Price Breaks and Heartaches
a journal of retail and failed romance
Volumes One Through Four
From The Prom To The Roadside
by Al Bruno III
rev 1.0
Copyright Al Bruno III 2011
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Price Breaks and Heartaches
a journal of retail and failed romance
Prologue
I No Longer Fear Hell for I Have Been To the Senior Prom
part one
(The following story is true- except for the parts I totally made up. The names have been changed to protect the people I loved and to protect me from the people I hated)
The Junior Prom left a bad taste in my mouth, and not just because my date never cleaned her damn braces. I vowed there was no way I was going to waste my time and money again, there was no way I was going to the Senior Prom.
Besides as far as I my teenage mind was concerned there was only one girl for me but I was afraid to ask her for more. I was too afraid of being rejected.
So imagine my surprise when one day, a mere three weeks before the date of the Prom I ended up with a Prom date. It was a whirlwind romance; boy meets girl at the library, boy takes girl to the mall for a burger after school, boy and girl make out behind the dumpster at the Empire Burger
And that was why I asked Agnes Malone to be my date for the Prom.
Agnes and I were pretty much inseparable for the three weeks leading up to the prom but I started to notice that she was slowly changing from the from a sweet girl that enjoyed my company to a short tempered she-vixen that did not suffer fools gladly.
Since I am something of a fool you can see the problems this raised.
I wasn’t surprised really though because at the age of 18 I was firmly convinced there were two things I could not live without but would never be able to understand-cars and women. Both tended to get me in a lot of trouble, both always seemed to cost me a lot of money, and both had a habit of falling apart on me in the most unexpected of ways.
Still though, I made it to the prom and damn if I didn't look good in a tux, a chunky James Bond if ever there was one. My date looked pretty good too with her floor length skirt and plunging neckline. My younger brother had the car that weekend so we decided to share a limo with my friend Corey and his date Velma.
The banquet hall of the local Marriott was decked out in the finest decorations that could be bought on a limited budget. As I looked around I saw a few of the students that treated me like a person, there was annoying Joanna, wealthy Adrian, the unique Kevin K. Hanson and then there was Lilly- the one that got away and kept getting away. I introduced Agnes to all of them and for a time we mingled.
Adrian was already pissed off because he'd gotten an expensive white tuxedo to wear to the prom and had tripped walking up the front steps to his date's house and now had ass to elbow grass-stains. Kevin K. Hanson was having a great time at the Prom, he and his date were boogieing and cutting up. I never realized his sister was such a good dancer.
And of course that damned Joanna had to come over and talk to us; her and her idiot loser boyfriend of the week. I talked to her as briefly as I could and tried to keep from rolling my eyes every time she spoke. Stupid annoying Joanna.
Pretty soon it was time for us to all go to our tables and enjoy our overpriced meals. I had gotten my tickets for the Prom very late in the game so we pretty much had no choice of where we were going to sit. I didn't give much thought to it however, what was the worst that could happen?
And that was how I found myself seated at a table near the back with just about every guy that had ever beaten me up in gym class...
Price Breaks and Heartaches
a journal of retail and failed romance
Prologue
I No Longer Fear Hell for I Have Been To the Senior Prom
part two
(When we last left this almost true story I and my last minute date to the Senior Prom had just sat down to our Prom Dinner...)
They were all there: The Giggling Thug, The Future Gas Station Attendant, The Muttonhead and The Frat Boy Trainee. Their dates all had strapless gowns and huge hair, but hey it was the 80's.
I remember I mumbled "Hello." Then and my date and I took our places at the table.
"Do we know you?" The Muttonhead asked.
"Uh sure. We're in gym class together."
The Muttonhead shook his head "No I don't remember you."
"Come on! You brutalize me up every Tuesday. Are you saying those beatings mean nothing to you?"
Apparently they could only recognize me when I was cowering in fear or curled up into the fetal position.
"Hey I know you!" The Frat Boy In Training said with a snap of his fingers, "You're that gay-looking kid!"
Everyone laughed at that, except me of course. I was too busy considering the irony of the guy holding the all-time school record for pantsing nerds questioning my sexuality.
The Future Gas Station Attendant asked "Aren't you that kid that got booed off the stage during the talent show?"
"Actually I was dragged from the stage," I replied, "and aren't you the lead singer in the rock band that forgot the words to 'Stairway To Heaven' during the same show?"
“Yeah well, it’s a hard song.”
Well I may as well get this whole talent show thing out of the way right now. Every year the high school had a talent show and even though I loathed many of my fellow students I volunteered place my dignity on the line so I could entertain them. Why would I do such a thing? Well, Lilly was in the talent show too.
Of course by then she and I hadn’t been going out for almost a year but I still wanted to be close to her so I just kind of made excuses to be where she was.
Please remember they didn’t really consider it stalking back then, just being persistent. The talent show had a little bit of everything in it; rock music, dancing, singing, a few magic tricks, there was even an unscheduled fire drill. I did some of my stand up routine and the less said about it the better; I’d rather remember the near fistfight my brother and I got into during my great grandmother’s funeral than I would about those seven minutes of comedy Hell.
What of Lilly? She did a song an 80’s classic and from that night on the song ‘Total Eclipse of the Heart’. In my mind Lilly and that song are forever intertwined and whenever I hear it, be it the original version or one of the many cover tunes that seem to have popped up recently, I remember. In the memory I am standing off to one side of the stage watching her perform and wishing that she was singing that song for me and me alone.
