There are so many hysterical tales about this wacky establishment that I’m almost too paralyzed to even find the starting point right now. To summarize the basic dynamic, though, the fate of this particular store and the company as a whole – which at its peak ran to roughly 150 franchises – demonstrates what happens when you take a hippie concept and attempt, with mostly unsuccessful results, to convert it into your standard monolithic grocery corporation, a la Kroger or Meijer or, yes, even Whole Foods.
When I started here in 2001, we were doing $300,000 a week in not that big of a store, in a neighborhood that wasn’t even really geared toward any kind of major retail enterprise. The mall next door was still a ghost town of a dump, Howard’s barber shop was still chopping away, diagonally across the street, and much of the current business landscape further west on Lane didn’t yet exist. Our own shoddy, patched over building seemed to be sinking an inch or so per year on the back end, a state that led many to dub it “California.”
By the time I left nearly six years later, we were doing about half the business, despite the mall next door being completely revamped and reinvigorated with actual paying customers. They’d briefly attempted jamming our aisles with a bunch of conventional products alongside the natural, organic, and local ones, a disaster from which the company and definitely our location never really recovered. The CEO was an alleged “turnaround” guru who golden parachuted out of this mess before we completely went down in flames. I was still under employ here when the announcement was made that Whole Foods had bought us out, throwing what was still their closest competitor a lifesaver in many respects. But they hadn’t gotten around to changing the names over or implementing their entire structure yet before I left.
For just about the duration of my days here, we’ve got these two corporate tools brought over from the conventional world, Bob and Tom, who never gelled with the workforce whatsoever. Seemingly on a daily basis you’d have these Dilbert-level bizarre exchanges with one or both of the guys which would leave you even more confused than before. And while we had our share of great customers, approximately 1% I would say were so horrible it was like nothing you’d ever experienced before, they’d have you on the brink of walking out on a nightly basis. On his first day working back in the meat department, my buddy Dan is attempting to talk me down from a series of bad encounters, telling me, “try to calm down, Jay, you shouldn’t let these people get to you…” Halfway through his second day, now he’s the one with teeth clenched, shaking his head and staring over at me with an expression that says, this is absolutely insane. “I’m not gonna last here too long, I can tell already,” he says.
So yeah, a day and a half has him talking like this, grasping the very nature of the Wild Oats experience.
It is true that good friends like him were one of the few things that kept me around during these hard times. That and we meat cutters were paid an exorbitant amount, enough so that I quit Kroger to focus exclusively on this place. However, this thrill is mitigated to some extent in that we were receiving extremely cliquish if not downright hateful vibes from roughly half of our coworkers. Part of it is that we are butchers working in a land rife with vegetarians and vegans, a sin which makes us, as Dan puts it, on par with “baby killers.” Some of it I believe has to do with jealously that our department is making more than any non-management folk in the store, and probably some of them as well. Fortunately, the other half of my coworkers are so awesome and hysterical that I have better, wilder times with them – before, during, and after work – than anywhere else that I’ve ever punched a time clock. And this is saying a lot, actually, considering if nothing else the various places where I’ve waited tables, for example.
Here are a few quick links you can click to jump forward in this odyssey:
Otherwise, quite naturaly, just keep reading…
II.
I start back in the meat department in April of 2001, as a part timer joining just four full time employees – three of which I went to school with back home. Travis runs the shop, and the other two old chums are Matt and Kevin. The only unknown quantity in the bunch is this veteran, middle aged meat cutter named Charlie, who is certifiably crazy and will admit as much to anyone. Owing to my particular circumstance, a unionized employee for another grocery store chain (the Bethel Road Kroger), we consider it best to keep this moonlighting gig under wraps on both sides of the equation. Maybe this is being overdramatic, but I like my newfound second job from the outset, and don’t want to do anything to jeopardize it – and at such a combative company as Kroger, it wouldn’t surprise me in the least for management to make a huge stink about this. As it turns out, someone else did recently try this exact same thing, not too long prior to my arrival. Some guy they refer to as “Fitzie” (I can’t recall his full name) was working at the Chambers Road Kroger and also double dipping back in this meat department a few nights a week. He got away with it, though also keeping his lips sealed on this arrangement, so we know it can be done.
Bob K, the store manager (his last name is pronounced “cotton steady” but I won’t even hazard a spelling at this point), had only arrived here about a month before me. Preceeding him, I am told, was some hardlined military guy that was kind of a bastard to work for, but did a good job, and was mostly grudgingly respected. In the early going, Bob seems extremely chill, possibly just what this place needs. He had left Meijer to take this job, and the cover story he gives everyone is that he got so tired of corporate life, he decided to downshift into a relatively calmer place like this. He’s had a ton of experience throughout the grocery industry, including a stint in Kroger, and just finally got fed up with it. Well, it all sounded very plausible at the moment, but we soon learned enough about Bob to recognize there’s no way things went down like this at Meijer. He’s as unrepentingly corporate as they come. If I had to guess, I believe there must have been some sort of scandal – possibly even just poor performance – which let to Meijer giving him the boot.
Second in command when I begin is this much cooler dude named Chad, who is in our basic age demographic. He wears camouflage shorts pretty much every day, a ballcap despite working on the front end, has shaggy brown hair and matching lightning bolt tattoos shooting up both of his calves. Everybody likes Chad, including presumably the cashier he is openly dating. At Kroger this would be frowned upon, to say the least, if not forbidden, so it’s cool to see this atmosphere is a little more low key. It feels right up my alley, that these are more my kind of people.
And yet it doesn’t quite work out that way. Oh, I have a blast here, to be sure, and will slowly accumulate a ton of great allies and associates, some of which I remain in contact with to this day. But it takes some doing. One thing I never counted on is the tradeoff at a place like this, i.e. the trendiness component – it’s very cliquish, and let’s just say some dudes who happen to be working in the meat department are automatically considered the equivalent of cavemen. The connection here totally escapes me, to the extent that I’m still oblivious to it after a couple of months spent working here.
“I feel like a bunch of the employees here hate me, but I can’t figure out why,” I admit to Travis one day.
“It’s because we work in the meat department,” he nods and tells me, matter of factly, already well aware of this phenomenon.
“Really?“
“Oh yeah, totally.”
So we meat peddlers are automatic pariahs here in vegetarian land. Right on. To say that this attitude flies in the face of the peace n’ love, Come Together Now, purported hippie ideology is not something I ever waste my breath explaining. I’m used to being an acquired taste anyway, so it’s no big deal, these distasteful leers around these parts when attempting to say a simple, “what’s up?” as though they can’t even believe I would dare speak to them. We might have more in common than many of these people may suspect, but whatever, it’s their loss. In fact I kind of like it when people dismiss me at first glance, I find it both hilarious and highly useful, in that I don’t have to waste my time getting to know them, either. Oooohkay! You betcha! But for starters, the guy RUNNING the entire meat department, Travis, doesn’t eat meat. And how far are we taking this guilt-by-association thing, anyway? Should any of us be working for these corporate clowns, regardless of department? Am I allowed to consider you a monster and in cahoots with Bob K, merely because you work up front and are often rubbing elbows with the guy?
The vibes here are very strange all around, though, and at the center of this phenomenon lie some of the most hostile customers I’ve ever encountered anywhere. This whole local/natural/organic trend is just blowing up during this time, and we are in the middle of a fairly upscale demographic base, so if many of these shoppers didn’t already think they were better than most, this is certainly true concerning some lowly clerks at a place like this, when they come in and plonk their majorly trendy dollars down.
