Fiction

August 3rd, 2008

—Excerpt from the Journal of Richard Arlington Cory: Dated only as ‘Thursday’—

Its Thursday, nine o’clock I’m turning off the alarm.

Quarter after I’m heading towards the bank.

Nine thirty I’m back to the empty store, checking e-mail on a barely running, ten year old computer.

Ten o’clock I open the gate and the business day has started.

My twenty two year birthday is only a month gone and I’m still stuck in this dead-end job in a shoe store of a small hick-town mall. I thought I’d be doing something in my life by the time I turned twenty two. I’m the only male employed at my particular location, outnumbered five to one. I started here with a load of promises that probably would have been kept, if not for the multiple regime changes. District Manager Maria, who hired me, led way to awesome and fun District Manager Jay, who didn’t do his job to well and paved the way for man-hating District Manager Carrie-Anne. To get a good idea of who Carrie-Anne, the boss with two first names, is, just imagine Parker Posey but more man-hating. I should call human resources and call her out on their sexism (I always say she hates me because of the idea in my pants), but I need this job…for now.

Its ten thirty and I still haven’t made a sale, but I have been asked plenty of stupid questions.

“Do you have this with a floral print insole? They fit much better than this regular colored insole.”

To which I reply, “Do they make your feet smell better too?” She stormed out, unhappy with my sarcasm.

I also had, “Does this come in bright green?”

My answer, “Do you see it in bright green?” The lad looked at me dumbfounded. “No…no we don’t.” I told her, violently shaking my head.

Eleven o’clock, and still no sales. The store has been open an hour.

My wife tells me this job wouldn’t be such a dead-end if I wasn’t such a smart-ass. I respond by telling her I wouldn’t be such a smart-ass if it wasn’t such a dead-end. Our conversations on the subject never go too far.

Quarter after eleven brings my first sale. It was an older couple, of which the wife is bought a pair of white, canvas sneakers popular with her age group. I talked her into ordering a second pair. Sweet couple, almost makes me wish I gave a tiny rat’s ass about this job…then two ‘ghetto-teens’ come in, and I’m reminded why, in fact, I don’t give a tiny rat’s ass about this job. You know the type, all attitude and crass, no manners to speak of. They like to refer to each other by letters or one syllable names; like “G” or “Yo”.

“Yous all gots the red match to this kouler all up in her, yo.” Is what I heard him say. I think he was asking me to show him the red shoelaces to see if they matched a certain piece of ribbon he was holding. Still not too sure on that. I showed him the only shoe laces in the store, which did NOT match his ribbon. On the way out, without buying anything, one of the ‘ghetto-teens’ nodded and grunted in my general direction. I think he was trying to say good-bye…but one can never be too certain.

Something needs to come along and save me from this hell I call a job.

I just finished putting away the shipment from two days ago. Damn, I wanted that to last me all day. How else am I going to keep my mind occupied?

A screaming, annoying, little brat just stuck her finger in a hole on the edge of our entry way. What she doesn’t know is through that hole is a very expensive motion detector that transmits a signal back to our corporate home office of how many customer’s walk into our store. She also doesn’t know that I don’t want to have to deal with the condescending e-mail I would get from said corporate office if that motion detecting equipment is knocked out of alignment.

So I shout, pleasantly, towards the brat, “Hey! Please don’t do that!” Loud, but not too harsh. Her mom, an obese woman with frazzled red hair, and a little bit of facial hair on her upper lip, glares at me, grabs her daughter’s arm nearly dislocating it while storming out of the store, into the emptiness of the mall.

Its twelve o’clock and I have to urinate. But, of course, there is no one here to watch the store for another two hours. I’ll have to do the daily ritual of the-wait-for-the-store-to-be-empty-and-make-a-mad-dash-for-the-bathroom dance.

Its five after twelve and I’m relieved. I barely made it to the bathroom on time. I left the seat up as a sign of protest of the sexist way I’m treated day in and day out at this store.

A small gaggle of high-schoolers just walked by, playing hooky no doubt. I laugh, thinking about what failures they’ll become. I suddenly stopped, realizing that they’re only a couple of years away from being me.

I’ve made two sales ands it’s after noon. When will this day end?

One. Its one in the afternoon and I’ve barely made a third sale. I really won’t even count it. The lady was shopping for her son, without her son. I’d give you ten to one odds that she’ll be returning those shoes.

I just finished eating my lunch when I was attacked with another barrage of stupid questions.