Sorry, that was the wrong flashback wasn’t it? Let’s get back to the prom shall we?
Two-thirds of the way through our undercooked meal the band started to play. I don’t remember the name of the bad but I will always remember their talent to find the single sliver of soul nesting in the heart of the most banal of 80's pop tunes and kill it dead.
Couples slowly began to filter out onto the dance floor. First there was Joanna and her simp of a boyfriend-my eyes started rolling involuntarily at the very sight of her. Adrian and his date started grooving to an uneven version of 'Sunglasses At Night'. I didn't recognize Adrian’s date and would later find out that he had met her through an escort service. I hope she had a good time that night because the check Adrian paid her with bounced when she tried to cash it. There was no sign of Velma or Kevin K. Hanson anywhere.
And there was Lilly dancing with her date Orville.
Orville, what can I say about him? Well, we worked together at the local supermarket and everyone that knew him thought he was great- except for me of course. That's about it really. Oh yes and he had this disturbing habit of grabbing my ass whenever he caught me alone at work. Talk about mixed signals.
And with Lilly on this night of nights, Lilly girl I had spent the last four years mentally undressing and then mentally redressing in the outfits Romana had worn during Doctor Who's 17th season.
Oh the agonies of being a geek in puberty.
I took Agnes by the hand and led her to the dance floor; her fingers were still greasy with burnt poultry. The band had brought things down tempo a bit with a strange warbling reinterpretation of Berlin's 'Take My Breath Away'. We had a nice slow dance, but I started to notice that my date's attention was elsewhere. She was checking out The Giggling Thug while I was dancing with her! I tried to be rational about it. After all hadn't I just been mooning over someone else? Besides, maybe she was just taken with the way he had worn work boots with his tux.
Kevin K. Hanson showed up again. His sister had been worried about where he’d been. I would later find out that he had excused himself to go to the restroom and gotten lost coming back. He spent almost a half an hour in a nearby room at an AMWAY seminar before he realized he'd made a mistake. Joanna insisted I dance with her at least once, so I did-but I was annoyed the entire time. Corey was still searching for his date, but sadly Velma had vanished. Corey was murderously angry, which was kind of ironic because after she had been missing a week the police would be asking him if he'd murdered her.
Don't worry about Corey though, further investigation would reveal she had hooked up with one of the AMWAY distributors and run off.
Somewhere between 'Danger Zone' and 'Hip To Be Square' I excused myself to use the bathroom. On the way back I noticed that Adrian had found a way into the kitchens of the Marriott and had stuffed three bottles of expensive Champagne into his tux. He asked me if I wanted to help him with his little scheme but I decided against it. The last dance of the night was fast approaching, where they would play the Prom's theme for a last romantic slow dance.
I got there just in time but Agnes wasn't waiting for me at our table. She was already out on the dance floor. With the Giggling Thug...
Price Breaks and Heartaches
a journal of retail and failed romance
Prologue
I No Longer Fear Hell for I Have Been To the Senior Prom
part three
(When we last left this almost true story I had just discovered that my last minute date to the Senior Prom dancing the last dance of the night with someone else...)
"Uh," That's pretty much all I could say. "Uh."
My life has always had moments like this, moments where I have suddenly found myself on the receiving end of what could only be described as emotional slapstick. She was dancing with someone else, with someone that had made beating me up a part of their workout routine.
How the Hell was I supposed to get to third base or better now?
It was so damn unfair, everyone else at the prom had their booze, motel rooms and birth control devices waiting for them. All I had waiting for me was my grainy videotape of Young Lady Chatterly.
This was, without a doubt, the worst night of my 18 years on the planet and the kicker was it had cost me two hundred bucks. I could only take solace in the fact that my blue balls matched my cummerbund. "Why aren't you dancing?"
It was Lilly. I remember I said to her "Uh?"
"Why aren't you dancing?"
"I guess my date decided she'd rather dance with someone she can beat at Scrabble."
She frowned, "Poor Al."
"Hey! Why aren't you dancing?"
"Orville is helping stabilize Adrian until the paramedics arrive."
"What?"
"He fell down a flight of stairs with three Champagne bottles in his tux. There was blood everywhere! Well, you know how Orville wants to be an EMT so of course he had to help."
"Oh." See? Even then I had a way with words.
“Orville is very interested in his fellow man.”
“Yeah about that...”
"So," she asked. "Do you want to dance?"
While I don't talk about it much I do believe in God but my God is not the psychotic, anal-retentive hall monitor beloved by fundamentalists of every stripe.
My God doesn't live in a burning bush or a pillar of fire, my God lives in serendipity and ironic coincidence. And for once the bastard came through for me. I got that girl on the dance floor as fast as I could.
I'm not going to get all 'purple prose' on you and tell you how that one dance for half a song has been burned into my synapses. How the touch of her, the glint in her eyes, and the smell of her perfume set a standard that I still measure all other girls and dances against...
Crap I just went and did it anyway didn't I?
The dance ended, the Prom ended and I was glad for that one sweet memory.
With the Prom over I knew that graduation was coming up fast and I was sure that I would never see most of these people again but I was very wrong, most of them would enter and leave my life again and again over the next decade. Some of them would break my heart, some of them I would learn to hate, some of them would still be my friends now.
And as for that annoying girl Joanna? I married her.
This is the story of how I finally realized that my perfect girl was right under my nose all along.
The End
Price Breaks and Heartaches
a journal of retail and failed romance
Chapter One
Welcome To Hell, Here's Your Smock
part one
(The stories you are about to read might be somewhat true. The names have been changed to protect the people I love and because I have a god complex.)