Like anywhere else, the vast majority of patrons are cool, but the one or two exceptions per night are so horrific you want to punch the wall. I mean, my first significant adverse encounter is with this roided out bodybuilder who says he’ll be waiting for me in the parking lot when I get off that night, because I won’t fire up the grinder for him at five minutes before closing time. Meanwhile, we have this corporate lapdog Bob up top who is showing his true colors in no time at all, and taking their side without exception in every one of these incidents. Part of this is he adheres 100% to that customer is always right pap, but another huge chunk is that, I’m convinced, he believes he is one of these highly affluent shoppers himself, a member of their tribe, and is demonstrating his solidarity in this manner, currying their favor through ingratiation. And yeah, he had the weight lifter guy’s back during that altercation, you bet. Not mine.
One night a few of us are drinking beers around a fire behind Travis’s place, early into my tenure, and talking about the Oats when I observe, “we have the worst customers in town!”
Kevin chuckles and begins counting off the meat department roll call, past and present, with fingers and thumbs. “Let’s see, you say that. Matt says that. Travis says that. Charlie says that. Copper said that…uh, Stevie said that, Johnny Q said that, Imsland said that…I would probably say that, too, but I haven’t really worked anywhere else…”
“But no, according to Bob, we have the best customers in town!” I marvel.
“He’s in denial,” Kevin concludes.
We have this one doctor and his wife who are in constantly buying filet mignon, and seriously about 1 out of every 3 occasions, they bring some of the meat back, claim it was “inedible” and demand a refund. Which Bob and Tom (Chad’s eventual replacement) fork over without question every time, seem even eager to do so, on occasion hook up these a-holes with more freebies beyond that. Tripping over themselves to kiss up to this duo. One such incident I overhear the wife, who has some sort of French accent or something, telling Tom, “it was so bad I spit it back out onto the plate!”
That’s all fine and dandy if they care to burn store profits in this manner, but then the dynamic management duo (often referred to as The Bob And Tom Show; Charlie typically calls them “Bobbytomtom,” however, as though two heads attached to one body. Which I suppose is actually much more accurate)(he also likes saying “Bobbytomtom…Bobbytomtom” to the tune of the slogan used in Bobby Layman commercials) is always back in our midst right after this, grilling us about the quality of our filets. To which we usually reply with some variation of, “hey, did it ever occur to you that maybe, I don’t know…these people might be…full of shit!?”
We do after all sell hundreds of pounds of filets during a typical week. We are all seasoned veterans who know what meat is supposed to look and smell and feel like. Are constantly cooking up demos of our products, pretty much around the clock, of which filets represent a decent portion. We hardly ever get any complaints from anybody else about these cuts. What, are the illustrious doctor and his darling wife the most unlucky people in the history of the universe? Or no, wait, do they just maybe have the most refined palettes ever? Sure, that must be it.
Regarding the help, though, I should mention there is also one other mysterious figure lurking about the fringes, during my early days here: Chris Carfagna. As in, of the legendary Carfagna Italian meats empire around town. Though he and Charlie go way back, Chris isn’t involved with the meat department whatsoever here, and in fact it’s never fully explained to me what he’s doing at this store. Possibly nobody else knows the details, either. I have worked with the old man, Adam Carfagna, for years prior to this, and am of course familiar with the family’s flagship store on 161. But the first time I ever meet Chris, he is drinking at Dino’s, a month or so before I even start working at the Oats. Matt introduced us, and yet even in that social setting, he was tight lipped, taciturn, just like on the job.
I never learned if this was his basic state, or if he was perhaps unhappy with his current station in life. Without details I don’t want to dish gossip on the family, but a lot of my coworkers whisper Chris is the black sheep of that clan. At this store, his capacity seems to be vaguely some loose third in command/front end manager/merchandiser role. My most significant memory of him at work – and the only occasion I really recall him messing around much in meat – concerns one night he spends a great deal of time fixing and restocking this wonky refrigerated seafood case in between the two service counters, where we sold smoked salmon and dips and the like. It’s an upright and we’ve had some problem with the shelving, so he the empties the thing, repairs all the shelves, then reloads it. A short while after he walks away, I’m behind the counter when I hear the distinctive sound of shelves collapsing and packages flying every which way as they fling themselves toward the ground.
He seemed very defeated when confronted by this sight. A heap of products and all the shelves, this ungodly mess on the floor. I might even detect that this summarizes where he’s at right now in life, period. Whatever the situation, though, he disappears without ceremony before 2001 is even out.
III.
The walls here are peach, mostly, though pea green over by produce, pomegranate over by sushi. Door to stairwell bright light blue, with purple awning above “Community Room” written in funky yellow. In Natural Living section, signs every few feet designate “essential oils” or “women’s health” or “men’s health” or “soap” “liquid extracts” “green foods” “supplements” “enzymes” et cetera on dark brown stalks that sprout from top of case. Wooden posts throughout store, wooden racks here & there – beeswax in middle of Natty Livin’ aisle, a wine rack by seafood, a boat shaped rack on one wooden post with smoked salmon items. We have some blue plate with an engraved sun (gold-yellow) & rays (tan) & other ancient-South-American-esque carvings on sale on top of island case for $34.99. In our meat case, ostrich eggs are a popular conversation starter – at one point we even have a specimen sitting atop it bearing Chris Spielman’s signature.
Without question, to this day I still have more artifacts from my time here than any other place I’ve worked. This is going to take some sorting out. One other company was maybe objectively wackier, but Wild Oats remains the most fun I’ve ever had at a place of employment, too, and that continued to be true even after things went south between me and management. You could almost say I wouldn’t let them ruin this experience, no matter how terrible they became. And the same applied to those unruly 1% who shopped here.
So let’s jump right in and begin sorting out the carnage, beginning with an organized timeline of what I know…
1998: This store opens, at 1555 W. Lane Avenue. I’m not sure what it was before. I think Charlie was an original employee and Travis came along about a week after it opened, because these two would occasionaly argue about who else was and wasn’t still remaining from the opening cast. Then Kevin a few months down the road, something like that.
2000: Matt starts working here, possibly before he’d even officially moved down to Columbus from Lexington. But I will have to confirm some of these points. What I know for sure is that he’d only been here about 6 months before I arrived on the scene, though he has a way of explaining his adventures to make them sound epic, as though spending an eternity here. It truly is a gift – although in reality, it probably felt that way as well. And he does make friends very quickly.
Other developments are known, though the dates are not. Slotted in between these four stalwarts, some familiar faces came and went (Dave Copper, Scott Imsland) in the meat/seafood department, some others I’ve just heard about (Fitzie, Johnny Q, Little Stevie). Charlie is a legend for a quasi-unionizing stunt he pulls that results in higher pay for the entire meat department, which persists to this day. And may explain some of the other employees’ hatred of us actually. After arguing with management over raises, he went to some other store across town, got applications for the entire meat department. Which the guys all filled out and hung not-so-inconspicuously behind the counter, neatly filled, ready to be turned in. Management apparently didn’t care to call their bluff and gave them all hefty raises, essentially meat cutting pay without any need for certification.
