Tag: Bethel Road

As this store opens in February of 1997, I just barely squeak through as an original cast member. My memory is that I worked one shift prior to store opening, the last of the meat department hires, and then we flung our doors open to the public. In fact, I hadn’t even applied at this store at all. Turning in my application on the campus area store on Olentgangy River Road, my intention was only to pick up a part-time second job. Little did I know this was about to become a significant chapter in my career – and at a different location entirely.

Days later I unexpectedly received this call, from this forthcoming store I knew nothing about. Their HR person at the time, Cath Wilson, asked if I would be willing to come up for an interview, and we were off to the races. I’d never even worked in a grocery store before, and hadn’t specified any department whatsoever. With a chuckle she asked if I’d be interested in meat, believing that they could use one more person, and adding something about this paying better than anything else anyway. Which was pretty much all I needed to hear. Better still, this random suggestion led me down a road I am eternally thankful for, eventually learning some skill sets I wouldn’t have otherwise, and with a couple calling cards in my back pocket that I might draw on for the rest of my working days.

I will wind up pulling three separate tours of duty at this store. The first of these, from February to October 1997, finds me working just about nothing but night shifts, part time, closing down the meat department and maybe occasionally seafood. The second, from April of 1998 to October 1999, I am a full-time meat employee, and will even attend the week long class to get certified as a meat cutter. Which brought with it another significant boost in pay. Then, from May 2000 to October 2002, I am the manager of the seafood department here.

All in all, a decently well-rounded resume. Although it does always bother me that I somehow missed the photo shoot for the original, store opening crew. Miles is in this group photo, which hung for years in the foyer as you enter the store, and I think Jill’s in it as well. Countless others I could name and worked beside for years, in the meat/seafood departments and elsewhere throughout the building, if not other buildings entirely. But I’m pretty sure they shot this thing during the daytime, which means any of us working nights only – or maybe even just off that day – missed the cut.

That picture up top is from the fall of 1997 and features then seafood captain Ed Bianco (left, original cast member) and employee Scott Hart (right). They are posing in front of the seafood service case – not in my wildest dreams would I guess that approximately 2 1/2 years later, I would be running this department. The sign above them about cooking seafood upon request was true, although customers rarely took us up on this offer. We did have one regular, Mrs. Davis, who would purchase a piece of fish from us, tell us how she wanted it cooked, and then shop awhile until it was ready. Either that or call ahead of time and just come pick it up. This was done via a tabletop convection oven that, far more commonly, as in multiple times per day, was put to use firing up free samples to set out on the meat and seafood counters.

As far as local celebrities, we did have Buckeye athletes on hand to sign autographs every now and then. Fritz The Night Owl, whom I remember watching on late night TV as young as five or six years old, he shops here quite a bit, but seeing him never feels anything less than surreal. Particularly as he likes stopping over in produce and chatting for awhile with Miles, although then again pretty much everyone enjoys chatting with Miles. Also, on a much less positive note, disgraced TV weatherman Mike Davis is a frequent presence. Years upon years before he was busted over child pornography charges, many of the girls working up front, including Jill, were complaining that he was a total perv and would basically not stop harrassing them for dates. Of course at the time many of us, including me, tend to think they’re being maybe a little overdramatic. Then he winds up in prison and you start to reconsider, okay, I guess there was something to that after all.

One point I would like to mention is that this store was almost always referred to as nothing other than the Bethel Road Kroger. However, it has technically never been located upon Bethel Road. The actual address they have given it, despite being dropped into a totally normal, small, boring little strip mall, is 2090 Crown Plaza Drive. A centerpiece of the purported Crown Point Shopping Mall. It has a Kroger gas station in front of it now, which it never did during my years working here, and was originally open 24 hours a day, with two entrances. That former entrance, which is now an orange metal door on the outside, presumably an emergency exit inside, originally led into a nearby video rental operation that many Krogers used to feature.

Otherwise I would say the appearance of the front end hasn’t really changed a ton, apart from this snazzy bold white block letter logo they’ve broken out in recent times. The seafood service counter, as of the last time I entered this building, has also long since been removed, in favor of packaged product only. With these points in mind, let’s take an extended if ever digressive look at its history…

As far as the store’s initial meat crew, we had five full-time butchers to start with. Tom Tatera was running the show, with this trusty, hand picked sidekick Tim Young. This being a new store, most of these guys were of course drafted in from other ones, and Tom only wanted to work with Tim. I have always said I feel incredibly lucky to have been randomly picked for this department, at this store, and to learn the trade from those two guys. They were fast, they were accurate, but the quality was extremely high – though years later, at another company entirely, I would meet one dude who might give them a run for their money, otherwise I would say these are the best two meat cutters I have ever seen. They were rounded out by this hilljack type named Chris, a much nicer guy named Dana, both of which were brought in from other stores, and the one fresh hire of the bunch, Doug Freshwater. He had just arrived in town at pretty much the same time I did, and would wind up being basically the first new friend I made here in Columbus.

Pictured directly above is Erin Ryan and me, from the summer of 1999. Erin was one of the quote unquote “wrappers,” tasked with plastic wrapping the trays of meat coming down that assembly line. She and Tammie Rodgers worked in this capacity from day one, and were also at the store for years. Also this chick named Johna, who was a little skinnier, mostly wore blondish-brown, tightly curled hair, and stuck around I think until about 2000.

This position actually also takes quite a bit of skill, believe it or not, because for starters, you can’t keep running off to ask the butchers or other people constantly what this stuff is coming down the line. You have to just look at it and know. Also, there’s a speed component. When I first started, I was strictly counter help, the lowest rung on the ladder. Would eventually work myself into this wrapper post after awhile, though, but in the early going, the best I could manage was to land one package at a time on this heated belt (not depicted, though it would be just below the bottom of this picture) before it landed in the hopper. And you had to do this by pulling the plastic tight, without so much as a wrinkle. Over time I got as fast as landing four at a time on the belt, if really in the zone, though a consistent easy three all day long, before the first one dropped off. But Tammie could manage five, a furious pace that I never saw anyone else equal.

Regarding Erin, she not only did a great job, but she was a riot, basically the born comedian of the crew. One other extremely interesting coincidence I would like to mention was only discovered after we’d worked together for a few years. Chatting here and there throughout the years, she knew I was from the Mansfield area, and would occasionally make offhand comments about knowing one family that lived up there, and being close friends with them. But I never asked any questions about that. Until this really slow day, in either 2000 or 2001, and it was just the two of us working in the middle of the afternoon. She was wrapping and I was running the packages out to the sales floor. She starts telling me some in-depth stories about that family she knows in Mansfield, and they begin to sound extremely familiar to me.

Finally, I stop her and say, “wait a second – this wouldn’t happen to be the Goffs, would it?”

She looks astounded, makes a bewildered face and says, “well yeah, actually, it is. Do you know them?”

So in other words, the parents of my good friend Mandy Goff and her brother K.C., these are the people she’s talking about, and to some extent those two as well. It’s kind of funny, too, and might be a strange thing to say, but now I look at this picture and think it’s totally obvious, that she looks like someone who would hang out with the Goffs. For all I know, it’s entirely possible that Mandy or K.C. were still asleep or hanging out at my house on some of the days that I drove over here to work, which it makes it seem even stranger.

Other than those characters, there was another part-timer named Tom, who basically just stocked the floor cases. His day job was at the Don Scott Airport and therefore we all called him Flyboy. Also some older dude named Terry who didn’t last long at all. I think he had some issues with the customers and was canned, which would make sense considering he totally reamed me one day for dropping a piece of meat on the floor, despite being in no way my superior at all. Meanwhile, over in the attached seafood department, we had Jerry, Mike Green, and Ed. It’s possible there are a couple more minor players I’ve forgotten – I’ll have to find my notes for that – but these are the starting lineup members I can remember, along with me, off the top of my head.

Donnie came along a little further along the line. I briefly quit, in October of 1997, then came back as a full-time employee in April of 1998. He had arrived on the scene during that gap – transferred from another store, though I don’t recall the details. Though living clear up in Marion, for some reason he was willing to drive down here every day. We became pretty good friends during his stint here, one which found him starting out in seafood before transferring to meat. Eventually, he would transfer to the Delaware store and thereby cut his commute in half. On exactly one occasion, he even enlisted my help up there, which is something I always enjoyed doing, a behind the scenes opportunity to check out other locations.

And now for a totally random timeline, these entries culled as I come across them. You can click on these years directly below to skip ahead. Or else just keep reading.