Sixteen years of my life were devoted to working in retail. Sixteen years, just think about that for a minute. People have done less time for murder.
This is the story of my first encounter with that harsh, competence-starved environment.
My first job was at a local supermarket chain, to avoid lawsuits we'll call the place Nice Shopper. I was seventeen years old and my stepfather felt it was time for me to 'straighten up' and get a job. I wasn't too happy about, after all I had a lot on my plate at the time- puberty, Dungeons & Dragons, the Super Mario Brothers video game and of course the new season of Doctor Who on PBS.
Anyway, he had a connection at the Nice Shopper and he got me a job as a stockboy without any kind of interview. I just came in one day and they handed me a smock and a broom and told me to get sweeping. A lot of my jobs have started out that way. I think when I get to Hell they're going to give me a broom and a smock and tell me to start sweeping.
So there I was, pushing a broom for money for the first time. Over the next few weeks I did my best to learn the ropes but retail training in those days was a slapdash affair at best. One of the managers would yell at you to do something and if you did it wrong they'd yell at you again. Still though, I learned; I learned that when packing groceries, the potatoes do not go on top of the eggs, I learned that floors should be mopped with circular motions and that anything else was a violation of corporate policy and I learned that customers could be as unforgiving as a pissed off dominatrix with saddle rash.
And I would learn to hate recycling.
It's those little 5 cent deposits that are on every bottle and can, the government's little way to get you to not clutter the environment with plastic, glass and tin.
*
I stood behind the counter that surrounded the bottle returns register, the sickly-sweet odor of old soda and the sour tang of spilled beer filled the air; it was a smell that would haunt your nostrils for days afterwards. The line was four cartfuls and three customers deep. The customer glaring across the counter from me was old with a face that was set into a perpetual scowl. A stream of curses was constantly percolating under his breath – he cursed the wait, the store and of course me. He was one of our best customers.
There were buttons on the register, one for each brand and company, I don’t know why Nice Shopper felt we had to track the incoming bottles when all we were going to do was just crush and mangle them a heartbeat later. The thing was though, if the bottle wasn’t on the keypad we weren’t taking it back. That was the rules, environment be damned.
“I'm sorry sir,” I explained. “I can’t take this bottle back. You see this is a brand specific to one of our competitors and also there are bloody fingerprints all over it.”
There is no sight more disturbing that seeing a grizzled customer bristle but that’s what happened, “Oh, you'll take it back you little pissant. I didn't loose my femur bone fighting the Nazies so some little pimply butterball could cheat me outta five cents.”
I tried to stay calm, “Sir, this comes from the Stop and Shop. It's right across the street.”
The grizzled customer’s voice began to raise, “Just give me my five cents!”
With no other recourse I signaled for our afternoon front end manager, “Excuse me? Mr. Streicher?”
Mr. Streicher looked up from his clipboard, “Bruno! Why aren’t you getting carts?”
Cart gathering was a singular obsession of Mr. Streicher’s. “This customer has an off brand bottle,” I explained, “He wants us to take it anyway.”
“Oh you’re going to take it!” The grizzled customer said, “If I have to get the newspapers and radio down here to tell them how Nice Shopper tried to cheat a man out of his taxes I’ll do it.”
“You know sir they’ve got this new thing called a Tee Vee…”
Mr. Streicher drew closer to me, his knuckles whitening on his clipboard, “You need to work faster Bruno, get this wrapped up so you can get those carts.”
By now customers and Nice Shopper employees alike were watching this exchange, “Look, I’m doing the best that I can but there are four… no wait, five people in line behind this gentleman.”
“You need,” the afternoon front end manager repeated, “to work faster.”
With that Mr. Streicher strode away, I just stared after him stunned and angry. Of course it was at that moment that the grizzled customer spat on me, “PTOOIE!”
Thankfully there was a roll of paper towels nearby, “Sir please don't do that. I'll cash your other bottles in but there isn't-”
“PTOOIE!”
I turned away to from the next volley of phlegm and denture cream to see Ms Bardiz, our prissy head cashier, striding up to the bottle returns register. I was sure she would help me. I wondered if the police would soon be escorting this customer from the building. “What on Earth is going on?” she asked.
“Thank goodness you’re here.” I dabbed at my face with a paper towel.
Ms. Bardiz poked me with a blunt, unpainted fingernail, “Look Albert, you're being paid to work. Not socialize with the customers. There are cashiers in desperate need of baggers and I find you here lolly-gagging about.”
“I'm am not-”
The grizzled customer took that as queue to start spitting again, “PTOOIE!”
I tried to explain again, “Ms. Bardiz, there are five… six other people in line for me here and I need to go and get carts too. Maybe I shouldn't be the only stockboy on duty at this time.”
Ms. Bardiz just shook her head, “I think you need to put some effort into budgeting your time more effectively.”
She turned to go, the mob of customers and garbage pickers loomed closer, “Please don't leave me-”
“PTOOIE!”
Then the store’s public address system hissed to life, “Albert cleanup in Aisle 7. Albert cleanup in Aisle 7. This means you.”
My jaw dropped, “Lord....”
“PTOOIE! Oooo got him right the mouth that time!”
Price Breaks and Heartaches
a journal of retail and failed romance
Chapter One
Welcome To Hell, Here's Your Smock
part two
You might find it hard to believe that never once in almost two decades of retail Hell did I ever hold a management position of any sort. That’s not because I was bad at my many jobs or because I lacked ambition, heavens no. The reason I never advanced with any of my employers was because the world of retail is a crucible for the modern age that only the truly mediocre and the truly evil can survive.