2001: Which brings us up to the moment I’m coming aboard, to begin my own fractured narrative here. The meat department employees are completely frazzled, because business has picked up, though they have less help back there than before. The day I come in for my interview, it’s just me and Travis sitting on this waist high concrete wall beside the store, because the nearby break table is fully occupied. He’s eating a lox and cream cheese bagel, which gives some indication as to the informality. Somewhere in the middle, I ask him something I’ve been kind of wondering about, which is how good an employee Matt is, anyway. Travis raises his eyebrows and laughs, as though surprised to admit this himself, as he says, “he’s actually a really hard worker!” So this is cool to hear, that he is pleasantly, unexpectedly impressed.
April 13
I slide up to Wild Oats again today and formally file out the paperwork of my hire there, working nights part time. All we had to do was iron out exactly which shifts I’d be working – Tues, Sat, and Sun nights to start with, 4 to 9 shifts except 3 to 8 on Sunday, as they close an hour early. Beautiful.
April 17
My first shift here, 4 to 9, closing with Matt. It’s a breeze to the extent that even the Hobart scales we’re using on the counters are the exact same models we have at some Kroger stores. So highly familiar to the extent I already know how to make changes within them if need be. I think I’m going to hit it off with the girls here, too. These seem to be much more my type of people. Travis started me off at an impressive hourly rate, all things considered, too. Yes I have quite a bit of experience, and will be cutting some meat, even while only working nights…but at the same time, the responsibilities should be relatively minor here. Wait some counter and shut off the lights and go home.
April 21
A Saturday night, much more in line with what I will expect from this place. Closing with Travis and we are much busier than my first shift.
The first time I met Charlie was also my initial foray into this building, which I believe must have been the day I came here to interview. Matt and I were talking out on the floor, in front of the service case; Charlie was doing something inside it, and when Matt pointed at him, to introduce us, he only said, “that’s the boss,” to which Charlie merely grumbled in response. I wasn’t sure what this meant – nor what to think about this wild looking, veteran meat cutter with the long salt and pepper hair.
Though I don’t seem to have the exact date of my first shift working with Charlie, I remember it quite well, and am guessing it must have been April 22nd. He was the one coaching me through my first ever case cleaning project, which we did on a weekly basis. That I am 100% certain on. The only problem with this scenario is that this would be a Sunday, and my memory is that we always cleaned cases on Saturdays. So, either we switched it from Sundays to Saturdays at some point, or else maybe he was also with us on the 21st and left before closing time. We were the only two doing it, but Travis might have been on lunch or downstairs working on paperwork or something.
Except this scenario doesn’t make total sense, either. Because one of the primary thoughts running through my head, as he shows me the finer points of this case cleaning, is wondering why on earth the bosses thought it a good idea to have this madman showing me the ropes. If Travis were here, I probably would have asked him such outright, if not for a second opinion on procedures.
“Do it like this, dawg, but don’t let eeeeeeeeenyone see ya do it,” Charlie tells me.
We are breaking down the seafood case when he mutters these immortal lines. Having said this, he reaches in and extracts one of the metal trays inside, which are a good four by four feet and about a foot deep, jammed with ice, then heaves it onto this rolling cart. Determining somewhere along the line that these carts can support two such trays, he repeats this process to stack a second atop it.
“But what’s the right way?” I question.
“This is,” he barks, “just don’t let anyone see you do it.”
Apparently, the standard routine for most is to set a garden hose spraying hot water inside the case, shut the door, and let it do its thing melting all the ice. But Charlie isn’t having any of this. Instead, he and I surreptitiously wheel this cart out of the department, around the corner into the back dock, and down to their handy trash compactor hatch. It seems that certain key figures are not exactly keen on his process, hence the secrecy. We therefore work as quickly as we can. Set along the back wall, this hatch door opens up to a chute, where we can just dump this ice and fish juice slushie (along with more legitimate trash, throughout the day), before hitting this big button on the wall to mash it. Speaking of which, there’s a neatly printed sign stuck to the wall, beside the button, which originally read:
AFTER TOSSING OUT YOUR LOAD, PLEASE PRESS COMPACTOR BUTTON.
Except somebody long ago drew a black X across certain portions of this message, then wrote some new words above it. The altered sentence now advises:
AFTER TOSSING OFF YOUR LOAD, CUDDLE.
It will remain here just like that, if I’m not mistaken, for the entirety of my stint with this company.
April 24
All day here I’m in a great mood. It starts out shortly after I arrive, when this camera crew shows up out of nowhere to film some spot about our meat department. I think it’s a local news segment, but might be footage for some commercial. Either way, it’s just Matt and me back here at the moment they appear. They’re asking us if we want to be in it. Truthfully, I would love to…but am not convinced this is such a hot idea, if I’m hoping to keep my employment here a secret from Kroger. So I regretfully bow out. Figures this would happen after I’ve literally only been here a week – with more time I might have a better idea what I can get away with.
Matt doesn’t have any problems hamming it up for the piece, though. As they are setting up their equipment directly in front of the case, he’s standing behind it. I’m off to the side watching the action.
“Here, this is my good side,” he tells the crew, facing left as they beam their lights and camera in from the right, boom mic held overhead, “do you think I should put on some makeup?”
“I don’t have any make up,” the girl running this operation replies with a laugh.
I stay out of sight but peek around the corner to check out what kind of equipment they’re using. Being more than a little interested in filming my own low budget movies some day, it surprises me to see how little gear you could get by on – just a camera mounted on a tripod, a bank of four flourescent lights on one tree, and a guy to hold this oversized microphone above the speaker’s head. And that’s it.
Then Travis comes in at 5 to work the back end of this split shift, as I have to go through orientation. It’s supposed to last two hours but drags on until 8, as this Sarah chick who runs it just won’t stop talking. She seems very nice, though. And the other kids that have just gotten hired along with me are pretty funny – this one, Jay, who looks like Bruce Springsteen with bad teeth, he interrupts Sarah at one point for no discernable reason and says, “you used to ride horses, didn’t you?”
Speaking of horses, already I am seeing that this is a very Wild Oats-esque carts before horse maneuver, to have me work three days and only then begin orientation. Totally par for the course. As it is when Sarah goes to put in a video and this hipster looking Brad kid with shaggy black hair and matching horn rimmed glasses, he says, “does this video have any hijinks in it? ‘Cause I don’t wanna watch it unless it’s got hijinks.”
Sarah’s got short black hair – it comes down just short of her shoulders – and one hell of a body, but she’s definitely the antithesis of what you’d call “my type.” For one, her arms are likely more muscular than mine, and she talks at great length about her vegan lifestyle – certainly at odds with my own. She probably doesn’t even drink, for crying out loud! I like chicks that talk a lot, to an extent, but she seems to be one that would test even my own tolerance for that sort of thing.
These two tall brunettes, though, they work stocking the shelves, and I keep catching them staring at me, giggling, whispering to one another. I talk to one, and while she looks like some kind of sensual seductress, her voice is really squeaky. It’s quite the jarring contrast.
This orientation is conducted in the Community Room, which is located in our basement. Unique to any other business I have worked for, the basement here is actually a major, bustling hub of activity. It’s a three story building (the top floor is used only for storage, and I regretfully never find any reason to ever venture up there), while the ground floor and basement, I can verify, have identical square footage.
So here’s the basic rundown on our underground space. In addition to the Community Room, which is at the bottom of the front stairs, Bob’s office is down here, as is the payroll lady’s. In the middle, a relatively wide open area houses these partition separated desks, facing one wall, that each department manager claims. There’s this huge communal freezer in the back middle, then a separate huge room for dry storage off to the side, one which also houses the floral person’s sad little corner with a standing desk. A pair of employee restrooms along the back wall, along with the elevator and the rear stairwell.
