervisor coming to take over so I could take a break.
Each time, the dream would end, but nothing seemed to make the dream stop coming back the next night.
UNTIL...
One day I was working at the store (and no, this is not going to be a goofy thing where I surprise you at the end and say that I'd been dreaming the whole thing... this actually happened), I was swiping swiping swiping, beep! beep! beep! when I realized I was getting tired. So, I glanced up to see how many customers I had before I could take a break.
And as I lifted my head, I saw the line extend back and back until it wound around the frozen food section and disappeared around the corner.
Oh my god!
And yes! I was at the cash register on the end!
Oh my god!
It was my nightmare! For REAL!
What the hell? I thought. It's never going to end! I'm going to die here!
I ducked my head and swiped groceries as if my life depended on it.
Just then, I heard a voice:
"I can help someone at this register!"
Another cashier had arrived.
Half of the customers in my line left.
And I never had that dream again.
Is that wild, or what?
I've been meaning to write about Charlie. For decades.
Charlie is the reason I got my very first job in high school.
I'll never forget the advice he gave me:
"Don't drink cheap wine. It'll rot your gut."
Ah, Charlie.
Charlie was an alcoholic.
I met Charlie the day I applied for a job as a cashier in a supermarket one town over.
I was really nervous and showed up 45 minutes early for my interview. I knew it was way too early so I sat in my car in the parking lot for 20 minutes reviewing all the instructions I'd been given (eg. don't cross your arms or legs, it makes you look defensive; treat everyone like they are the person in charge of hiring you; make eye contact; sit up straight...)
... and then I just couldn't stand it anymore and went inside anyway.
After I told a cashier what I was there for, she told me to stand off to the side and wait.
Of course.
I was nearly half an hour early.
Just standing.
By the checkout lanes.
Waiting.
Watching the people come and go.
One of those people was a little old man.
Stooped over.
Dressed... um... shall we say, casually.
His one purchase was placed in a small, plain, brown bag which he lovingly cradled to his chest.
And we made eye contact.
Whoops.
What could I do? I did what I trained myself to do: treat him like he was gonna hire me.
So, I gave him a big smile.
His face simply lit up!
And then he came over.
And started to talk to me.
I don't know what struck me first about this man. The smell of alcohol radiating from his skin, the body odor seeping through his clothing, or the missing teeth.
But I was waiting for a job interview.
My very first job interview.
I had to stay.
I had to stay right here.
He talked and breathed on me, and at one point, I think he even reached out and patted my arm.
But, I listened patiently to the strange man, nodded politely, and answered his questions.
Praying someone would usher him along.
Please? Anyone?
No.
No one.
In fact, I'm sure at least one cashier glanced out of the corner of her eye at me pinned there. And doggonnit if she wasn't smirking.
Like it was funny that I got saddled with this guy that they all knew smelled funny. And talked funny. Telling me all about the store he hoped I'd get to work at. Because he bought all his wine there.
Finally!
Thankfully.
While the two of us stood there, the little man speaking earnestly, me smiling like a goon and bobbing my head up and down, a tall man in a dress shirt and tie walked up to us.
He greeted the little man first, introduced himself to me as the store owner, and asked if I was there for an interview.
Yes, yes I was.
This tall man excused us from the little man (so polite!), and lead me up a flight of stairs to the offices above.
As we walked, the owner asked, "So, how do you know Charlie?"
"Is that what his name is?" I replied. "I don't know him. He just came over and started talking to me."
And there it was.
The store owner had seen me being polite and patient with one of his customers.
One of his more unusual customers.
Not because I knew the guy.
And not because it was my job to be nice... yet.
But because it was the right thing to do.
Before we even reached his office, he had made up his mind.
I had gotten the job.
That job paid my way through college, and it bought me my first car.
It introduced me to my first steady boyfriend. And it gave me something to do after we broke up.
It was years before I had the "do you know why I hired you" conversation with the boss.
He told me how surprised he was to see someone speaking so easily to Charlie, especially someone to whom Charlie was a stranger. When he told me that was why he hired me, I felt very sad.
Because I never got to thank Charlie.
About a year after I had been hired, Charlie had died.
Liver failure.
Because the cheap wine had rotted his gut.
Just like he told me it would.
Ah, Charlie.
Thanks to you, I had four fantastic years at my first job.
If nothing else, I'm really glad I could make you smile.