This is the story of my years working at a supermarket I will call Nice Shopper where it seemed like every day there was something new to learn or forget.
I remember once when I was busy doing one of the never ending stream of cleanups that seem to happen on a Saturday a customer I had just spoken to trudged through a ruin of spilled mayonnaise and broken glass just so he could get in my face.
*
“Hey!” He started to yell, then glanced down at my name tag, “…Labert?”
“Actually that’s a typo. My name is Albert.” I smiled uncertainly, “How may I help you sir?”
“Remember when you said the store didn't stock rabbit food? Well, what do you call this?” He waved a slender box in front of my face.
“Well,” cartoon rabbits danced before my eyes, “I guess I owe you an apology.”
“I don’t understand how a store can have employees so stupid that they don’t know what their store sells.” The customer said, “I want to talk to your manager.”
The PA system crackled to life, “Albert to the bottle returns register.”
“Sir, it was an honest mistake.”
“This was more than a mistake,” he sneered.
The PA system crackled to life again, “Albert to the front to bag groceries.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, “Wait, first you said I was stupid, now you think I gave you the wrong information on purpose.
Which is it?”
“Obviously you have some kind of passive-aggressive anti-lagomorphic agenda.”
“If I knew what you were talking about I would be appalled.”
The PA system interrupted us, “Albert to get carts.”
*
My suspected anti-lagomorphic tendencies, coupled with my inability to keep up with the ever rising tide of dirty bottles and lost carts, is what landed me with several weeks of 'vestibule duty'. What is vestibule duty you might wonder? It meant I was in charge of the main entrance and exit of the store. Every cigarette crushed out in the entrance, every wad of gum mashed into the cracks of the sidewalk and every glass windowpane-these were my responsibility.
And that was along with my regular duties of bagging groceries, rounding up carts and the bottle return register. I'm not sure how this was supposed to help me learn our pet food selection better but at the tender age of seventeen I was not one to question the wisdom of management.
The holidays came quickly, it seemed that as soon as I put the Halloween candy out on the shelves it was stale leftovers sitting in a cart with a ‘Half Off’ sign on it. November was a particularly busy month with people coming in to make preparations for their Thanksgiving holiday. On November first a red sign went up on the front doors explaining that we closed at 4 PM on the fourth Thursday of the month so Nice Shopper’s employees could enjoy the holiday too. Apparently the sign wasn’t nearly big enough;
*
At 4 o’clock on the dot Mr. Streicher locked the doors to the main entrance and began overseeing the shutting down of a store that was ordinarily open 24 hours a day. Each cash register was running and there were four other bagboys aside from me. The store was like a well oiled machine and we were all confident we would be out of there by 4:30, 4:45 at the latest.
I was the first to notice customers streaming in through the exit. They got their carts and started shopping at a leisurely pace.
“Bruno!” Mr. Streicher called, “Go stand in the doorway and tell people we’re closed.”
The question whether our customers would take the word of a doughy teenager when they were ignoring a fancy laminated sign from the corporate office never occurred to me. It should have, it really should have.
I took my place at the exit ready to turn any new shoppers away.
Unfortunately I was standing too close to the door and the first eager customer knocked me reeling. By the time by vision had cleared three other customers had gotten in behind her. I think Mr. Streicher was howling my name in outrage but it might have been the voices of my long dead relatives cursing that the noble Bruno bloodline, once the spawning ground of uncountable three-nippled strippers, politicians and circus midgets, could have come to this.
Groggily I resumed my place a safe distance from the exit and got back to my duties.
“Hey,” one of the customers said. “Your front door is broken or something.”
I was more than glad to explain, “Allow me to explain, Nice Shopper closes at 4 PM on Thanksgiving.”
“What?” the customer’s expression began to darken, “The sign says you’re open 24 hours a day!”
“Yes but the sign below that says we close so we can enjoy the holiday too.”
She pointed her finger at me, “You suck! You fucking suck.”
I was too stunned that my first grade teacher hadn’t recognized me to really take offense. The next customer was already trying to get in.
“I’m sorry sir,” I tried again, “but Nice Shopper closed for the Thanksgiving Holiday at 4 o’clock.”
He tried to push past me, “It isn’t 4 o’clock.”
I pointed to the clock, “Yes it is sir, it’s actually 4:12 now.”
“Not by my watch.”
“I don’t know what I can say about that, it is 4:12. Actually now it’s 4:13.”
The customer responded by waving his wrist in front of my face, “I don’t care what that damn clock says. This is a two hundred dollar watch!”
“It says Casio.”
He took a moment to tell me, “You suck! You friggin’ suck.” before he stormed off.
The next customer moved in to take his place, “I need cranberry sauce!”
“I…” I paused to blink back tears. “I’m sorry but Nice Shopper is closed for the Thanksgiving holiday.”
“You’re gonna let me in that store you little pissant or I’ll spit on you again.”
“…but this is a time of love and togetherness…”
“PTOOIE!”
Price Breaks and Heartaches
a journal of retail and failed romance
Chapter One
Welcome To Hell, Here's Your Smock
part three
Please don't think that it was all about work for me at this point in my life, in fact I still spent as much time as I could avoiding work- be it via faked illnesses or inordinately long breaks. Most of my energies during those days was focused on my last year of high school. Not my studies mind you, my focus was on the increasingly pitiful soap opera that was my social life. It was a senior year and I was still smarting from having loved and lost the girl of my very moistest dreams. Let this next tortured paragraph tell you the story of our tortured romance.