Various other little closets and cubbyholes all over the place, but also, in a tiny separate room, the employee break area, a charming, incredibly cozy nook that everyone refers to as The Opium Den. The Opium Den earns it name by virtue of being dim – the room has no overhead lighting, only lamps – carpeted, with some sort of colorful Asian tapestry for a door. Stocked with plenty of reading materials, chairs, and couches, oh yes…and is also, curiously, not all that populated, ever. One reason I think is the distance, i.e. it would eat up much of your fifteen minute break period walking down here, but also that we have a ton of smokers working here (one curious phenomenon about the vegetarian/vegan crowd is they seem to smoke more cigarettes than the general population), and/or social butterflies who prefer going to our outdoor table, beside the store, to congregate instead. Many a day will I navigate my otherwise impossible schedule, of working two jobs, by napping down here in The Opium Den before clocking in at the Oats. I get through my first shift at Kroger sometimes by daydreaming about this blissful sanctuary, anticipating landing here for a much needed fifteen or thirty or forty-five minute catnap.
April 27
Our freezers are down for much of the day, and when we’re leaving, Bob lets us employees take as much of the food home as we want – he explains with a chuckle that it’s better than pitching the stuff. He seems like a nice guy, I think I will enjoy working for him. I load up on a bunch of goodies, and wind up taking some ice cream over to Jill’s house.
April 28
Another 4-9 at the Oats.
April 29
A Sunday night closing alone (another reason that I think that cleaning tutorial with Charlie must have happened on the 21st; and come to think of it, that would be a very Travis-like move, to make a deal – he would close if Pappy Grease agreed to clean the case before jetting) and we are getting absolutely crushed on the meat/seafood counters. As had been the case last night. To the extent that Chad has to come back and help bail me out, waiting on people.
“I need to talk to Travis about hiring some more help back there,” he says, up by the front door as I’m leaving, “there’s no sense in you busting your ass like that, that’s crazy. Hell, you’re working harder than any of those guys do in the morning!”
This was actually Matt’s frequent complaint about working back there, before I ever started – business was picking up bigtime, they had less help, he was often stuck closing alone and getting murdered on the counter. But now that I’m aboard, they seem to have curiously slid the coverage into another body working during the day. Still just one person a night, more often than not.
May 29
Being lazy I hadn’t shaved in a few days. Pressed for time like always, today I just manage to shave off the beard part, leaving the goatee. No fashion statement on my part, merely a time-energy crunch concern, but I get here this evening and the strangest things keep happening: one decent looking older lady winks at me, and it seems like these hot girls coming in keep checking me out, then this one gorgeous blonde in a skirt bends down in the one aisle in such a way that I can see pretty much her entire world under there.
Hmm….think I’ll stick w/ this goatee thing awhile.
June 5
About a month after I was hired, they do indeed bring aboard another night person, so there are two of us closing most evenings. James is the individual in question, a physically ripped bicycle enthusiast with a shaved head and some of the most intimidating glares the retail industry has ever witnessed. Matt secretly nicknames him “Vlad” – not that we are ever bold enough to use it in James’s presence – and while there’s no specific reason for this, the handle just seems to fit. And yet he speaks in somewhat of a squeak, with a little bit of a lisp, leading Travis to speculate, “I think he does the voice of Mike Tyson on The Simpsons.“
Vlad is positively brutal to some of the customers, but he and I get along just fine. Tonight, it’s a slow Tuesday and my thumb is killing me thanks to a mishap at Kroger. Therefore he and I decide to slip out at ten minutes till 9, not even waiting for the official closing hour. Bob shoots some weird glances in our direction, as we’re leaving, but doesn’t say anything.
June 19
Work seems to fly by. James and I knock out cleanup in record time, then he lets me leave early (about 8:40) since he did so the last time we worked together – a nice arrangement, I think. As far as consorting with the help goes, I might have a decent shot with Elizabeth. She seems to like me okay.
June 23
Getting your paychecks at this place represents a major battle, especially for a part timer. The payroll lady, Marie, has specific hours posted on her door during which you are permitted to disturb her with your request: noon to four on Fridays only. But then half the time the door’s locked during those hours, too, and she’s not here.
I usually ask Bob or Chad if they can retrieve it for me, since even being here during the payroll poobah’s hours is often logistically impossible. And I start to request such from Bob tonight, until a thought strikes me: I didn’t even have this job two months ago, and therefore don’t technically need the money. If I want to buy a house, I really need to save money for a down payment anyway, to avoid breaking into my retirement account. What better way to do that than to stop picking them up altogether? This would get pretty hilarious, too, if I managed to let them pile up for about six months or something, and force the payroll lady to bring them to me.
June 29
Increasingly rare closing shift with Travis. At one point that Chuck Mangione song comes on the Muzak, and he’s whistling along with it, which strikes me as hilarious.
July 10
Our first departmental meeting since I’ve been here. We’re supposed to have these monthly but, well, that obviously seems like a bit of a stretch. This one is held at the employee break table outside. It had rained earlier, so we lay out a bunch of newspapers everywhere to sit on. All six of us are present – plus Charlie’s girlfriend, Mama Bear. She sits in her car in the parking slot right beside this table. Charlie had shown up here with a trunk full of Coors Light, of which we are partaking (everyone except James, of course) to help, ahem, grease the skids of this here meeting.
Charlie was off today. Mama Bear drove them here and he seems already about half sauced. Travis kicks off the meeting asking if we have any ideas about ways to increase profitability. Charlie raises his hand, and when called upon, starts ranting, “I just got one thing to say, dawg, you boys, you gotta start keepin that top shelf clean…” Travis points out that this is great and all, but has nothing to do with the topic at hand. Still, Charlie keeps going on and on about this dirty top shelf.
In the wake of this meeting, I can basically never hear the phrase “top shelf” again without thinking of it. One day we’re hanging out behind the meat counter and someone utters it in passing, which causes me to question what kind of liquor Charlie would stock if he owned a bar. “He would only have two kinds – top shelf clean and top shelf dirty,” Travis jokes.
But this is also the last department meeting held like this, at the store. Reason being that these are still the early days, where Bob is attempting to be cool and fit in, before his true colors have been revealed. And therefore he points out that if we were to hold these at a restaurant instead, the company would reimburse the entire bill (drinks included, so long as we don’t itemize.) Yeah, you can imagine how this subsequently goes. Our next meeting is conducted at the Knotty Pine, but The Black Horse Inn will prove our most popular, go-to choice down the road.
July 14
I’m slightly late getting here. Charlie’s with us until 6, and after that it’s just James and me. Though James actually leaves at 8.
July 15
Closing alone and get slammed
July 20
Well, this worked exactly like I suspected it might. Today the payroll lady tracked me down, venturing up to our meat department, to hand over my last three paychecks. So much for your silly goddamn rules. This could be the ongoing method, moving forward.
September 5
Work 5-9, it’s me and Scott Imsland closing. He had worked here in the past, but was just rehired last week to replace James. Vladdy was traveling out west and fell in love with Austin, thus decided to move there. His last day is Friday – after which, hilariously enough, it will then be just us five Lexington graduates working back here, plus Charlie.