Skip ahead: 2001

2000

May 5

Jana, an assistant manager here, calls me at the Morse Road Kroger, where I am the current seafood manager. At the behest of head meatcutter Tom Tatera, I have applied to take over that position at Bethel Road. Jana says this is the fourth time she’s called and that she left three previous messages with my coworkers, but if so, I didn’t receive them. It’s probably a good thing we connected today or she might have given up on me interviewing for the position otherwise. We schedule an interview for 11 o’clock tomorrow.

May 6

I arrive for my interview about ten minutes early, which was my plan all along – this way, I have time to dart back to the meat department to say hello. Tom, Erin, and John are in meat at the moment, Mary Jo over in seafood. They seem pretty happy to see me. Erin shakes my hand and gives me a pep talk, then tells me to wish her a happy birthday.

“When is it?” I ask.

“Tomorrow,” she says, and when I further inquire as to whether she might be drunk upon this occasion, she laughs and says, “sure, why not.”

Then I walk over to where Tom is cutting. My reasons for doing this are twofold – to chat for a minute, sure, but also learn any potential tidbits which might help me in the interview.

“Is Cokonougher cool with you coming over here?” Tom asks.

“Yeah, he said he doesn’t have a problem with it.”

“See now, he’s singing a different tune to Mary Carol.”

“Really?”

“Well yeah!” Tom says, adds, “those guys are being a bunch of pricks about it over there where you’re at. Finally, we had to get Vince (Zone 3 manager, in charge of Bethel Rd store) to call Vic (Zone 4 manager, in charge of Morse Rd) and ask him what the hell was going on.”

Which might explain in part the three missing messages I never received. So I’m not quite sure what to believe about the situation. Although either way, the idea that I might be considered valuable enough for two zones to squabble over is admittedly kind of cool.

Erin asks who is conducting the interview, and when I say Jana, she advises, “go up to Mary Carol now.”

“You think I should?”

“Yeah. Tell her you want the job! Be bold! Mary Carol likes bold!”

In the five minutes I’ve been back here, Tom has already asked me to come over here and work on Saturday, regardless of what happens. Ah, just like the good ol’ days! I pass by seafood long enough to say hi to Mary Jo and ask her how she’s doing. Though it’s only been six months, she is already the only seafood employee left from when I was here. Donnie basically slid over to take my spot in meat, and Eddie has of course been removed from his post, before quitting completely.

“I’m doing better now that he’s not here,” she says with a grin, in reference to Eddie.

“Hey now!” I protest.

“I guess that wasn’t nice, was it?” she admits. Though continuing to grin throughout.

At Erin’s suggestion, I run upstairs to talk to Mary Carol. She reiterates what Tom has said about this big runaround, but who knows, maybe it’s all some misunderstanding. I know there are typically a ton of politics involved when someone wants to switch stores, and it’s far worse if there’s a zone change involved.

Jana hasn’t made it in quite yet, so I go read some magazines and wait on her arrival. During this time Donnie just happens to slide through the aisle, chuckle and say, “is that you?” I think in returning from his break. He strolls up and throws one arm around me for a sideways hug, as though it has been years since I left. Which it does in fact feel like sometimes. He says he likes it much better in meat, that Tom’s teaching him how to cut and that he hopes to make department head somewhere eventually.

After he leaves, I head back upstairs to check on Jana’s whereabouts. The cute little redhead chick who is now their HR person here, she tells me Jana still hasn’t shown up. So I mention that I’ll be sitting in the breakroom reading papers, if she can just let me know when Jana gets here. Downstairs again, I buy a copy of the Dispatch and walk back there to chill. First things first, though, I check out the schedules hanging on the back wall, to see what’s changed, specifically pertaining to the meat department. Tim Young, Tom’s right hand man since the store opened, isn’t listed, which can only mean he made head meat cutter somewhere. In his place they’ve brought in Tim Patton, former head cutter at the Worthington Mall store, who either stepped down or was stepped down. I saw him out working lunchmeat in my travels.

At 11:30, the HR girl materializes, says Jana’s on line one. When I pick up, she says she’s on her way, that the power went out and the alarm hadn’t gone off as a result. She asks if I want to reschedule, but I tell her I’m fine with waiting for her to get here, and she promises to arrive by noon at the latest. At just about noon on the dot, she pages me, and I head upstairs. The interview is quick and goes well, I can tell, I have said all the right things. She says I’ll know for sure by the middle of next week, that Tammie is the only other person they’re even considering for the job.

On my way out to the car, I run into Tom again. He says Tim did in fact make head cutter, at Worthington Galena Rd. Khan, unfortunately, had been fired for stealing, although the circumstances were highly debatable: he had sliced his finger cutting meat, wandered out to the pharmacy in somewhat of a daze, grabbed a package of Band-Aids and opened it to slap one on his finger. Without paying for it first, obviously, which is the real sticking point. If he wanted to fight it he would surely have a case, but he effectively said screw this place and didn’t bother. Which sucks because he was an absolute animal on the productivity front and I loved working with that guy.

Tammie is gone for the week, having flown to Arizona suddenly on account of her father dying. So they are hurting back there, especially as this head seafood drama has been dragging out for over a month. He says I’m the only one they really want, that they only talked Tammie into applying for it because they didn’t think Morse would let me go. One other factor left unsaid but working in my favor is that I think I have another advantage in that it’s another body coming over here – promoting Tammie would be just sliding her sideways, papering over one hole while you create another one.

May 13

In to Bethel Road at 7:30am, my first time working here since 10/31. Still have my fingers crossed about getting the seafood post here.

“M.C.’s gonna be here all day, so anything you can do to make that shop hop…,” Tom suggests, giving me pointers on how to increase my odds.

Miles is working produce and we chat for a minute. He’s the only guy left from the old old school of ye ancient epoch, A.D. 1997, that I hung out with back then. Of course, he left for a promotion, too, only to return, and now I hope to do the same. In other developments, Jamie swings by and we talk about going out for a drink later like the not quite as “distant” olden days.

Tom and Erin are the only two opening meat this morning, while I handle seafood. Donnie has called off, saying that his dad is undergoing surgery. And of course Tammie’s still out in Arizona dealing with her dad’s death.

“It’s pretty bad when I’m Tom’s most reliable worker,” Erin jokes.

In other developments, the ever entertaining Joe unfortunately just quit on Wednesday, to run his own landscaping business. His primary job, at the Don Scott Airport, is on hiatus due to the OSU strike. I’m telling Tom and Erin that I saw a posting for head meat cutter at Broadway, which was of course the store Dana had gone to and apparently stepped down from after about 3 years.

Working here is such a pleasant experience. I keep busting ass all day, hoping to make a strong impression on Mary Carol, assuming anything would change the outcome at this point. She and Tom must have a miniature powwow sometime in the afternoon, though, as he breezes back into the department and tells me, “there’s been a change of plans.”

“Oh…,” I say, not sure how to take this.

He assures me it’s a good one, though, and it is. Around 3pm, Mary Carol comes down and asks me if I want the job. She says she talked to Cokonougher earlier today and he cleared me coming over. I will start will here a week from tomorrow.

“Welcome to my penitentiary!” Tom cracks. When I’d come back here in April of ’98, he’d referred to me as a “two-timer.” So I guess this means I am now a three-timer.

I tell my future employee Melissa when she comes in that I will be taking over soon. She’s this short, unassuming girl with glasses that seems pretty easy to get along with, so that’s cool. And then get to break the news to Ryan and John both with they come in at 2.

Much has changed with Ryan since the last time I saw him, back in November. Well, for example, he is now back living with his parents. “I wish you would have told me before you moved out of your old place, I would’ve moved in with you,” he says. And it’s true, I wracked my brain for potential roommates after Jill moved out, and never thought of him. As is often the case, it’s fascinating to think about alternate timelines, and what might have happened if I’d never moved out of that apartment on Merrimar, and instead brought in Ryan as a roommate, etc. But I mostly think things have worked out pretty well as they are.

But of course, he was still banging that Jamie chick back then anyway – Jamie, who is now pregnant with twins and married. “That’s three girls in a row that have gotten pregnant and married after I broke up with them,” he says.

I leave at 3:30, telling everyone that I will see them in a week. Ed from Henderson Road had called earlier this morning, meanwhile, asking if I felt like closing up their meat department, not just tonight but tomorrow as well. Sure, why not, I tell him, and make my way over there now.

May 16

Still haven’t officially started back here yet, but it’s my second shift at this store in less than a week. Tonight I’m closing with John. They had to fire Jamie (not Tyndall, but rather the newer person in meat), it seems – she was caught shopping for groceries on the clock last night.

Closing with this tall, quiet John character is like it had been with Khan. Despite never having worked together before, we fall into a perfect rhythm, blowing through everything with wordless ease, finishing up at a ridiculously early hour. Fifteen minutes to nine, and we’re standing around, counting down the minutes.