Her name was Lilly- well not really but I call her Lilly in these stories so her husband doesn't track me down and kill me with his thumbs. I loved her with the intensity that only a teenager or a full blown psychopath could feel. I spent most of 9th grade just following her around like a lovesick puppy until finally she asked me who the Hell I was and why I kept showing up in her study hall. By my Sophomore year I had become one of her best friends. Then one of my best friends asked her out behind my back. Then I stole Lilly away from his attention the night of the dance- my best friend and I never really forgave each other for that debacle. Of course at the time I didn't care because I had gotten my first kiss and I found myself in a strange on again/off again relationship. Lilly and I frequently made out but we rarely went out. Most of my guy friends told me they didn't know what I saw in her but then they hit on her behind my back. I am pretty sure Lilly's Dad thought I was having sex with her but I didn't even have the nerve to French kiss her. Once it was Junior year the on again/off again relationship was just off and I found other girls to date. Wendy taught me what it was to be a man- not in the 'getting laid' way but in the 'quiet desperation' way; still though she let me get to first base with her so that's something. Sue went with me to the Junior Prom and at least waited until after the Prom before trying to nail all my friends. I'm still not sure why I didn't try and nail her, I think a part of me still wanted to save myself for Lilly; although I had begin to worry I might have more luck saving myself for the day the Earth crashed into the sun. That leaves us here in the twilight of my senior year. Neither Lilly or I were seriously dating anyone. For Lilly not seriously dating anyone meant that meant she occasionally went out with one guy or another but no one got to lay claim to her; for me not seriously dating anyone meant that whenever I asked girl out she would say- “You can’t be serious!”
But even during that dark time Lilly and I could still talk and share a laugh...
*
Lilly was laughing so hard that years were in her eyes, “That was so funny the way you came back from the bathroom with that little eraser hanging out of your jeans!”
“Yeah...” I said as I vowed to never let her find out that hadn’t been an eraser. Stupid button-fly jeans...
It was after school and we were in art club, she was working on a painting of flowers I was drawing incompetent superheroes. A few tables away rich ubergeek Adrian was holding court, somehow he had convinced the art teacher that wargaming was an art form and there was a pitched battle going on between poorly-painted orcs and unpainted knights, a mound of clay represented the Shire, or perhaps a lump of clay.
Her eyes caught mine, she asked, “So what are you doing for the Christmas talent show?”
“I wasn’t going to do anything for the talent show,” I replied. If I had learned anything in my five years of high school it was that very few people wanted to hear any of my jokes. (My blog stats could be used to support the theory that this is still the case but hey I’ve got you don’t I dear reader?)
“Oh come on!” she said. “This is our senior year, cut loose a little. I’m going to sing Total Eclipse Of The Heart.”
“Why?”
“Because I love that song,” Lilly said. “Now come on, why don’t you do some of that stand up routine of yours?”
“Well,” I ran my fingers through my hair, forgetting I was holding a blue magic marker, “my material isn’t what I would call... polished.”
“Then I can help you polish it one of these nights.”
I had waited years to hear her say that but I had been hoping for a completely different context. “I don’t know...” I said.
“Come on, you and I could hang out like the old times. It’ll be a blast.”
I smiled, “Ok, for you I’ll risk a few jokes and public humiliation.”
“Great!” Lilly gave me a big hug, “and you can meet Tyler.”
“Tyler?”
“He’s in the AV-Club, we’re going out.”
sonofaBITCH!
Price Breaks and Heartaches
a journal of retail and failed romance
Chapter One
Welcome To Hell, Here's Your Smock
part four
This is more than the story of my first job, this is also a story of leaving a part of your childhood behind as you lean to accept grown up responsibilities and begin to learn that the same kind of jerks that made school a nightmare are now writing your performance reviews.
It was a snowy, muddy, rainy New York February and I was mopping the vestibule trying to stem the tide of dirty footprints the customers tracked in. I mopped and re-mopped and made sure the WET FLOOR signs were visible and also made sure that no one took those WET FLOOR signs literally. It took very little time for my mop water to become filthy and unusable. My being in the vestibule meant that I was pretty much the first Nice Shopper employee that a customer entering the store would see. That wasn’t always a good thing.
*
Fancy mop work and luck had helped me to get the floor absolutely spotless, for about three heartbeats, then a kindergarten aged boy dressed in adorable GI JOE cammo fatigues and carrying a adorable plastic gun tracked adorable muddy bootprints from one end of the vestibule to the other. His father trailed behind him with a shopping cart. I nodded a greeting to them.
GI Joe Jr just kind of stared at me, so I smiled and said “Hello.”
The kid just kept staring so I added a “Welcome to Nice Shopper. How old are you?”
Finally GI Joe Jr. turned to his father and asked, “Daddy is he a wimp?”
“What?” It was a good thing the mop was there to hold me up.
“He’s a wimp isn’t he Daddy?”
GI Joe Jr’s Dad father just laughed and led his son into the store. I watched after them wondering what I should have done or said. Who was that kid to say I was a wimp? He was like six years old!
I was sure I could probably take him in a fight but before I could fully consider the ramifications of my obvious height and weight advantages versus his lower center of gravity I got paged to go and get carts.