“Is this waterproof?”A balding man asked me, holding up a hiking boot with a big sticker on the box that clearly state, in big yellow letters, “WATERPROOF”

“Do you think it would be okay to wear these sandals at a steel mill?” A stout woman asked me.

“No…I really don’t.” I answered, trying to stifle a laugh. “I can’t imagine that being right.”

A lady came in and pointed to our sale sign, which clearly reads “2nd Pair Half off Sale” and asked me “Does this mean that everything is half off?” This time, I did let go a gasp of laughter before pointing to her mistake.

Its two o’clock and my boss just walked in. “Hi Rick,” she waved and interrupted me while I was helping a customer. Talk about good service. It really doesn’t bother me that she’s here; I won’t see her for nearly a half an hour. She always does this. I’m not sure what she actually does in our stockroom, nor do I really want to know. I can tell you this; if I did the exact same thing, my ass would be grass.

Its half past two and I hear the tell-tale whine of our back-room door opening. I quickly slide from sitting on a bench doing nothing to kneeling in front of a shoe bin, straightening boxes.

“Rick, can you come up here?” Jill, my boss and store manager, asks me over the walkie, which had been blissfully silent up until now.

“Yea, hang on. I need to fix this mess first.” I answer back, making it look like I give a hoot about this job. I hear a faint click over the dead air. I’m assuming Jill was trying to tell me “OK” but didn’t hold the button down long enough for the channel to completely open. I don’t think it takes a degree in rocket-science to do her job.

Its two thirty five, and I’m at the counter patiently waiting for Jill to finish with a customer.

Its twenty till three and I’ve waited five minutes for my boss, when I could be pretending to work elsewhere.

Jill finished and turned to me. “The other day when I opened the store looked horrible.” Way to be tactful and professional.

I put on my best ‘oh my goodness that couldn’t be true’ face and asked her, “Which day?”

“Uh…the…” Jill stammered, ‘Whatever day I opened after you closed.”

“Oh, Monday?”

“Yea, Monday, after you closed on Sunday.” The witch seemed proud.

“Oh, what was wrong?” I resisted a very large smile. I’ll wait for her to list her complaints before I gently inform her I didn’t work on Sunday.

“Well, you guys didn’t vacuum.” Big freaking deal. No one vacuums because they know it’ll be blamed on me. “There were shoe displays missing.” Fix it yourself if it’s such a big deal. She started to tap out one finger with each complaint…oh; I hate it when people do that. She took a deep breath and started spouting out the rest, like it was hard thing to accomplish. “The mirrors weren’t clean garbage wasn’t emptied and you didn’t even come close to getting the clearance rack straightened.” She finished her laundry list without pause.

Look at that, saved by the thief. “Hey! He’s going to steal those shoes.” I changed the subject with a shout. I pointed to the subject of my interruption as Jill bolted to the gate and waited. She nodded towards me to go near the aisle he had come from, I complied. This could be the highlight of my day, and the distraction I needed to get Jill off my back.

The culprit headed for the door when Jill sidestepped to block him. He made a ninety degree turn down the closet aisle right into the woman’s section. I headed him off by going down the next aisle.

“Hello sir, can I help you find anything?” I glanced down and saw the white, pristine, nearly stolen, skateboarding shoes on his feet.

“Uh...no…” The culprit followed my gaze. “Uh…do these come in fourteen?” He stammered, trying to avert my attention.

“If it’s not on the shelf we don’t have it, but I could have it ordered.” I looked to Jill and saw that she was surveying the rest of the store to see if our would-be culprit had any accomplices, first good idea she’s had since she got here.

It’s three o’clock and I’m slyly following at teenager trying to steal from our store. I’ve been tailing him from aisle to aisle, waiting and waiting for him to ditch the merchandise. The shoes he intended to steal are back in their box, his feet covered with his own, untied shoes. He’s taken the nearly stolen pair on and off four times now, and only when I can’t quite see him. He finally gave up and ditched the box on a bench before bee-lining it out the entry-way. Jill sighed and headed over to talk to me when the phone rang. Thank God for another distraction. I let her answer it and barely hear her say “Hi” to her husband before I’m bombarded by yet another barrage of stupid questions.

“Do you work here?” One gentleman, not nearly old enough to by senile, asked me. I looked calmly at my name tag, took a deep breath and told him “No, I just found this name tag and decided to wear it around until someone asked me for help.” No…that’s not true. That’s what I wanted to say; instead I looked at his forehead and said a sad, and plain, “Yes.”