“I like closing with you,” he says, “when I close with Ben or Jamie, I have to do everything.”

“You ever close with Khan?” I ask.

John’s face breaks out in a grin and he says, “Khan was awesome. He’d clean the saws, the grinder, the slicer and the floor in forty five minutes.”

“Yup,” I agree.

We wait around till nine bells, when our close becomes a technicality. Shut off the lights, I hand in my time card up front – no badge number to clock in with yet.

May 21

First day as Bethel Road bait shop captain. I work 7:30 to 3. Jamie in early, fight w/ Andrea, organize freezer. Ryan on vacation.

May 22

Talk about hitting the ground running – today’s inventory day. But in a way it’s better like this, to get a feel for what’s here right off the bat. I work 6 to 2. Overhear Miles singing Metallica’s I Disappear while he’s over there stocking produce.

May 23

Late night working with Donnie and Ben.

May 25

Scheduled off, but Mary Jo calls out, so I wind up working 9:15 to 2.

May 26

Work 8 to 4. Jamie swung by my case once in passing, said, “wanna get high at 4?” in that sweaty, nervous manner of his. But I told him I’m not really into that, sorry. Instead I just went home after work.

May 27

Work 7 to 3.

May 28

Open here, then head over to close the Worthington Mall store.

May 29

And then 14 hours today, but all right here, from 8am to 10pm. Ben never showed and I was asked to stay, help John close and then deep clean the service case. Sure, why not. Donnie had the cutting room cleanup knocked out before leaving at 5, so we more or less breezed through the rest.

John is contemplating quitting, though. After three years with the company, he is still only making $6.50 an hour! Newer hires such as Melissa and Ben were brought aboard after him at a higher rate. But Mary Carol insists there’s nothing she can do within the union guidelines to pay him more. Of course, I’m thinking that we do have a new contract coming up, so things may change then.

“Tom’s been asking me if I can think of anything I can do to get more money,” John explains, “the only thing I can think of is for them to give me cutter pay.” For that, as I know from experience, you have to go through the training class first, and get certified. But even then, this might create a domino effect of grievances, because Erin and Donnie for example are above him and would most likely expect a similar pay bump themselves, though neither of them are certified as cutters, either. But they do have more seniority.

“We came up with all kinds of ideas,” John says, chuckling to recall these, “like having me take over for you and you coming over to cut meat, or firing Patton and taking his spot.”

I laugh in the moment at this, but then later, thinking it over, that last bit seems even more hilarious to me. “Whose idea was it to fire Patton?” I eventually ask John, now considering this about the most hysterical thing I’ve ever heard. Patton is after all Tom’s backup now, ever since Tim Young was made head cutter at Worthington-Galena Rd.

“That was Tom’s idea,” John explains, laughing now himself, “he doesn’t really like the way Patton cuts meat, that’s why he always sticks him out on lunchmeat.”

May 31

Work 8 to 4, traffic is hellish getting here today for some reason.

June 2

Work 2 to 9:30 with John and Scott.

June 3

Open at 8 with Melissa.

June 4

I go in at 8 like usual. John, Ryan, and Patton are opening up the meat shop, day two of Tammie and Ryan as co-captains while Tom is on vacation. The day starts out comically enough, with me cooking up their outdated meat so everyone can munch on that for breakfast. Then Tim, for whatever reason, only fills about half of their service case bowls, before disappearing out on lunchmeat.

At around 11, as John is waiting on some customers, Ryan comes walking out of the cutting room to take a look at the case. “What the fuck?!” he grumbles, half laughing as he points to a sea of nothingness where the rest of the bowls should have been. Ryan walks over to the phone, picks it up, and hits the page button.

“Tim Patton, red line.”

Patton drifts back to the department, Ryan says something to him, Tim laughs in that hilarious ear shattering, Fozzie Bear cackle of his and says, “filling the bowls is your job, man!” Then turns around and drifts back out to lunchmeat. Ryan stands here dumbfounded by a moment, then walks out there to confront Patton once more, convincing him to return and knock out the rest of the bowls.

This is also Derek Leasure’s last day as an assistant store manager here. They’re sending him up to the Lexington Avenue store in Mansfield, which is the busiest one in this entire district (a region that covers approximately 1/4 the state). Paul Ash is coming down from Worthington, starting tomorrow, to take his place.

June 5

Work 8 to 4 again. Afterwards, I stop and get my fishing license. Tomorrow is the big meat-seafood fishing trip up on Lake Erie.

June 6

Get up at 5am, and drive over to where we’re supposed to catch the bus. Except it’s not there, nor do I even see anybody around. Disappointed and halfway already certain I know what happened, I drive back home, open my email and discover that I indeed completely misread the thing. Somehow I got it into my head that we were leaving at 5:30, but it was 5. So much for that. Go back to bed and sleep until noon.

June 7

Unexceptional day, working 8 to 4 here.

June 8

Mary Jo calls off. I almost have to go in but Melissa agrees to work 12 hours instead.

June 9

“You can tell No Ice Quinn set the service case this morning,” Ryan jokes when I come in, speaking about Mary Jo’s opening job in seafood.

I laugh, but it’s overall a frustrating day. The night drags, but then of course two annoying customers ask for salmon after we’re already closed. Then right when I’m about ready to clock out, just finishing cleaning up a few things, I slip in some water and bust my butt – hard – on the floor, with a Windex bottle in one hand. It’s funny how when something like that occurs, even though it mostly hurts, that’s the primary actual result…a lot of times your reaction is one of anger, it has you seeing red that this just happened. My reflex is to want to chuck this Windex bottle halfway across the room, though managing to restrain myself.

June 10

Worked 8 to around 3 here. Had everything done when Melissa came in and was therefore able to dip out an hour early. Every little bit helps on the labor cost, especially when it’s the last day of the week and you’re already over 40.

June 11

The big salmon sale starts today – whole fish at $2.99 lb, steaks $3.99, fillets $4.99. We didn’t move as many as I anticipated, however, meaning I only went through 5 cases all day out of about 15 on hand – and with 20 more each coming in Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Having not even been here a month, I’m relying a great deal on other people’s projections and notes about what happened in the past. But if it doesn’t pick up this week, I will be swimming in these salmon come inventory time.

Donnie and I are eating some outdated tobasco brats at 9am, and these fuckers are HOT. I start laughing to myself, unable to believe how spicy these are or that we thought these sounded good for breakfast. Donnie meanwhile offers one to Ryan.

“Whew, don’t think my stomach could handle that,” Ryan says. He went to a rave last night and let’s just say is still feeling some of the effects.

Downing these brats, I more or less chug an entire can of lemonade. Then, having apparently not learned my lesson, eat some red hot burritos for lunch, which requires a trip to the break room for another drink. I punch the button for a Pepsi…and a 7-Up comes out instead. This only occurs after hitting three other buttons, which were all empty, and avoiding the Big Red one, which is how I ended up with that lemonade earlier. All of the above inspires me to grab some scrap paper and tape, affix signs to the buttons declaring what is actually available behind them. I don’t know, it just seemed hilarious at the time.

Our Pepsi rep is actually kind of a weirdo, he’s been working this store for years. He’s a young guy of roughly the same age as me and my pals, seems friendly enough, but you can sense there’s maybe something a little off there. Like how he just hangs out in our break room, with his sunglasses on no less, for considerable stretches of time. Sits there by himself, if nobody else is around, though also attempting to engage in a conversation with just about anyone who does drift past. It’s one of those situations that make you wonder, am I being rude for trying to breeze past him and keep going? Or is it okay to think he’s strange without any tangible proof? If I had to guess, I think what’s going on here is he hangs out and makes conversation with everyone…hoping it won’t be obvious that he really just wants to chat with and hit on the girls.

Later in the afternoon, Donnie and I get tired of the elevator music wafting from above – which, with Derek gone, is pretty much all we’ll be hearing. So Donnie brings out his miniature radio, turns it to the classic rock station 103.9 and we JAM OUT on that stuff until it’s time to leave.

June 12

Work 2 to 9:45. Tom back from vacation, talking about Ft. Lauderdale. “We got trashed – I drank some, smoked some herb…it was a good time,” he says.

“Take the kid with you?” I ask.

“No, left her at home, first time ever.”

Scott’s closing with me and I give him a ride home.

June 13

Tom and Tammie are opening meat, I’m alone in seafood this morning. Paula stops by to pick up a meat transfer – she managed to escape Henderson Road awhile back and is now up at Polaris. I can overhear them talking in the meat department.

“Dennis is hurting,” Tom says, “hell it’s just the four of them – him, Carrie, Melissa, and Ed. Jason works 48 a week here and puts in another 25 over there.”