By the time I returned to the vestibule it was a ruin again. I got back to work with renewed fervor- with too much fervor really because I wasn’t watching where I was mopping and I splashed the shoes of an older couple coming in the door.
“Vatch vat you are doing!” The older woman shouted.
“I’m very sorry,” I tried to explain. “I was mopping with such fervor you see…”
The older man sneered at me, “You should not be doing zuch zings ven ze store is open, you should vait until you are closed.”
“Uh, Nice Shopper stores are open twenty four hours a day.”
The woman tisked under her breath, “Zuch a mess, does no one vipe zeir feet before entering a store? Iz zis your American way?”
“I am sure no one’s doing it on purpose, its just raining and sleeting out there.” I smiled, “I’m sure winters are pretty much the same for you in Germany.”
“Germany?” The man rounded on me, “Vat iz zis Germany? Ve are from Luxembourg! You svine!”
“Oh. Oh my gosh,” I said. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize that you were from a German speaking landlocked constitutional monarchy!”
The woman rolled her eyes, “Ignorant American vit your feeble high zchool educationz. Do you zpend all your time doing drugs, listening to your rock und roll and collecting cabbage patch dolls?”
“You leave Jasper Reuben out of this!”
“Come,” the older man took his wife by the arm. “Ve must get zee laxatives und zoon. Vat aisle are zey in?”
I sighed, “Aisle six, right near the rabbit food.”
As they turned to go the older woman leaned in to her husband, “Vat a vimp.”
*
One of my worst days working at Nice Shopper started out normally enough. As you can probably guess I was back on the bottle return register, but it had been a pretty good day. No grouchy customers and no dead rats in the bottles, it was the kind of day that made you almost glad to be working there.
The counter of the bottle returns register had three crushing devices planted installed in it; one for crushing glass, one for crushing cans and one for plastic bottles. Each of these devices spilled their contents down into a corresponding series of buckets under the counter. On a busy night those buckets filled up fast and you would have to excuse yourself from the general chaos at the front of the store to carry these heavy and overflowing buckets back through the produce aisle, out the back door and to a special dumpster that had been set up at the other side of the store’s loading dock. The recycling dumpster had three doors in it, one for each type of material being recycled and the dumpster was always kept locked.
During an eight hour shift I usually made three or four trips back there but one Saturday I didn’t make the trip alone.
*
In the winter the dumpster locks tended to freeze up, which meant fooling around with de-icer, in the summer the smell of old soda and beer drew bees in droves. Since it was springtime the only thing I had to worry about was not throwing my back out as I upended the bucket of empty glass into the dumpster; the crushed aluminum cans and plastic bottles weren’t much of a problem at all in that respect.
Still though, imagine my surprise when, as I bent to lift one of the buckets, someone grabbed my ass.
First off all I thought I was alone, I was always alone, no one ever wanted to help me with this stuff. Second this was not some accidental brushing of a hand against my upper leg- this was a GRAB- a desperate needy, clawing.
I yelped with surprise and with the realization that the only thing separating another person’s thumb from my ass-crack was an all-too fragile sheath of polyester. I dropped the bucket and ran, thinking perhaps I was being attached by some kind of animal. It was a crazy thought but it made more sense then someone grabbing at me because if my five years of high school had taught me anything, it was that no one was all that interested in Al Bruno III’s buttocks.
Until today anyway. I looked up to see that I had been grabbed by one of my coworkers- Orville.
Orville was my age we went to high school together but if not for this job I doubt we would never have noticed each other. I began to suspect he might have been noticing me a lot more than I suspected.
“What the Hell are you doing?” I backed away but then realized I was backing away from the relative safety of the store.
Orville advanced on me, made another grab and got another handful of buttock, “Don't you like it?”
“Take your hands off me! This isn't funny!
“Don't you want it?”
“I'm not even sure what 'it' is!” I ducked around him, ran into the store and hid in the meat freezer.
*
The incident was never reported or mentioned. Partly because I found the whole damn thing humiliating, partly because I didn't think anyone in management would believe me. Orville was the employee of the month while I was lucky if I got a scraper when they sent me out to get gum off the sidewalks. From then on though, I made it a point to never be alone with Orville and to stay out of grabbing range.
I couldn’t help but wonder if any of my other co-workers had been accosted the way I had. It sure didn’t seem like anyone else was trying to move from one end of the store to the other with ninja-like stealth or diving for cover behind the pasta endcap if they heard the sound of footsteps approaching.
Now I had to watch my ass, literally.
Price Breaks and Heartaches
a journal of retail and failed romance
Chapter One
Welcome To Hell, Here's Your Smock
part five
They say time flies when you're having fun, they say time is relative, I don't know about that. What I do know is that when you played CHAMPIONS THE SUPER HERO ROLE PAYING GAME time lost all meaning.
Now when I mention CHAMPIONS I bet you're thinking of the online game but that is not what we are talking about here. After all this story takes place in 1986 when Colecovison ruled the world.
This version of CHAMPIONS was a pencil and paper role playing game that combined aspects of DUNGEONS & DRAGONS with elements of old style wargaming.
The game was clever, customizable and had a fun roster of pre-generated super villains for your undoubtedly derivative defenders of truth, justice and the American way to tangle with.
This was one of the ways I spent those rare afternoons when I wasn't at Nice Shopper having my ego destroyed at minimum wage.
So there I was at Adrian's house, well his parent's house anyway. Adrian was a wealthy, privileged, arrogant and self-involved- he was also one of the best friends I ever had.