“Does this come in twelve?”The next customer asked me. Not a dumb question in-and-of itself.

“If it’s not on the shelf we can order it.” I respond, calm enough. No stupidity in the air yet…YET.

“Oh. So it’s not in the back?” I sigh; I told you there was no stupidity yet.

“No, I would’ve offered to get it from the back if it was in the back.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to check?” I sighed once more. How much more of this can I take? It’s the same thing, day in and day out.

“I’m sure; we don’t stock ANYthing in the back.” That satisfied the customer enough for her to walk away and continue looking.

One particularly annoying question came from a phone call I got on line two (Jill was still gabbing away with her husband on line one). I answer with my typical opening: “Thank you for calling Taupe Shoe-house during our ‘Buy One Get one Half’ sale. My name is Richard, how can I help you?”

“Yea…This is the shoe store in the mall…right?” An oddly shy sounding voice asked me.

“Yes, we’re located just off of mid-court in Southsquare Field Mall.”

“Oh…what sale do you have right now? Half off?” This all seems very familiar.

“No ma’am. Its buy one get one half off. Only the second pair is half off.”

“Oh. Well, I bought a shoe from you…” Let me stop you there. From me? Doubt it. From my store? Maybe. “…not too long ago and I was wondering if you have anymore.”

“Ok…what shoe is it?”

“It’s brown, with a buckle. It has a heel, but not a big heel. And it has stripes on the inside. I’m not sure what brand it is…I’ve worn off the label too much.”

“Ok…is it an open toe or a close toe?” I grit my teeth. I don’t like all the unnecessary information.

“Its closed toe. I told you its not a heel.”

“I know ma’am. I’m just trying to figure out what you need.”

“Well, I’ve told you.”

“How long ago did you but the shoe, ma’am?” Hoping to narrow down this very, VERY generic search.

“I don’t remember.” I closed my eyes and rubbed my forehead. This is starting to hurt.

“Let me put you on hold and go see what I can find.” I press the bright red button and sat the received down. It’s been ten minutes since Jill’s husband called and the light for line one is still brightly lit up. I search for the mystery shoe just lone enough to start to annoy the lady on the phone when I come back, my search fruitless. I pick up the phone, notice that Jill is STILL on line one, and press the line two button. “Sorry ma’am, I don’t see what you’re looking for. Are you sure you don’t know when you bought it?”

“Oh, I think it was two or three years ago.” Did you hear that? It was the sound of me pounding my head against the counter.

“Ma’am, we rarely carry styles longer than one or two seasons, and never beyond three. IF you want a shoe that you got that long ago you need to check online. Either on an internet auction site or with the manufacturer.”

“I told you I don’t know who made it.” She started to get riled up as the level of her voice rose.

“I can’t help you ma’am. Have a good day.” I hung up to a voice trying to yell at me through the receiver.

Its half past four and Jill has had the best idea she’s had all day. She’s letting me go home early. Good God, it’s about time. The monotony of this job is getting to me. It’s begging to feel like I’ll never have a day off.

On my way out, after clocking out, I glance at the schedule and notice that I do, in fact, have tomorrow, Friday, off. Big consolation. I doubt I’ll make it that long.

I am still in the store. What can’t I make it different this time?

I pushed the back room door open to the tell-tale squeak of overused and under oiled hinges. I wave at Jill on my way out, not even bothering to stop and let her check my book bag. No need, there’s nothing good in the store to steal anyways. Everything seems to be in a light haze.

I feel like I’ve done this walk, from the backroom of the store to my car, a million times today. I wish I could quit and just get on with my life. I stroll past the poor souls waiting for the local bus service and straight out to my car.

I leave you with this:

Retail sucks. Shoes suck. People suck. Thursday…sucks.

I reach into my glove compartment and pull out a sliver gun with a black rubber-gripped handle. The kind you see in movies. I’m not sure what kind of gun it is…I call her ‘Jill the Taupe killer’. She has a smiley face drawn in black permanent marker on once side of the barrel, and “THURSDAY” written on the other. I put Jill, the Taupe killer, in my mouth, aimed upwards, toward my brain. I close my eyes and squeeze the trigger.

BANG

Darkness.

Its Thursday, nine o’clock I’m turning off the alarm.

Quarter after I’m heading towards the bank.

Nine thirty I’m back to the empty store, checking e-mail on a barely running, ten year old computer.

Ten o’clock I open the gate and the business day has started.