“Yeah, but how much does Dennis work?” Paula asks, a point made by way of a question.

“I don’t know but he’s got a hell of a tan,” Tom cracks.

Then a little later, Tom and I are talking while working behind our counters and, during a slight lull, Jerilyn from the pharmacy walks past. He asks me, “you seeing anyone?”

“Sort of,” I tell him, “a 32 year old with a kid.”

Tom nods in Jerilyn’s direction, after she’s out of earshot, and says, “I hear she’s a pistol. Doug says he goes out partying with ’em, been up to the Flats with ’em. Doug says he’s seen her in a bikini and she’s got a tight body.”

“I can believe it.”

“She doesn’t want anything serious, though,” Tom advises, adds, “she pulls in about 50 Gs a year.”

“What!?” I gasp.

“Yeah!” he laughs, as though I should have known this, “she’s a pharmacist.”

I nod straight ahead, toward the pharmacy we can see from here and admit, “I thought she was just a scrub over there.”

“No, no,” Tom grins, “she’s single, and she’s lookin…”

“Thanks for the tip,” I tell him.

It is nice to see that maybe he and I will be buddies now that I’ve come back and am on somewhat equal footing as a department head, even if he is technically my boss. I’ve always thought he was just the coolest, but who would’ve ver thought 3 1/2 years ago when I started as just a part-time, night shift flunky, that we would ever be anywhere near on equal ground? I feel like I only saw the guy maybe five times during that first, eight month tour of duty.

I was over in produce earlier today, getting ice, as Jamie was busy setting up his salad bar. He has a bowl of garbanzo beans sitting on the table, and I say, “those always remind me of that one cereal…what is it, Sugar Smacks or something?”

“Peanut Butter Crunch!” he corrects, grinning.

“Yeah! That’s it! Peanut Butter Crunch!”

So he and I are sharing a hearty, possibly half-asleep laugh about that one. Although it must not be too early for him as he adds, “you wanna start chowin down on these, especially when you’re stoned. Like me in a few minutes, when I get back from break.”

Later on, I’m facing up my condiment rack and Dale Armstrong, the head produce guy, comes by and just randomly compliments me on the job I’m doing since taking over seafood. He’s always been friendly and all, but we haven’t exactly chatted much in all this time.

“First week I’ve ever seen seafood under-delivered in three years here,” he says. I thank him, though pointing out that in all honesty there was nowhere to bring the inventory except in a downhill direction. Eddie’s a cool guy and everything, but he couldn’t possibly have stockpiled any more crap here. Which I’m guessing is part of why he got the boot.

At around 1:30, after John comes in, I’m finally able to go on break. Instead of the customary pair of fifteen minute breaks spread out across the day, I therefore just take a single half hour block now. Mary Jo’s sitting outside at the picnic table, smoking, about to clock in herself, and Tom ducks out for a quick cigarette himself. I was telling her about this demented postman I had at Hearthstone, and Tom catches the tail end of the conversation, laughs, shakes his head and tells her for some reason, in reference to me, “he’s got it made, he’s…got…it…made.”

I’m not sure what inpsired this unrelated comment, but I am beginning to feel like my life is actually turning into somewhat of a breeze. Despite the crazy overtime, most of which I am choosing to sign up for and can knock off at any moment. I write my own schedule and, although gasping at what the pharmacist is pulling down, I should make about $35K myself this year, might even hit 40 if this Henderson Road madness persists. Though well aware that I’m considered somewhat of a joke among my peers, and that this meat gig isn’t a “serious” career (last Christmas, even my own mom told me, “you need to find a job that uses your mind more,” for example), things are not always as they appear. It could be much worse. On the flipside, however, I do still have a mountain of debt thanks to some foolish younger years. And drive what is far and away the biggest jalopy currently parked in the lot. So there is still much work to be done.

“How close are you to getting a car?” Tom asks Mary Jo, along these lines.

“Well,” she laughs, “it’s like I was telling him,” she nods toward me, continuing, “sometimes it seems like you have to have transportation to go out and find transporation.”

I’m cracking up at this but Tom says to me, “you’ll be looking for transporation soon.”

“No way. That car will last me another three years.”

“Like hell it will. It’ll blow up before that happens.”

After break, I slip upstairs to turn in next week’s schedule. Unexpectedly, I encounter not just Tim and Tammie sitting at a desk, but Tim Young as well! After exchanging pleasantries, I ask him, “how is it over there at Worthington Galena?”

“Sucks,” he says.

“Sucks everywhere,” I joke, and he fires back his patented saying, “that’s it.” Then I’m remarking that it’s too bad he doesn’t still work here.

“Tom won’t let me come back!” Tim moans, laughing.

“We’re trying to work out a trade,” Tom tells me. It’s true that he talks and acts like the General Manager of a sports franchise a high percentage of the time, which cracks me up to no end. He spends a great deal of time speculating about trades he would like to make, free agents that are potentially available, and players he would like to DFA. Occasionally, some of this stuff even happens.

“Send Patton over there and we’ll take Timmy!” Tammie suggests.

“Trade rumors floating around, huh?” I say.

“Yeah,” Tom sighs, “but they only want to give up third rounders.”

June 14

Donnie & Ryan working early, Tammie down on lunchmeat, everyone else off. We eat ham & cheese Bob Evans bagels for lunch – they are pretty much the only company that gives us full credit for outdates and damages. Therefore their offerings are a popular option for sampling or just eating ourselves, because the product has already been paid for. Then we eat some brats for lunch. Ryan and Jamie and I discuss possibly getting together later.

When Melissa comes in, she and I get into an argument because she’s asked me to do “the dishes” before I leave. This is a common complaint from many closers. And it’s turning out she’s maybe not this meek little wallflower like I initially thought. But apart from the wrongness of initiating this huge dustup with her boss over doing her job, it’s an erroneous complaint for a couple of reasons. First off, a closer is almost never arriving here and having to wash “the dishes.” She is showing up here and washing “some dishes,” yes. Because I have to wash plenty of dishes myself throughout the day. Also, though there’s maybe a more tactful way to put this, that is an entry level task. A department manager is probably going to have more important things to do before he leaves.

What is someone saying when they bellyache about this? That the department manager should stand here and do the dishes while his new hire goes upstairs and places orders, checks the CAO levels on various items and walks the case looking for dates? Maybe make the schedule out while she’s at it? That would be cooler, in the eyes of her and store management as well? Somehow I kind of doubt it. Now, I’ve worked for guys who would leave the entire meat department totally annihilated, expecting that you would clean up their entire mess, as they then came in the next day and complained about how unproductive you were – that I totally agree with, as far as being completely out of line. But that’s not the situation here. She has some dishes in the sink to wash in between waiting on customers tonight. That’s it.

So a shouting match of sorts breaks out, and then after the dust settles, Ryan asks me, “you telling her how it is?”

“Pretty much.”

Then at one point I’m telling Ryan, without naming any names, how Tim was here yesterday and Tom said they were trying to work out a trade to bring him back.

“Probably Patton,” Ryan speculates.

June 16

Opening shift. When Melissa comes in she’s obviously still pissed and is barely speaking to me.

June 17

My left arm hurts something fierce, from changing tire en route. Do my best setting up case anyway this morning, knowing this is the busiest day of the week and we’ve still got this big salmon sale running.

“Melissa complained about you to management again last night,” Tammie tells me.

“About what!?” I demand, dumbfounded.

It seems last night she was angry because there were literally about 5 dishes in the sink still when I left. I’m beginning to see that she doesn’t appreciate how good she has it back here, and is determined to start trouble. A lot of this nighttime help you get seems to have the attitude that they should do nothing else but wait on customers and then shut off the lights.

Something else that must be addressed is that, not to discriminate or anything, but…she is one of these people from the halfway house program. This is a program Kroger has started in recent years. We speculate they must be getting major kickbacks or tax breaks or something, because for whatever reason, these people never seem to work out. There’s just no other reason they would continue sticking with this. So that’s the bus-sized elephant in the room, but it’s true. Donnie always refers to them as the “prisoner dudes.” Whatever you call them, however, almost without exception these prisoner dudes flame out in a few months, tops. At this store we’ve only ever had one person I can think of, in any department, who lasted longer than that.

The top two issues these halfway house employees commonly have are either drug histories, or major anger problems. Possibly both. We had one black guy in the deli who was only on like his third day, and a customer dared whistle to get his attention. He had his back turned to the counter, was slicing some lunchmeat, but then turned and snapped at the customer, snarling, “hey! I ain’t your fuckin dog!” Then was boasting about it afterwards to a bunch of us on break, out at the picnic table. Which was basically the last we ever saw of him. So either they relapse, get into hot water over their temper, stop showing up or in some cases go AWOL from the halfway house itself. I’m not sure what Melissa’s problems are specifically, but have seen this boiling rage clouding her face behind those thick glasses and figure she is not likely to last long, either.