September 9
Matt works late-ish with me and he’s improvising some rap lyrics to keep himself entertained. Here’s one about a former neighbor:
My name is D-Pife, I got a license to throw
but when I go to throw I don’t know where it will go
I just said go three times in a row
heh heh heh…yo yo yo
Or how about this selection, (somewhat) pertaining to his girlfriend, Libby, who works up front:
Got a dozen roses and a card for my girl
Gonna pick up a 12 pack of beers of the world
We’re really busy for a Sunday. He leaves at 7.
September 11
I just so happen to be off on this day of unthinkable tragedy. But will admit that maybe the full extent of what just transpired hasn’t sunk in with me yet, either. Still, it’s highly informative to see what kinds of businesses did and did not close their doors today. Out running errands, I stop in here to get my next schedule, and can tell you they were humming along as though nothing ever happened. Then again, knowing Bob, a plane could crash into this building and he would be attempting to keep the cash registers open, telling us all that we’re overreacting and still need to hit our sales forecasts for the week.
September 12
Hilarious conversation at Wild Oats with Imsland. We’re standing around behind the meat counter, radio is on – a Creed song is playing:
Imsland – “buh duh duh duh” (imitating singer)
Me – God these guys suck
Imsland – yeah, I guess the singer was brought up in a really religious family and they got their name…wait, what’s their name?
Me – Creed
Imsland – yeah, they got their name from this one passage in the Bible
Me – what, the one that said if you suck you’ll burn in hell?
Imsland – yeah (laughs). What a bunch of jack offs.
Me – that’s what they should have named themselves. The Jackoffs, it’d have been more honest
Imsland – I guess his favorite singer is Eddie Vedder, he says
Me – go figure
Then, he waits to tell me at 8:15 we’re supposed to clean out the seafood case tonight for some reason! Talk about a half assed job, then, as a result.
September 14
Tool are playing just up the road, at the Schottenstein Center. Prior to the show, although I can’t recall if it was day-of or the night before, this dude comes up to the counter, explains that he’s their tour chef, and buys some fish from us. I’m pretty sure it was Scott and me working, though it may have possibly been Matt instead of Imsland. Anyway, the chef says he has a daily budget of $1000 to spend on the band. I’m pretty stoked, considering I’m going to the actual show, and tell him as much. I seem to recall Imsland thinks this is just vaguely interesting, nothing more, which is why I think he was the one helping me with this customer – Matt would have been more excited. Actually, as far as I know, I was still working just about exclusively closing shifts at the Oats at this time, and considering I went to the concert, this must have taken place the night of September 13 instead, with the band already in town. Either way, though, kind of a neat experience.
September 16
Up to Wild Oats at 3, it’s Matt and I closing. He’s cold and wearing some crazy jacket around in the meat department, I tell him it looks like something out of an old Sesame Street episode from the 70s. All night long, I’m singing “One of These Kids is Doing His Own Thing” or else “Me and My Llama.” It’s green, but with tan edges all around, including this wide swath that starts at each armpit and drops straight down. Then, there are two red pinstripes at each sleeve, the collar, and the waistline, plus the entire zipper is red. I can’t stop laughing about it.
September 29
5 to 9 shift. James returned last week after not even a month in Austin, and is here till 6. Imsland closes with me.
September 30
3-8 at the Oats. Matt and I closing together, have a good time like always. Behind the 8 ball again, though, just like with Scott last night.
October 5
Travis is closing with me there and we have a relatively mellow night…it gets cold and windy, rainy outside and our store traffic more or less dies. Chris Puckett is in, though, and he looks so different I barely recognize him. All clean cut now, he’s got his act together and is currently running a painting business up in Mansfield, taking classes at the OSU branch up there, but has enrolled at Franklin to finish up a degree in economics. Jesus. Who’d have ever imagined it. He recognized me first somehow.
October 7
3-8 shift. James is working with me and we both agree it’s the busiest Sunday we’ve ever put in here.
October 12
Car trouble coming back from North Carolina means I miss my 5-9 shift. Vlad is alone, and mighty pissed.
October 14
3-8 again. Vlad and Charlie hanging around when I report for duty, now it’s all laughter and good times – they’re razzing me about missing Friday and also about my shaved head. A decent night.
October 26
Rare closing shift with Charlie. At 8:30 he’s filling up sausages, trying to find tags for them all:
“they want me to tag everything but how the fuck can I when they don’t even have them all? (Mimicking the others) all the tags are there. Oh yeah? Where the hell’s the pork andouille, then? Get it straight you bastards! That Matt don’t know what he’s doin’…”
(of course I’m cracking up to hear this)
Something else that will seem strange to me in retrospect, though it somehow didn’t at the time, is that we will always hold our work parties here in the store. And I remember a great deal about the first of these, though the actual purpose seems lost to the sands of time…
November 4
To Wild Oats at 3 (a bit late actually), Vlad & I working together. I’m jazzed to hear that we’ll be closing an hour early – at 7 – so our office party can start, following a brief store meeting. But Bob doesn’t get the meeting started until 7:45, and with it ending at a quarter after 8, we get paid more than expected. Two mini kegs of beer – K9 Cruiser in one, Bell’s Pale Ale in the other – a ton of pizza, another whole table of goodies. Charlie & James split as soon as we were no longer getting paid (at 8:15) and while everyone in our crew had brought a guest – Matt brought Libby, Travis Martha, Kevin Vanessa, hell Scott at least brought Dave Copper w/ him – I didn’t even try to rustle up anyone. My own choice, maybe, since Lisa or Robin would have both gladly gone, for example, maybe Jill or Carrie too, but it never fails that I seem to wind up at these things by myself. Not that it matters – somewhat boring early and I’m thinking about bolting, until bumping into Matt in the parking lot, and he convinces me to stay.
And it does wind up being a great time. Amy kicks our new manager Tom in the knees; everyone smoking blunts in the parking lot; Amy and her sister Stephanie both trashed beyond belief; Lawrence spinning records and Matt rapping; the mini-kegs run out early and someone makes a beer run for Bud & Bud Lite, which Bob pays for; Kevin mildly drunk; Travis, Scott, and Brandon in back telling conspiratorial war stories; Copper hitting on Danielle. But then it busts up at 10:30 and everyone leaves.
November 9
In at 5 to grab my last three paychecks ($420, fairly decent) and work a shift. Although once again “grabbing” my paychecks is not quite accurate, for Marie brings them to me. Granted, I should maybe sign up for direct deposit, but am admittedly having fun with this game. Plus would actually consider it highly beneficial, when it comes to saving money.
Other hilarious developments – that bitchy redheaded chick Heather (whom Chad dates, somehow, though he could surely do better) was led out of here in handcuffs. Apparently they determined she had stolen about $1500 in Wild Oats gift certificates. On the downside, Chad is also fired, though they can’t find any proof he knew anything about it, and does in fact deny having any knowledge.
Everyone is cheering Heather’s dismissal, though, at least back here. She was one of those people who, despite just being head cashier, was often attempting to bark orders all around the store. One night she was just walking past the counter and angrily snapped at James, “where is your HAT!?” as she continued stomping across the store.
He turned to me and said, “she thinks she has an important job, but no, she doesn’t. I used to handle nuclear warheads for the military. Now that is an important job.”
As far as that hat business goes, I get it, and I don’t. Regarding someone like James? No. He keeps his head impeccably shaved at or near total baldness. From a half mile away you could see he has far more hair in his goatee, and yet we aren’t required to wear beard nets. It’s just more of this dog and pony stuff to appease customers who think they know what they are talking about – or in this case, meaningless rules that power trippers get off on enforcing. As for Vlad and me, we will subsequently refer to this chick as The Hat Nazi.