Adrian's best friend meanwhile was a freshman kid named Daniel and I thought it was kind of neat that the guy running a super hero role playing game had a sidekick of his own.
Green shorts not included.
Thank God.
The last but not least player of the group was Gordon. The only thing Gordon loved more than role playing games was the character of Chewbacca, in fact one of his long term goals was to hunt down George Lucas and slap him for not setting RETURN OF THE JEDI on the Wookie homeworld.
*
Everything about Adrian's parent's house was ostentations, they were a people drawn to shiny things like magpies or rappers. They gave Adrian everything he could possibly want, videogames, computers and of course gaming supplies.
"Is everyone ready?" Adrian asked.
"I have extra rulebooks on hand if anyone needs one," Gordon said. Gordon always had extra of gaming supplies on hand thanks to his exceptional shoplifting skills. His horde of Geek treasures sometimes rivaled Adrians', especially during the cold winter months when he could wear a heavy coat without anyone being suspicious.
Daniel said, "I have a new character this week. I call him Spider-Lad."
"Well," I said, "isn't that... new."
"You're still playing Frost?"
"That's THE Frost."
Gordon said, "And of course I will be playing Patient Zero the One Man Biohazard."
"Excellent," Adrian was setting the map up, he had a map that covered the table and used Monopoly pieces to represent the different heroes and villains. "Now it has come to your heroes' attention that a convoy transporting a nuclear missile will be moving through town..."
I rolled my eyes, "Again?"
"Yes, you got a problem with that?"
"This is like the attempted third nuclear missile hijacking this month," I said, "I mean you think they would change the route or something."
"Well, at least it isn't another bank robbery," Gordon said.
"You know what would be cool?" Daniel said, "If someone tried to rob a bank with a nuclear missile."
"Hmmm," Adrian rubbed the peach fuzz on his chin, "interesting idea."
"All I know," Gordon said, "is that I damn well better get to be the thimble this time."
*
With that the game began and let's be honest, the plot didn't matter because what every CHAMPIONS game was really about people in spandex beating he crap out of each other.
You know, like Pro Wrestling but slightly more believable.
In order to simulate comic book action on a dining room table the game broke down every minute into 12 rounds that certain characters could use or not use according to their speed score. It was innovative and a lot of fun but it also meant that a five minute battle often took four hours to complete, six if Daniel was playing his Wolverine ripoff.
All the side conversations and digressions didn't help either.
*
"So I saw the video of the talent show," Gordon said.
I tried to keep my face neutral, "Oh."
"Come on man," Daniel said, "it's your impulse turn Al."
"Sure..."
Gordon said, "I'm surprised you showed your face in school after that disaster."
"Well," I said, "the lighting could have been better."
Adrian stood, "You guys talk if you want, I'm going to make myself some pizza rolls."
Daniel brightened, "Oh, I'll have some."
"I said I'm making myself some pizza rolls."
"Oh sorry."
"Well, you should be."
With that Adrian left. I tried to look busy by going over my character sheet but Gordon still had more to say. He gave me a little smile, "So you did your standup routine at the show huh?"
"Yeah." I said.
"Was it the same material you showed us?"
"Some old, some new," I chewed the end of my pencil. "Do you think I should put more points into Presence attacks?"
Gordon said, "I heard you got booed off the stage."
"Really?" Daniel commented, "I heard he got dragged off the stage."
"Well, obviously they dragged him off the stage so they could stop the booing."
I sighed heavily, "They removed me from the stage because my set ran long."
"Because of the booing."
Daniel nodded, "I heard some old lady was screaming at him to get the Hell off the stage."
I buried my face in my hands, both to hide my shame and to block the smell of burning pizza rolls, "That was my grandma."
*
Yeah, Grandma didn't really think much of me going into showbiz. Here's hoping she doesn't read my blog.
The talent show was a disaster, my wry observational humor didn't really play well to high school kids hungry for sex jokes and scatological humor.
But as you can see from these postings I have pretty much kicked wry humor to the curb in favor of dick jokes.
Yes, I should have known better but the only reason I even got involved in the talent show was because Lilly was there and it was a chance to spend time with her. She performed the overwrought 80's hit TOTAL ECLIPSE OF THE HEART and in my mind she was singing it just for me.
But sadly she went home that night with someone else.
As if I wasn't having enough trouble finding a date for the senior prom already I was now known as the guy that made an ass of himself at the talent show.
I would never go back on stage again and just like every other one of my youthful dreams that died my family and friends were more than willing to help dig its grave.
Even if it wasn't quite dead yet.
Is it any wonder that I didn't mind spending an entire afternoon pretending to be a super hero?
Price Breaks and Heartaches
a journal of retail and failed romance
Chapter One
Welcome To Hell, Here's Your Smock
part six
In retrospect I think my stepfather was right to shove me kicking and screaming into the working world; still though I think it’s too bad he didn't follow through on this idea with his own son who dropped out of school in the ninth grade to watch television until he was about 18. While I was busy with Nice Shopper and High School my brother kept himself occupied with his mad quest to see every Krokus video MTV had to offer. Still though who am I to judge? Nowadays my brother Phil is a rich and powerful building contractor while here I am giving out free stories on the internet in a mad quest to someday earn enough to buy Krokus’ greatest hits CD out of the bargain bin.