Kroger is also not helping itself in these matters, however. There’s this weird dynamic here that I’ve never encountered anywhere else, which I can only figure is maybe attributable to it being a union atmosphere. So management already views itself as at odds with the workforce, pitted against us union members. Therefore they have this strange tendency to take the side of some new hire off the street (who hasn’t made membership yet, remember) versus someone who’s been here longer. One thing I respected about Cokonougher and Collins was that they did not play this game, however, they did not kowtow to new hires complaining about their bosses. Then again I also have a really hard time believing Mary Carol has much sympathy for a complainer like this, either, although she’s always so tight lipped about everything. I always tell people, though, that if you just do your job, you are not going to have any problems with Mary Carol, and I never have experienced any trouble with her. Come to think of it, this phenomenon is almost exclusively one pertaining to assistant store managers, who often tend to try and play detective because they view this as their best chance of getting their own store. So yeah, great, Jana is allegedly taking Melissa’s beefs to be a serious matter indeed. Whatever.

Today I do my best to stay up with the salmon sale, and my arm begins to feel better. When Melissa comes in at 1:30, today I put her to work cutting some whole fish, then, instead. Perhaps she will find this a more enjoyable task than washing dishes. Then as I’m about to clock out at 4:15, Miles drifts by and asks me, “how late you here till?”

“Fifteen minutes ago,” I tell him.

“Go on with yo bad self!” he says.

Today was Tom’s 39th birthday, but he never celebrates because it’s also the day his mother died, back when he was just a kid. Erin goes and buys him a cake anyway, though, with a plastic golfer figure swinging away up top, on the green. That was nice of her, but he’s such a low key guy you can’t tell what he really thinks about it.

“Got any plans?” I ask him, meaning after he leaves here.

“Yeah,” he deadpans, “a nap.”

After I split, Melissa evidently complains to Jana about me again, the amount of work I’m allegedly leaving her back here.

June 18

I work 2 to 10. It turns out that Melissa went and told Jana yesterday that I’d forgotten to keep up with the temp log yesterday, so Jana has confiscated it. Everyone knows these temp logs are b.s. anyway – nobody that I’m aware of keeps up with these things. What typically happens is one person will go in and fill in a bunch of bogus information all at once, every so often. The funny thing is, though, I’m aware this happened, before Jana even says anything to me about it, and am able to circumvent trouble anyway. I take a blank sheet from the meat department’s temp log, run up to the copier and crank out ten pages. Then just fill out some information on one of them for yesterday, and say I forgot to put it back into the binder.

Jana thinks she’s going to make some major bust or something, but instead has nothing to pin on me regarding this topic. Instead she just makes some comment about the outdated salmon boxes I’m throwing out. This is how employee-management relations sour, when you know you are doing a great job, and busting ass all day, but they’re nitpicking about a bunch of weird crap instead. Or even in this case straining really hard to find weird crap to nitpick about – as instigated by some troublemaker who has only been here a couple months, to boot.

At least I’ve got Donnie providing some comic relief. He can be good for rattling off some funny one liners, as is the case this evening. We’re outside on break together, discussing the latest hot item on the news wire: Melissa has formally requested a transfer elsewhere. So we’re cracking up about this. As I explain to him, though, according to our HR chick and a couple others, they’ve already got some guy lined up to replace Melissa.

“I’ve heard that one before,” Donnie says.

“Well, they say he’s got seafood experience,” I point out, believing that this indicates there is an actual specific applicant in mind.

“Yeah, but you know it’s one of those prisoner dudes,” he says. My sides are already splitting with laughter, at the reintroduction of his pet phrase. And this is before he adds the real classic: “convicts and retards, that’s all they seem to be able to hire. And where do we fit in?”

“Somewhere in between,” I manage to say, somehow, amid our fits of howling laughter.

Donnie will later tell me that Jill is now dating one of these guys from the halfway house. I’ve been kind of wondering if there would be any potential awkwardness here – despite a resumption of activities, shall we say, intermittently after our technical breakup last winter, nothing has happened since my return to this store a month ago. We barely even interact here at the store. I’m not sure if this development with her “prisoner dude” will make things more or less awkward around here, though, I guess only time will tell. I can actually see it making life easier in some respects, though, for example if I also wanted to date a coworker from this place. Then she couldn’t complain that this was a crap move because we were still an item or something.

On that note, Brooke steps outside to join us about halfway through our first break here. She’s a witness to this hilarious conversation and the outrageous laughter, but doesn’t really say anything, just looks at us with an entertained expression. On the day she was hired, I took one look at her and thought to myself, that’s my new piece. Before I’d even actually met her. Who knows if this will pan out, but things seem to be potentially heading in that direction.

“The most content I’ve seen Jill in all the time I’ve known her is when you two were together,” Donnie is saying, and if Brooke happens to pick up on any of this stuff, that would also surely not hurt my cause, “that’s why I couldn’t believe it when I heard the two of you broke up.”

June 19

Inventory. Jamie cracking me up taking pictures of his watermelon display, is obviously quite proud of it.

June 21

In at 8. Ryan tells me Eddie called here yesterday, said he was going to “sue Mary Carol.”

June 22

Another 8 to 4 shift. Paycheck is more than expected, although then again I did work 70 hours last week.

June 23

John calls up and quits, after three years with the company. His primary complaint remains the $6.50 he’s making an hour. The problem is that he started here in the front end, then transferred back to meat relatively recently. Owing to the byzantine structure of our union contracts (meat/seafood has one, I think pharmacy has a separate one, and then the rest of the store combined has its own contract, different from ours) he’s actually kind of handcuffed on pay, making less than somebody who just transferred here from the outside world into the meat department would.

June 24

Sara has hired me a new employee, and comes up to tell me as I’m sitting at the computer, placing my latest product order. “Who is it, that old guy?” I shout, having heard rumors about this – not realizing that he’s sitting the next room over!

“Older gentleman,” she quietly corrects, with a little smile.

June 25

I see Jamie toiling away in produce & we both start laughing. He’s calling me “crazy fucker” and “vampire” all day long, every time our paths cross. Although once again, I fail to see how I’m allegedly more of a maniac than some of these other guys – like him, for example. He is after all in here on even less sleep than me.

At one point, this old guy zips past our meat case in one of those motorized carts, I mean this guy is flying. Ryan happens to be nearby, and can’t help but notice this as well. “What’s he got in that, a 350?” Ryan jokes.

All day we’re plotting what food to get for Maria’s cookout later on. Jamie wants to buy a bunch of corn on the cob, it’s on sale at 12 for $2. Instead, though, John Ivanovich from the seafood shop at Worthington Square calls, and am glad he did – he’s just double checking that I am still closing down his shop tonight. Fuck! I’d totally forgotten! But assure him I will definitely be there. So much for the cookout, though, there’s just no way.

Tom’s pissed about how Ryan and Scott left the department yesterday. He came in earlier than usual today, because his daughter is having her graduation party later. All morning, I hear him singing songs to himself such as, “Ryan is an idiot, but that’s okay…,” and so on. He takes off at noon, though not without writing those two an extensive letter and hanging it, advising them how they’d trayed everything in the wrong sizes yesterday, forgot soaker pads, half assed the markdowns, etc, and to try and right the ship tonight. “If you can’t do this find new employment,” the note concludes.

Ryan and Scott are both closing tonight, actually. I know Ryan likes pulling 2nd shift on the weekends, so he can stay out until the wee hours partying & raving & rolling & what have you. As for Scott, he swears they hired him under the agreement that he wouldn’t have to work Sundays, but he winds up scheduled for most of them. “It’s causing a lot of friction at home,” he recently told me. Now, coming in at 2 today, Scott sees the note and is mighty ticked off about it.

“What the hell did you guys do last night?” I ask him. He huffs and puffs but doesn’t answer, so I tack on, “I saw that note, I thought it was funny.”

“I don’t think it’s funny, I think it’s unprofessional,” he replies, “if you’re in a management position and you have a problem with one of the employees, you pull that person aside and talk to them, you don’t leave a big note hanging for everyone to see!” Following this fired up rant, he adds in more of a murmur, “it’s unprofessional. No restaurant I’ve EVER worked for would try that…”

Well, I would have to disagree on that last point. And maybe this note is bullshit, I’m not sure – I just think so highly of Tom that it never occurred to me. Besides, your hands are kind of tied for valid responses if not even crossing paths with an employee on a given day. I guess you could maybe call them up to chew them out instead. Waiting umpteen days to scold them about something they did the previous week doesn’t really cut the mustard, though. And if nothing else, I think leaving a note is better than walking around bitching all day without doing anything. It also gives upper management tangible proof that you said something, which, if anyone thinks that’s a minor point…I would have to assume you haven’t worked for this company very long.