Tonight, Matt is with me up until 7. Speaking of hair, he’s dyed his yellow – it’s just like old times with him and his ever changing colors. It’s busy at first but dead by 6, we’re able to catch up, clean the back room, etc, spend an hour getting things tip top. From here it’s a breeze and I stand there reading a magazine, listening to the radio. To top it off, there is no manager on duty, only a supervisor in Regan and even though she’s kind of standoffish, maybe even vaguely stuck up, she’s good friends with Libby and doesn’t bother me ever.
November 17
This tall new brunette seems to dig me already, even though this is the first night we’ve worked together. It all starts in typically hilarious fashion when I’m taking a nap in my car in between jobs. Instead of going downstairs to The Opium Den today, I reclined right in my driver’s seat, with one sweater over my head to block the sun, and another underneath for a pillow. I wake up with a start and am looking around outside the car, and here’s this girl, in the next slot over, apparently just now getting out of or messing around in her own vehicle, smiling over at me.
So of course, this winds up being a brand new employee here. Tonight she walks past the meat counter and smiles over at me from afar. Then we’re leaving at the same time, pulling out, she waves at me and I wave back. All of this without us exchanging a single word thus far.
November 18
Today we actually talk, however briefly – nothing more substantial than me saying, “hey, what’s up?” and her replying, “nothing much,” as she drifted past our counter. Part of my problem now without my regular glasses or any contact lenses at the moment are that I can’t see worth a damn and have to wait until someone’s right on top of me before I can even tell who it is. My goofy backup pair of glasses I wear to drive, but damned if I’m wearing them much anywhere else.
November 25
Napping in this cozy basement in between jobs, stretched out on the couch with one lamp on, hat pulled down over my eyes and shoes off. I hear Matt and Charlie coming down the stairs, they’re explaining to management their side of the story, in reference to some customer who called in a complaint about them.
“That lady was off the hook!” I hear Charlie say and chuckle – it’s funny hearing this crazy old hillbilly breaking out some modern slang. He repeats this phrase in talking it over with Matt as they walk back upstairs and I fall back asleep.
At 3, I clock in and put in a hellish five hour shift. Vlad had been asked out by a chick that shops here last Sunday, and already gone out with her once; tonight, he’s renting a movie and going over to her house. He’s also making up chocolate covered strawberries to take over there, the aphrodisiac that will hopefully seal the deal. For such an intense freak, I guess he does talk a good game, and therefore does well with a certain kind of lady.
I clock out at 8, totally fucking exhausted.
December 15
Another catnap in the parking lot here, after leaving Kroger. I see my keys dangling in the ignition at one point and think to myself I really should take them out, put them in my pocket. But I don’t, and so of course I wake up at 5 and exit the car, lock the keys inside. Immediately, I realize what I’ve done, but by now it’s too late.
Charlie and I are working another rare shift together, but he’s about as subdued as I’ve ever seen him and he doesn’t contribute any new hilarities to the Charlie legend. Actually, there is exactly one new addition – he takes a coat hanger and bends it into a hook shape for me to try and pop the lock on my car door, says in handing the hanger to me, “pull around front, under the lights, so you can see better.”
“Good idea,” I say, stifling a laugh before heading outside.
But as I have power locks, the hook is of no avail and I call a company to come pop the lock for me. This I do at 7 and they promise to be here in an hour, but when we close at 9 those guys have still not arrived – I’d called a few times, to the extent they’d already agreed to come out anyway and drop the $45 fee they normally charged, it would be on the house for taking so long.
After Oats closes, I walk to Half Price Books and buy a Fleetwood Mac bio for $6, then a jumbo coffee at a gas station before returning to sit in front of the store until the guy shows. He finally materializes at 10 and pops the lock easily, at which point I gave the guy the only money I have on me – about two dollars and three bucks worth of change – and thank him before heading home.
December 21
Well well well…how about a little Crown Royal on the job? Yes indeedee.
Charlie’s off the next 2 days – plans to turn off phone and sit in his barn the whole time, he says, with the 8 cases of beer Mama Bear bought him.
December 28
Matt and I close, it’s a perfect, uneventful night shift. He went home on break to hit his bowl a couple times and was feeling pretty mellow.
2001 Events Calendar
From January up through at least October 2001, events calendars list writing workshops being held here every Monday, from 6:30-8:30pm. But I certainly don’t remember this, and never attended. Also Meditation Group 6-7pm on Thursdays as of Jan ‘01 (they were advertising this is Short North Gazette bulletin board section, along with writing club).
Jan 9 – Introduction to Vibrational Remedies. Focuses on homeopathy, gum elixirs, flower essences. $10, 7-9pm.
Jan 10 – Homeopathy For Kids. $10, 7-9pm.
Jan 13 – Renewable Energy Demonstration in the café area, 10-12pm
Jan 20 – Complementary Health Professionals Fair featuring “alternative health practitioners.” In café area, free, from 12-3.
Jan 24 – Vegetarian Cooking 101. $10 fee, 6:30-8:30pm
Jan 27 – Homeopathic and Herbal Resource Table. In café area, 11am-1pm, free.
Mar 5, 12, 19 – writers group with Shannon Jackson, 6:30-8pm
Mar 1, 8, 15, 22 – meditation class with Veronica Stanford
March 6 – Vegetarian finger foods and sampling with Master Chef Joseph of Serving America First
March 7 – Vegetarian meals without cooking, offered by Anya Syrkin
March 10 – spinal screening by chiropractic Dr. Maureen L. Passiflume, held in the café
March 13 – raw juice & smoothies class with Wade
March 14 – homeopathy & allergies with Meenal Raje
March 15 – Mind, Body & Soul. Healing body through the mind with Dr. Marc Varckette, a free event
March 16, 23, 30 – knitting for relaxation and spiritual health with Carrie Kuhn. Natural fibers with relaxation techniques. $35 for all 3 classes.
March 17 – spinal screening with Dr. Marc Varckette, chiropractor. Free in the café area.
March 20 – Voluntary Simplicity with Beth Rapach, $10
March 21 – Medicinal herbs introduced by Anya Syrkin. Create your own first aid medical herbal kit, $10
March 22 – Natural bread baking with Aditya of Serving America First, $10
March 24 – Introduction to Aromatherapy with Sue Hall.
March 26 – Composting 101 with Christopher Williams. $10, 6:30-8:30pm
March 27 – Introduction to Vibrational Remedies, with Jo Nathens. $10
March 28 – Homeopathy for Musculo-Skeletal System, with Jo Nathans. $10
March 29 – Vegetarian Cooking for children, teens, entire family, with Anya Syrkin. $15 fee. Kids welcome! Prepare great vegetarian dishes. Support body and mind with nutritious food that tastes awesome.
March 31 – Spinal screening with Maureen L. Passifume. Café area, free.
October 25 – Dr. Passifume discusses Children and ADD from 7-8pm at Wild Oats.