And speaking of Krokus let us not forget that this story takes place in the 80‘s an era when metal ruled the airwaves and terrified parents everywhere. Sure all of us pasty white boys had heard of this ‘Rap Music’ but we were sure it was all just a fad. We knew that our metal gods would reign over a realm of sex, drugs and rock and roll forever. We’d never see the likes of Ozzy Osbourne becoming a henpecked husband. We all knew KISS would never sell out to the man; it was all about the music not merchandising. Sometimes we sat up at night trying to imagine how many hot babes Judas Priest’s Rob Halford bedded after every concert.
It was late spring and suddenly I found myself a holding a diploma that I had no idea what to do with. Spring became summer; I kept living at home and waiting for something to happen. I kept working part time, I told my mangers that since I had been given a bitcin’ Monte Carlo as a graduation present I would be available to work full time. They politely declined my offer, and my politely I mean they didn’t laugh directly in my face.
Then one bright Saturday morning that changed, an early morning call from Mr. Streicher woke me up. He told me that I had to come in early, that they needed me.
They needed me! How could I resist? I got dressed as quickly as I could and drove there in record time.
*
Mr. Streicher was waiting for me, he watched me punch in and get my smock on, then he led me to the back room. I noticed that several other bagboys and produce handlers were hanging around. I wondered what they might be smirking about.
“Don’t you need me to get carts or bag groceries?” I asked.
“No.” Mr. Streicher explained, “You see Bruno, an old woman had an accident on the floor of the men's room.”
A sinking feeling began to settle into the pit of my stomach, “The men's room?”
Mr. Streicher nodded, “I can only assume she was confused. She didn't stick around to explain herself,she just took a dump on the floor and left.”
“When was this?”
“About an hour ago.”
I looked to my snickering audience and then back to Mr. Streicher, “But there were about six other guys that could have done this, you didn't have to call me in.”
Mr. Streicher grinned, “They all refused. So buck up young man you've got a job to do.”
“What if I refuse?”
“They had seniority, however if you refuse you'll be fired instantly.”
There was a chorus of jeering laughter at my back as I entered the men's room. What I found in there was feces of Lovecraftian foulness. Reddish purple in color and roughly the size of a soup can it sat there in the middle of the floor. Rivulets of watery gruel had peppered the floor in the wake of its inappropriate splashdown. I tried to breathe through my mouth but the stench had been given an hour to permeate the bathroom, there was no escaping it.
I remember saying in a voice that no one but the turd could hear, “I’ll show them. I’ll show them all.” And when you say something like that it either means you are going to build an army of atomic supermen to rule the world or you’re going to do the best job you can do in a bad situation. Of course, in retrospect I chose poorly but there was no way I was going to afford an army of atomic supermen on my salary.
An hour later the bathroom was the cleanest it had been in years. I headed down to the front end of the store to let Mr. Streicher know.
“Well it took you long enough.” He said, “Look at all those carts out there! Get going.”
A nearby cashier commented, “Yeah Labert, if this was a race you would have come in turd.”
“Hey that’s not funny.” I said.
Orville looked up from bagging groceries, “Hey they told you to get groceries! Scat!”
“I- ohhhhh man…”
“What is the matter here Bruno? Do you need to go home early?” Mr. Streicher walked over to me, “Are you… feeling pooped?”
“That’s it, I quit.”
*
And quit I did. I found a better paying job at the local fast food restaurant. They were a lot more appreciative and they paid me a whole quarter above the minimum wage!
But before that, in that penniless twilight that sprawls between your training period and your first paycheck, I found that I still needed money so I headed in to Nice Shopper to get my final check. They kept me waiting around for about 15 minutes, and in that quarter of an hour not a one of my old coworkers paused to ask how I was doing or where I was working now. They didn’t even see me as a customer.
*
Mr. Streicher called me up to the office and has he handed me my check he asked me where I was working. When I told him he laughed.
“Empire Burger? You better watch out Bruno, they'll actually make you work there.”
I sighed, “I’m not afraid of a little work, I never was. I just can’t do the work of three people.”
“Funny how you’re the only one that seems to say that isn’t it?” Mr. Streicher chuckled, “You know what I think? I think you're too slow, I think you're kinda lazy and I don't think you're going to last too long in fast food. Why can't you be more like Orville? He’s got management written all over him, he really knows how to handle things.”
I turned to leave, “Perhaps more than you'll ever know sir.”
“What a wimp.”
*
Years later I still shopped at that store, I don’t know if it was because they were near my house or if I did it out of spite. OK yes occasionally I might have left some frozen foods hidden behind a paper towel display or some raw chicken by the canned goods but hey, it wasn’t like I worked there.
Funny thing though, a few months later they made bagging groceries, carts and bottle register separate jobs.
This was another thing I learned about retail, probably the one immutable fact; every job is a nightmare until I quit.
Now what happened to me at Empire Burger? That’s a story for another time.
Price Breaks and Heartaches
a journal of retail and failed romance
Chapter Two
The Fries And The Fury
part one
(The following story is as true as the movie ‘Braveheart’. The names have been changed because I was bored.)
They say it always brings tears to a mother’s eyes the first time she sees her son in uniform, maybe that’s why my Mom was crying as I headed out of the house in my Empire Burger duds that first day of work. At least I told myself that was why.
Now you might not agree that working in a fast food joint isn’t retail but I think otherwise. Those places aren’t restaurants. A kid’s lemonade stand is run more like a restaurant than your average Taco King or Long John Burger. Employee turnover is high, no one, from the manager to the guy sweeping the floors, sees fast food as a long term career move. And that’s the way it was at Empire Burger, everyone there was either keeping time until a better opportunity came along or was trapped there by personal or economic circumstance. No one in their right mind was happy to be working there.
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