In sunnier news, Melissa’s replacement started today, even though she’s still here. His name is Noble, the “old guy” I’d referred to when speaking to Sara. And even though, to phrase Donnie, he’s one of those “prisoner dudes” from the halfway house, it’s hard to say what this guy’s deal is. He is obviously a really sharp individual and doesn’t give off druggie or drunk or anger problem vibes. If I had to guess, I would almost say it had to be some kind of embezzlement situation maybe, with his previous actual career – something on that level. Whatever the case, I’m already happy to have him aboard.

June 26

I haven’t said two words to Melissa, really, since that huge fight last week. Her replacement has already proven himself as a marked improvement anyway, plus Mary Jo is still around of course. so I’m not exactly sweating it. Tom’s asking me how Noble is doing, after one day and part of this second one. He makes a reference to the guy’s advanced age, and that he seems fairly intelligent.

“What’s he doing here?” Tom wonders.

“Ah, he’s one of those prisoner dudes,” I tell him.

Tom laughs and asks, “what’s he in there for?”

“I don’t know.”

“Fuckin up his last boss…,” Tom conjectures, and we both start cracking up. Then he adds, “that’s not good, Jaystone, not good at all…”

This morning is funny, too. Someone has mixed the beef kabobs right in with the chicken kabobs, in the service case, but no one will admit. As he’s still setting the case, Ryan sees this and as like, “what’s up with the kabobs?” Then goes to get Tom and show him.

“Oh, that’s our new contamination policy,” Tom cracks, poking fun at whatever unknown fuckup did this, in that hilariously caustic way of his, “Kroger’s trying to make people sick nowadays.”

But on a darker note, Mary Jo tells me that management is “watching me,” which is the same thing Tom said days ago. When he said it, he breezed back into the department, after being upstairs, and said, “Jana’s watching you.”

“Watching me for what!?” I marveled, baffled, still wondering what that chick’s deal is.

“She’s just watching you. Keep your nose clean.”

You often feel like approaching management and saying something to the effect of, “why don’t you just tell me what you think is going on, and give me a chance to respond? Let’s cut to the chase, here. Because whatever you think is going on, I’m telling you, you are way off the mark, and wasting everyone’s time.”

A lot of these assistant store managers seem to have this very peculiar mindset. It can basically be summarized as, “Gary Gossip told me you were a total fuckup. But you come in every single day, on time, appear to work hard, and pull great numbers. So obviously SOMETHING quite suspicious is going on here!”

And they are totally serious with this! It’s like, um….

Retail is a really peculiar animal, even worse in this respect than restaurants. Here you have the actual head honcho of the store, Mary Carol, all but physically battling to bring me over here…but then meanwhile her most direct minions, barely a month into this, are playing detective to try and make some kind of case that I suck. I don’t get this place. I like Eddie and everything, yet there is no way that in this universe or any other I am not crushing it here compared to him. Mike Green I think did a great job, before him, but that was three years ago. And there was nobody else in the entire region apparently who wanted this job but me. Not to mention that this entire investigation was launched by one of the halfway house people who has been here only a few months and already requested a transfer elsewhere.

Because according to Mary Jo, it’s not just Jana, Paul is snooping around as well. He came back and asked her one day if I was leaving the shop dirty. She covered beautifully, though, and tells me that even if I did ever leave it filthy back here, she wouldn’t say anything anyway because she doesn’t like management poking around in our affairs. That’s kind of my take on things, too, generally speaking – unless absolutely required, do you really want them back here, nosing around in your operation? It’s better to handle things in-house as much as possible.

June 27

Apparently Scott went to management tonight, to complain about Ryan, claiming that he came in drunk on Saturday (not true, Ryan says, he’d actually been at the hospital over a friend who’d been in a boating accident on Alum Creek) and that he was dealing drugs out of his car. Then, to top it all off, Scott said he was having a heart attack at one point, had them call an ambulance to come get him. Well, I guess I can believe that part – that this place might drive someone to the brink of a heart attack…

June 28

Work 8 to 4 but my service case has no power whatsoever, I can’t set it. This lasts all day, and in fact the meat service counter climbs steadily all morning. Then around 12 or 1, it gets up to around 60 degrees, Ryan and Patton have to pull everything out of there. I ask Ryan about the Scott incident from last night, too. His response is that Scott “faked a heart attack to get out of work.” Then shakes his head and adds, “this place sucks.”

June 30

I close with Cori and Noble. Matt stops in, trying to get his old job back; says he’ll return in the morning & talk to Tom.

July 1

I try to get somewhat of a jump on things by coming in at 7:30, to prepare for the onslaught. Right. We are seriously behind the 8 ball all day – fat lot of good this extra half hour does. Still, you can find time for conversation, like Tammie and me chatting from across the department while setting our respective cases.

“See Jill much any more?” she asks, and when I say not really, Tammie naturally feels compelled to add, “she’s been around.” Which does make me laugh, as she does the same.

“Oh well, that’s none of my concern,” I tell her, then tack on, “I’ve been seeing one of my other exes.”

“Oh really? What happened to that older woman you were seeing?”

“Ah, she’s too boring, all she wants to do is talk about her kid.”

“How old are her kids?” Tammie questions.

“She has one 2 year old.”

“Ooh, that’s too young.”

“Yeah, it is,” I agree, and then, having said about as much as I care to on this particular topic, change gears by asking her, “so are you seeing Bob again?” This in light of our recent happy hour outing, when she brought him along. After Tammie nods that she is, I remark, “he seems cool.”

“Yeah, he is, he’s a lot of fun. You know he’s a truck driver, sometimes he’ll go a week without calling me and I’ll call him, leave a message saying, this is the last time I’m gonna call you, and he always calls me back the next day.”

After Tammie sets up the bowls in the service case, she goes out to work lunchmeat. Then Donnie comes in, he and Tom and Patton are filling in the rest. Now Tom and I are shooting the breeze in much the same way, from across the department. He asks me if I’m still writing.

“Yeah,” I tell him, “that way it can take off and I can quit this profession. Great as it is.”

“Now why would you want to do that?” Patton cracks, nearby, “work every weekend, every holiday…” He then follows this up with that awesome laugh of his, the most insane, out of control laugh ever to visit mankind’s ears, it’s like MA AH AH AH AH AH! except really fast and loud, so maybe more like MAAHAHAHAHAH! A full machine gun assault of laughter. I love it.

“Yeah, who wants weekends off,” Tom jokes.

“Really. Where else would we rather be than here?” I rhetorically question.

“Right,” Tom shoots back, “what else is there to do? Boating? Boating’s overrated. Laying out in the sun…,” he trails off, before concluding, “Kroger’s looking out for us, trying to keep us away from those dangerous elements.”

Mary Jo joins me at 11 and we get pummeled, seven cases of salmon fly out, then ten more arrive on the meat truck just in time, when we are down to only our last 3-4 fish in reserve. But, by the time Melissa and Noble come in at 2, those ten are more or less wiped out, I have to drive over to Henderson Road, borrow 4 cases off of Masood to stop the bleeding somewhat. And this says nothing about tomorrow, which I still have to figure out. So it’s been a little tricky thus far at this store, between having way too much and not quite enough for the salmon sales.

Our Laura’s Lean rep, Jeff, is in to visit, work his section a little bit, and he springs for a pizza party back here. This is because we are still the #1 store in his region, which includes Ohio, some of PA, WV, etc. Wolfing down on that and some gratis Pepsi Jeff has also supplied, Ryan tells me that Jana jumped his shit the other day, over the fact that I’m not ice bathing my salmon.

This is a contentious issue, to be sure. However, the guy who originally trained me, Mike Green, is thought of as having done an awesome job. He did not ice bathe his fish and also instructed us to under no circumstances ice bathe our fish, either. You can get away with it, maybe, with white fish that is near the end, to extend it by a day or so. Other than that, one huge problem is that it bleeds all the color away from your beautiful species. You see this all the time in cases where guys don’t know what they’re doing, and what should be blood red tuna fillets are instead this sickly white color. This is mockingly referred to as “vanilla tuna.”