2006
In early January, two juicers, a bunch of CDs, and some other stuff is stolen from our store, by an employee, a haul valued at approximately $1500. Bob, oddly enough, refuses to watch surveillance tapes. Now, we obviously don’t suspect him in this matter, but it’s just another example of how peculiar he acts, overall, in pretty much any circumstance. There seem to be a couple overlapping phenomena in play here, with this episode: we suspect that he suspects one of his pet workers is responsible, which is why he doesn’t want to watch the video; but also, we hear whispers that he’s been hinting around that he “knows” someone in meat/seafood is responsible…though I would personally gauge the likelihood of that at pretty close to 0%. But again, that is another reason he doesn’t want to watch the video. This way he can go around with his smug insinuations about us, potentially spare one of his pets, and who cares if this thing is actually resolved. Some of the managers under him are talking about going over his head, but I’m not really sure what ever became of this. As far as I know they never got to the bottom of it.
Bob K. finally left the scene in March of this year. Much to my eternal regret, I just so happened to be out of town on vacation the week this all went down. The whole thing is really weird in that on his last day, he posts a note by the time clock saying this was all planned in advance, his exit, he just didn’t want to make a big deal about it and tell anyone; however, the available evidence appears to contradict that story, and make it look as though he was canned. Considering I long had major doubts that his arrival here (and exit from Meijer’s) happened in the manner he claimed, I tend to believe the latter.
What is known for sure is that on the day he left the Oats for good, some bigwig from Boulder was in the store. And that this upper management figure remarked to a handful of employees, not at all charitably, “it looks like a yard sale in here!” while shaking his head. Then the next thing you know, an hour or whatever later, Bob’s gone with just that note by the time clock hanging in his wake. Maybe it was standard practice for this guy to fly in from Colorado and shake hands with every leaving store director, I don’t know, but in my experience this doesn’t seem likely.
Following his departure, the other half of this two headed monster, Tom, was left running the store by default. This too seems to support the theory that Bob was unceremoniously dumped, and it was not at all a planned departure. Because they never officially give Tom the store director title. Instead, after about six months, they bring in this Shane guy from elsewhere, and hand the keys to him instead.
March 24
-my shift starts off well: Elissa walks up from behind, without a word, and smacks me on the ass. I’m not sure what has inspired this today but suspect I will like it.
“I just bought a video camera!” she cheers, in walking past.
“Digital?”
“No, Hi-8!”
“Even better!” I call out.
Such an odd bird. I really dig her, though, let it be said. Not enough to go on to make her the next GREAT love interest, but getting there. Actually I would say right now (if only to myself), “I love this chick,” but by that I would mostly mean as a person, I think she’s awesome. Fucking hilarious, too. Here’s one hysterical study in contrasts with the Wild Oats women, which occurred to me at some point during this stretch:
Kim, who knows what year, probably 2-3 years ago, drifts back behind the meat counter and sees me cradling a Bukowski collection: “Ugh! Get that thing outta my face!” (Martin happened to be passing by the meat counter at that moment, cackled, said to me, “Bukowski’s not a big hit with the ladies.”)
Elissa, quite often nowadays: wears a freaking Bukowski tee shirt around herself, his ugly mug plastered largely upon the front, sometimes even under her Wild Oats shirt.
It’s hard to imagine ever getting serious about her, though, but eh, who knows. Ordinarily when a girl has slept with a bunch of dudes that I personally know, I always lose any and all interest in her; yet for some reason with Elissa it never bothered me in the slightest.
-BLAST FROM THE PAST: the guy we haven’t seen in 4-5 yrs, who used to come in leather jacket w/ Looney Tunes characters on back, put lotion on his boots, used to weigh up chocolate syrup bottles on our scale etc. Now he claims he’s had some near death experience and is in preaching to Mark in Nat’l Living, who hides, then 20 minutes following Erin around the store doing the same, she hides. In hallway, I’m telling Erin our back history w/ that cat.
-Norman tells me he was smoking weed in the cooler the other night and Hostetler came running back, told him to knock it off because at this moment someone else was just smoking weed on the back stairwell and now Berkley was going around telling everyone to go outside w/ it, he wasn’t tolerating this in the building. Hilarious.
-“time to pick out my daily wine,” I joke, as Kyle’s getting ready to leave at 5:30.
-I notice Jacqueline watching me to see if I’m looking over there at Elissa. She must suspect that something is up, or has even in fact been told such.
-Madelyn makes these kickass steaks w/ the red wine I select. Rubs them down w/ salt pepper garlic and this all purpose “chef’s shake.” Throws them in a bag w/ the red wine for a few minutes, as the skillet’s heating up. Tosses some olive oil in there, just enough to coat the pan, then sears the steaks. Has me take these over to the oven, for 8 minutes, and while those are cooking, she cooks more of the wine, along w/ blackberry preserves, balsamic vinegar, and butter in a pan, reducing this. Steaks are medium. Slices these, drizzles her glaze on top. Fucking incredible. I make an announcement “that’s right, ribeye steaks!” etc. Marsha comes back and says she thought it was a great announcement.
“I got mad skills on the mic,” I tell her.
-Ehren eats about an entire steak’s worth, compensates by bringing me this shockingly great smoothie: mango, pineapple, papaya, lemon, lime, lemonade, but then also “Blazin’ Saddle” hot sauce. It’s sweet as hell, perfectly so I should say, but also has this awesome spicy kick to it. I tell him he should patent it but he admits he could never duplicate.
-slow ass night; talking wine w/ Kristen; talking Bob’s departure w/ Roger; reading a book most of the time but no Elissa visit. Hear her laughing her head off much of the night over there in the deli, though.
April 8
Spain and I closing, for a change, and we’ve got this radio station in back cranking out 1980s cuts all night. Lately I’ve been thinking how inadequate I am at explaining things, even though I’m a so called writer. What is it about Spain that reminds me at times of Clif, just these stray handful of minor traits that crop up every now and then? The way they both wear skull caps in the winter so it’s flattened very low to the scalp, but then the rest of flops at a comical length down the back of their heads, yes, but I was thinking more about these barely perceptible and only occasionally surfacing personality glimmers…..the way Spain goes on this animated tangent about the music we’re listening to reminds me of Clif – he too gets on these exceptionally rare tangents from out of nowhere every once in a blue moon. Both very conservative guys too, though, when you get down to it.
Berkley was the real hero tonight, however, or rather this afternoon: spotting a wealthy middle aged woman shoplifting, he follows her out into the parking lot, accosts her; she hightails it for her jeep, Berkley jumps in front of it; she continually eases forward in it, and gradually pushes him out of the way; he’s jabbing a finger at her driver’s side window and shouting at her, but she stares robotically forward, continues at the same leisurely speed right on out of the parking lot. The cops come, because he’s got her license plate, but there’s little they can do except advise him to bar her from shopping here again.
Spain splits at 7:30, and I’m out the door just after nine.
September 24
I get here at about 7:40, goof around setting case. Norm in at 8. “Here Jay, I printed off a copy of the schematic for you,” he says, “we’re supposed to get some people from the home office in this week, so…..” Which I know is totally bogus.
“Today?”
“I don’t know, but….yeah, so just try and follow the schematic.”
I get cracking on this idiotic chart – to a tee. In for a penny, in for a pound, right? And if we’re out of something, huge gaping hole there, accentuated w/ a lime or a lemon for comedy and to show I didn’t forget, that it’s intentional. And where it shows two of these goddamn metal trays back to back in the fresh fish section, I comply, even as it doesn’t quite fit, shoves the back metal try in fact almost against the sliding windows. I think it’s hilarious.
“It doesn’t have to perfectly match,” Norm advises with a murmur, leaning over the counter as I’m about halfway finished.