It’s because store management has drilled in their head some erroneous old procedures manual bit about how you’re supposed to throw your fish in a sink full of icy water every morning and let them soak awhile, then rinse them off, to eliminate any “fishy” smell. Of course, when a management figure doesn’t like you, they want to paint this as some kind of laziness issue. But Masood doesn’t ice bathe his fish. Nor does John Ivanovich. Nor does Mike Carney. None of the good seafood captains are doing this, though they might be telling their store management so, in order to appease them. I could maybe think about employing this ruse, but it’s not really my style, and probably wouldn’t work considering Jana sits upstairs and watches me on the video feed constantly anyway.

“I went through this with Eddie and I’m not going through this with him!” Ryan says Jana barked at him. He does wonder why she’s wasting his time with this junk, considering it’s not even remotely in his purview. For this, she explained, “maybe you guys could tell him, because he’s not listening to me.”

“Whatever,” I reply.

“That’s what I told her,” Ryan says, “you don’t have time for that, not when it’s on sale for a dollar eighty-eight a pound!”

“Plus it makes it look all white and shit,” I add, which is really the entire point.

July 2

Work 8 to 4

July 3

Work 11 to 7, but Scott doesn’t show, so it’s Noble in seafood as I spend most of the night in meat helping Melissa (she’s bounced over here for the time being), and end up staying until 7:50.

July 4

Matt is officially back. Tom tells me I should blow up my car. In other highlights, I am scolded by management for not catching the fact that I’d been somewhat overpaid on my latest check. But it was an honest oversight, given how much overtime I’m working, not just here but at other stores. It’s difficult to keep track of sometimes. In fact, on two separate occasions in the past, I’ve already gone to them and explained that they overpaid me (the sweet, older payroll lady, Marlene, told me during one of these occasions, that in all the time she’s been doing this, that Tammie Rodgers and I are the only two people who ever reported being overpaid). Now, this time, I fail to catch it, and management’s acting like I’m being shady. Whatever. Actually, as a holiday, today is all overtime, so I make myself leave at 2 – cut down on the labor expense a little bit.

July 6

“He’s loving life here,” I say of Patton, as Donnie and I are sitting out front on break.

“Well wouldn’t you?” Donnie laughs, “he’s gettin paid fourteen bucks an hour to walk around all day, throw some boxes around here and there. And see, the thing is, there ain’t a thing they can do to him, ’cause he’s the shop steward. Before Timmy left, he was the shop steward, and Patton took over when he got here. But Patton don’t know any more about our union contract than that little ol’ blade of grass over there.”

I laugh and laugh about this one, though it has nothing to do with Patton at all. I actually think he’s a really cool guy. Mostly it’s just the way that Donnie says things, with his thick Georgia drawl slathered on top for added comedic effect. For example, earlier in the day Donnie had run over to Henderson Road to borrow some freezer paper. When he returns, Matt asks, “is Dennis on vacation next week?”

“Hell, he’s on vacation now,” Donnie replies, “he was standin out front eatin M & Ms when I walked up.”

Hilarious. Decidedly less so is a visit from the bigwigs – nothing really ever happens, but you have to put on a good dog and pony show. I’m off at 3.

July 7

Ryan calls off (am), Cori calls off (pm)…Kris Kammerad singing over there in produce..trying to leave at 2:45, old guy with fish. Joe Dible is in to shop and complain about Ed. Joe’s this old guy who used to work here, and every time he’s in, seriously every single visit, he is grousing about Bianco, in particular this one incident he just can’t seem to get over, which is when Ed went home for the day but left the freezer door wide open back here. It sounds like a very traumatic episode indeed. Tonight Patton and I and some others drive down to catch the Reds-Indians game.

July 8

Extremely busy today, I work until 3.

July 11

Andy, describing that new girl Melissa in the pharmacy, says her body is “pretty much unstoppable.” And I agree. He then asks me how good I am at detecting whether someone is a lesbian, because he heard she might be. I laugh and say I’m not sure, but she doesn’t look like one to me.

“Where did you hear that?” I ask.

“Highly classified,” he tells me with a grin.

July 12

Patton and Donnie are stocking chickens when I roll into work at 2. “Dan you help Matt out tonight?” Donnie asks me, “it’s just him and Melissa, and you know she’s about as worthless as a piece of shit on a cow’s ass.”

God, he always comes up with the best little cowboy one liners. Though I would not be shedding any tears on Melissa’s behalf, I agree to do what I can. Particularly for Matt’s sake, considering he’s just returned to action.

So the three of us are here until 10. I do overhear Matt telling Melissa at one point, though, that he never would have married his wife if she were a smoker, and I’m thinking, whatever. He was trying to get with Jill right before she and I started seriously dating, then spent months hounding after Evonne. Smokers both. But I’m not going to bust him out.

July 14

Not exactly my finest hour in the workplace. I wake up at 7:45 and somehow still make it here on time, though. Laughing as I am doing so, thinking about everything that happened yesterday. Also, if I’m being honest, still a little bit drunk – but hey, it can happen to the best of us, every now and then, even if you mostly try to keep things under control. And it’s like this for probably the first half of my shift. Miles and Jamie are watching me set my case, from over in produce, and are laughing their asses off.

Then a little later I’m stocking my frozen section when Jamie strolls by. “Look at you, man! You can’t even function right!” he crows.

But it’s not too bad. I’m hanging in there. And while I’m out here stocking frozen, I start thinking for whatever reason about something Gretchen had asked me on Saturday night. She mentioned having a friend that worked in the deli here named Tyson, and asking if I knew him. At the time I was drawing a total blank. Except now it hits me: what if this “Tyson” is actually the Ty character that Jill is now dating? He works in the deli. God, that would be wild. Especially if they ever compare notes, considering that Gretchen is under the impression that I’m married.

As far as business, and what turns into a mild hangover, we are luckily (I guess) very dead all day. It’s the kind of day where you can totally justify cutting some labor hours, particularly if you are going to be on overtime by the end of the week anyhow. So Noble comes in to close, and then I split at 2:15

July 15

Busy on both counters all morning, otherwise not a ton happening today. Brooke is in a good mood and going out of her way to chat with me.

July 16

work 8 to 4

July 17

Inventory, scheduled for a 6am to 2pm shift. Ryan is supposed to be in at 8, doesn’t make it until after Tammie calls him – he arrives at 9:30. Patton tells me comical story about how Ryan used to be late every day at Worthington, too, so he’d just call Ryan’s number, let it ring as he set the phone down and went back to work.

Funny how the humor all seems to pile up on one day, and at the oddest moments, too. Where you might expect a more even, predictable distribution. Like when I’m upstairs at about a quarter till 2 this afternoon, sitting with a bunch of people who are okay but not exactly my greatest pals in the world. I’m adding up numbers to transmit my inventory and laugh at all the talk swirling around me. Hell, even Jana’s being nice, and she usually makes me queasier than any manager since Dee when I worked at Damon’s.

It starts when I reach into Paul’s desk to grab a calculator and hear him behind me say, “that’s a good way to get your fingers broken, Jason,” before telling me where I can find one.

Kelly, the head deli clerk (everyone calls her Kelly In The Deli, which she hates; but of course once coworkers discover this, then they are even more likely to use it, like when paging her over the intercom), is running around telling everyone about some Eileen chick she received an email from. This being someone they all apparently know, but I have no clue who they’re talking about. Then someone asks Kelly how she knows Eileen, or what their history is or something.

“A long, long time ago…,” she begins, then launches into this extended tale.

Though at least half the people have already tuned her out, like Doug Rudduck for example, head of grocery. He’s sitting behind me and starts singing the intro to American Pie. Mutters the next four or five lines, then whistles the tune for a few moments after that.

“Comfortable?” Paul asks, now coming up behind me.

“Yeah.”

“Good, find somewhere else to sit,” he says, as we both laugh, and I leave his desk.

Lisa from floral is bitching about having to go to some CAO class. Meanwhile, Doug’s busy telling everyone that walks by, “Speedy’s coming back!” like they’re supposed to know, and yet just about every single person says, “who’s that?” As he then must explain it’s this big fat guy Evan, who did night stock before taking a sabbatical to roam Europe. Mary Carol alone seems to recall who this is, and replies with a surprised, “really?”

“Jason, your seafood inventory’s open, you got it?” Kelly tells me.

“Uh…yeah,” I say and look at the clock, momentarily confused as to why she’s worred about this being open when they aren’t due until 5. Also why it would be any of the head deli clerk’s concern in the first place. Some of this I suspect is attempting to show off for various people in the room.

Good ol’ Andy Anderson is sitting at the next desk over and cracks, “good thing, man. It’s got to be on in three hours!”

“Yeah, just under the wire,” I joke.

But now Kelly pages Kris from produce, for some reason, telling him his inventory is open, then runs arounds notifying all three store management figures that they are all closed out except for Kris’s and mine. I sit there regarding her motions with a smirking, quizzical expression, before focusing once more on these numbers.