“Oh no, it will perfectly match.” We have no whole salmon, salmon steaks, whole halibut, halibut steaks (never do), one variety of raw shrimp that takes up a gigantic triangle, no king crab legs: all massive holes. There you go, fuckers, now leave me alone about this stupid schematic.
Later, he gets mildly shitty w/ me for not wearing a hat!
2006 Events Calendar
July 26 – Wild Chef Competition featuring our very own Ugur Gulcur (deli) versus Madelyn Turner (demos) squaring off mano a mano from 6-8pm. Proceeds benefit families of Farm Aid.
September 14 – Vanessa Abel is quoted in an ad in Alive! I’m not sure if this was a regularly running advertisement or not, but don’t recall seeing it before.
September 21 – Homemade Pizza Party hosted by Chris Sardo. For $15, attendees get to experience this hands on class, on the finer art of building pizzas with unusual toppings.
September 26 – Del’s Art of Tofu class hosted by local chef Del Sroufe. Among the more intriguing sounding concoctions is a lemon Napoleon with raspberry sauce for dessert. A mere $15 per attendee.
September 28 – Squishy Dishes class hosted by our very own Vanessa Abel. Formerly known as Adventures in Squash, this popular course returns and explores “the limitless possibilities of this versatile veggie.” Also a real steal at just $15.
The Customers
We had a huge cast of frequent shoppers we knew so well that we developed nicknames for many of them – most of the time we didn’t know their real names, but even if learning such, this didn’t stop us. At some point, those of us in the meat department started compiling a list, and even got on this kick checkmarking boxes beside the names if they came in on such and such day. Much to our surprise, we soon learned that the produce department was doing the same thing; then, much to our even greater surprise, we soon learned that the mostly stuffier crew in Natural Living was also doing the exact same thing. Except none of the nicknames matched, of course. So I’m going with ours, which I still believe were mostly funnier.
Tool With Headdog
Well, we had to start with either this guy or the next one. I’m going with ol’ Headdog here (which we soon mostly shortened his name to) because he compiled the most extensive dossier of offenses. He was this middle aged guy, with crescent shaped balding pattern, wire rim glasses, and beady eyes, somewhat of a dick but mostly just excessively smug. None of us liked the guy, but he didn’t have an official name until one day when I was standing behind the counter with Matt Montanya, and we saw him roll into sight from the corner over by bulk/wine/produce. It was a winter’s day and he was wearing this stupid bright red “headdog” type toboggan, the kind with two pointy ears up top.
The instant we saw him, Matt chuckled and muttered, “Tool With Headdog,” as he was headed our way. And the name immediately stuck.
However many days later, Kevin Spain was stuck waiting on the guy, and after that miserable exchange was over, I was cracking up, needling him that he had the great misfortune of dealing with Headdog.
“Headdog. That’s a good one,” Spain drolly intoned, having not yet heard this moniker, “kind of rhymes with asshole.”
Another day, months and months down the road, he was at the seafood counter hassling Travis over why our yellowfin tuna looked so brown. Travis nimbly pivoted and explained that the sign was actually wrong, that this was bluefin tuna, and thus the darker color. Headdog immediately snapped some up. Then returned the next time raving about how good it was.
And his atrocities don’t end here! One other afternoon, I think around 2005-06ish, Dan Bandman called me at work, from his new job down at North Market Poultry. “Tool With Headdog is here right now,” he calmly informs me, with the muted seriousness of an FBI informant.
So yeah, he was a regular at both places. On a future visit down there, Headdog was at their counter, and Dan was waiting on him, while another customer was ordering mallard from someone else. Our boy TWH pipes up and proudly boasts that he is the entire reason North Market Poultry carries mallard, because he originally requested it. Only problem is, the owner, Jerry, happens to be within earshot, and issues a wild cackle, unable to believe what he just heard.
“No you’re not!” he tells Headdog, “I’ve been carrying mallard for years!”
Shades McTwohats
Probably my proudest creation on the naming front. It was attached to this silver haired guy, looked to be in his early 40s maybe, who would rock sunglasses in conjunction with this bizarre combo of a baseball hat and then a toboggan atop that. He was a strange character, but not at all in the manner that he was shooting for – sometimes you have this inkling that somebody is pointedly trying to be zanier than they actually are, and so it was with him.
Oddly enough, my somewhat fringe theory is that I think he might have been an undercover cop. But if so, just about the worst actor employed by any police force, ever. This because he became the rare example of someone whose “official” nickname changed over time, and he was mostly known as Seed Bank Updates instead. Some preferred his legacy handle, which was funnier, but he actually stopped wearing the outfit that made him famous when entering phase two of his Project: Wild Oats operation.
This is the point where he kept talking very loudly at the counter, every single visit, asking us if we smoked pot and raving about this website, the Seed Bank Updates one. Telling us we should go there and purchase some. He would often claim “I’m high right now!” but I would look in his eyes, and he didn’t appear the least bit messed up, instead looked to me like he was cagily attempting to assess our reaction. I feel like he was acting on some tip he heard that The Kids in the Wild Oats meat department liked to “smoke dope” and was trying to make a bust.
Either way, it was just the weirdest thing ever. One day Berkley and Tom were even strolling past the meat department, he was in the middle of his SBU spiel yet again with me, when he jogged over to those two, asked them if they liked to smoke pot, then asked them why not when they said no and told them they should try this website. Then jogged back and continued bending my ear about this matter. But basically nobody in the history of the universe was ever this over the top about pot, not even a fourteen year old kid, so I seriously doubt he drummed up much business for whatever he was attempting here. One day, I was even driving through Victorian Village and spotted him doing yardwork in front of a very nice house. And though technically proving nothing, it made me think, yeah, my assessment of this guy is probably spot on. He’s not this zany hippie living out of a van or whatever like he’s trying to paint himself.
Super Maryland Man
A Travis concoction, pertaining to this tall older dweeb, nice enough chap and all, who nonethless took great pride in constantly pointing at our crab cakes and declaring, “those aren’t Maryland crab cakes!”
Kevin Kasper, who ran the seafood department, would actually get extremely agitated over this dude’s antics. “That’s why it says Maryland style crab cakes! Maryland style!” he would usually reply, or some variation thereof. To which the gent just stood there with his goofy grin. I think he was just proud of his little seafood trivia tidbit there and couldn’t resist showcasing it. Calling something a “Maryland crab cake,” like how they used to insist you had to smell imitation crabmeat with a K (krab) (though in more recent times it seems nobody follows this any longer) I think is actually a legal issue, or at least it used to be, and you couldn’t do so if they didn’t come from Maryland. Which this fellow knew.
His nickname originated from a day where Travis’s girlfriend, Martha, had the great misfortune to show up at the same time SMM was here. He had just spouted off with his Maryland crab cake tidbit, yet again. Travis and I were standing over on the meat side, watching this exchange, with Kasper I think the one stuck waiting on him. As our customer here began to explain at great length to Martha why we couldn’t call these Maryland crab cakes. She’d only arrived on the scene, apparently, to scoop Travis up, hadn’t planned on receiving a lecture.
“You taking off soon?” I asked Travis.
“Yeah, as soon as Super Maryland Man over there stops talking to my girlfriend,” he said.
This guy had a wife who also haunted our counter quite often. Naturally, we referred to her as Mrs. Super Maryland. On still another occasion, Matt had to deal had to deal with him, then was shaking his head and ruing the experience.
“Eh, he’s alright,” I told Matt, “he’s just a little dry.”
“Yeah,” Matt replied, “he’s so dry my ass is chafing!“