“What’s up with Kris and his weird symbols?” Lisa questions, from the computer, in reference to the initials he always uses for everything, “it’s always KKKKK.”

“Easy!” Andy cautions.

“No one has five initials. Maybe four,” she moans.

Andy kicks back and looks out the window, starts reminiscing about how nice it is outside and how it reminds him of his Little League days.

“When was that, last week?” Kelly says.

“Uh, yeah,” he deadpans. “I remember one year we finished runners up. I got mad and threw my helmet at the championship game and my dad yelled at me.”

“Naw, man, that’s team spirit,” I tell him.

“Yeah, but see, I got thrown out at first and threw my helmet, it rolled all the way into the outfield…I was batting champion that year too.”

“Of course, in Little League, you had to hit .950 to be batting champion,” I point out.

“Yeah!” he laughs, then adds, jokingly, “I was 24 for 25 that year…”

I scheduled Mary Jo 12-8 because there was no other shift for her to work, really, but it turns out to be a good thing – Noble’s foot is bothering him so bad he can hardly walk, but he insists on staying since he has the next 2 days off. I tell Ryan, only half kidding, that I can already see it coming – Noble’s going to need surgery & it’ll arrive just in time to screw up my vacation. But I hope not.

Donnie and I are sitting outside on break when the van rolls up and Noble gets out. The way he’s walking, we can’t even believe he’s willing to work. Crazy, especially at his age. But he insists. I tell him it’s okay to go home tonight if it gets too bad, Mary Jo is fine with staying over an extra hour to close.

July 18

Tom in a fired up mood, throwing pans around, pissed off about the service case set from yesterday. “Who set this case?” he wants to know, having had the day off. And yet Donnie, to his credit, hems and haws, never actually gives him an answer to rat anybody out. Later, Donnie and I are talking to Tammie about this, and she immediately blurts out that it was Patton, we start cracking up.

“I wasn’t gonna tell Tom!” Donnie says.

Erin works early also…slow day, everything is basically done by 2…Mary Jo and I work frozen…I clean out cooler and head home at 3:30.

July 19

I work 2 to 10

July 21

This stuff just keeps getting weirder. I go in at 7:15 this morning, hoping to get out early. Somehow Jamie and Ty and I concoct this plan to hit Shooters for happy hour together, after work. Well, except then shortly after this, Noble calls off on account of his foot, says the earliest he can be back now is Wednesday. So those two go to happy hour without me, and meanwhile I’m stuck working until 9:15pm – 14 hours!

July 22

With Noble out of commission and Mary Jo out of town until Monday, I am the seafood department right now. Fortunately, it’s dead, Melissa and Tammie are closing meat tonight and volunteer to knock out both. Otherwise I would have been stuck pulling an open to close again.

Joe Dible is in to shop, but then so is Jon Axelrod! It is great to see him again. He says he’s working for Prentice Hall, mostly doing textbooks. His girlfriend is looking pretty damn good, too, it’s worth noting.

July 23

Fairly slow morning. Joking around with Brooke, make “gun shape” with my thumb and finger – up against her head asking what kind of morning she’s having. Business picks up in the afternoon. Erin goes home early, Tammie’s off at 1, Tom splits at 2. Ryan shows up at 2:30, says he hit a rave in Cleveland last night. It cost $40 a head but the Jungle Brothers played. New guy Steve, with Patton, Ryan and Melissa showing him the ropes. I leave at 4.

July 24

Work 8 to 4. Department head meeting where Tom gets all fired up – Mary Carol says Vince wants us to cut hours. Tom wants to know how Vince can come in on Saturday & bitch about store conditions, then turn around and want to take even more hours away. I think this is a valid point. It reminds me of something Cokonougher was always talking about at Morse Road, this death spiral that Big Bear got into, to the extent they’ve just about gone belly-up: conditions starting looking a little rough, so sales went down, so they would cut more hours; conditions then looked a little rougher, sales went down a little more, they cut even more hours; and on and on.

Obviously you wouldn’t exactly expect Kroger to go out of business anytime this century, but I believe this kind of thinking can have a catastrophic impact on individual stores, for sure. Hopefully that doesn’t happen here. Cokonougher’s opinion was that if conditions are looking rough, then you should probably increase the hours, and/or pinpoint the exact people responsible, so that you can right the ship. And I agree with that as well.

July 25

In at 2 and working with the new guy Steve tonight – oddly enough, it turns out he used to work at ODNR, the same building on Morse where Damon was before transferring up to Alum Creek.

“I hear it’s pretty laid back up there at Alum Creek,” Steve says.

“Yeah,” I reply, “real laid back.”

“I hear they’ve got people sleeping on the job up there,” he remarks, and I think I’m going to wet myself laughing. Though uncertain exactly where this stems from, it’s possible he’s actually referring to that Wendy chick that Damon’s always talking about, who is a known narcoleptic.

It’s a slow night but annoying somehow, all the customers that come in seem to be extremely obnoxious. I’m wondering why this is, then suddenly realize it’s Tuesday. But of course it is. For whatever reason, I’d noticed this a little while ago, that all of the crazies seem to come out of the woodwork here on Tuesdays. I’ve even mentioned this to people, but so far nobody can come up with a theory to explain it.

July 26

In at 7. Dennis Tracy calls me this morning, wants to know is I can work tonight. But of course not, only because I’ve already committing to closing at another store, Worthington-Galena. Dennis sounds distraught, says he just lost 2 more people. This, after he pulled the lowest gross in the zone for the period ended last week, to the point that Tom has been drafted to help get him straightened out.

This mumbling Asian lady in a hat & summer dress, with one bigger than the other, comes rolling through here early. First she asks Ryan an off the wall question about some stir fry beef he has in the service case, then comes over to bug me.

“You have any white fish?” she asks.

“Yeah, cod,” I tell her, and point to my selection.

“No…smaller white fish…fit in hand…white fish…hand,” she mutters.

“Uh…,” I start, trying to think of what else I have that might fit the bill, but she just shakes her head and walks off.

Everyone is dressed in cowboy gear for this “Hometown Hysteria” theme Kroger wants us to run with. A John Deere tractor has been donated and parked in produce, with crates as its cargo. A cardboard cutout of our zone manager, Vince, is in the driver’s seat, with a cowboy hat atop its head and one tooth blacked out. I can only wonder how he will take this, if seeing it, considering he came in here and ripped our ass on Saturday. But apart from the points that Tom made at our last meeting, there are a couple other things about this that make no sense to me. One is that places like this cut help down to the bone, then wind up paying a bunch of us to work overtime constantly anyway. So now we’re getting time and a half to, for example, set up a covered wagon today or whatever. It seems you’d be better off just hiring more help at straight time. The other thing is, whether an insensitive thing to say or not, I think it’s the moment has arrived to…address the convict in the room. And question if these “prisoner dudes” are really working out. Even if as everyone speculates has to be the case, they’re getting kickbacks or else are allowed to pay these people less, turnover costs companies a ton of money, and it sure seems like this would annihilate any benefits to the program. Because as previously noted, these guys almost never last beyond a few months. Unless Kroger is doing it to be charitable? Sure. I’m sure that must be the case.

It’s pretty comical, though, that while nearly every person in every other department dressed up, not a single soul in our meat/seafood shop did so. Seeing someone like our janitor, Lavonne, wearing a straw hat is pretty damn funny, too.

Donnie calls, says he’s still in North Carolina and that his 94 year old grandfather isn’t doing too well, that he won’t be back in time to sing Thursday at the Lounge up in Delaware as planned. I get off the phone with him and relate the news to Ryan.

“I’d hate to be in Donnie’s family,” Ryan says.

“Why’s that?”

“I’d be dead,” he jokes, “any time Donnie wants a day off, one of them goes in the hospital or dies.”

Later, as I’m leaving, I bump into Tammie in the checkout line. And tell her about Donnie as well – she’d been planning on going up there to watch him sing, too. She rolls her eyes and says, “oh, here we go again.”

July 28

My self-service bunker (packaged stuff, located between the meat and seafood counters) is down all day. Of course this would transpire on the Friday just before my week plus vacation begins. It’s supposed to start at 3 ‘clock this afternoon, and I have plans for all of it. I’m on a tight schedule to meet up with some people this afternoon, for this trip up to Put-In-Bay, our ride is going to be at my apartment at a set time. Yet 3 o’clock rolls around, and they still don’t have this thing up and running. It’s a situation where if you ask management, they’re going to tell you to stick around and wait so you can fill the case back up. Or else keep your phone handy in case they call, to return and fill it. If not come in tomorrow or some such nonsense. So I just take off at 3 without a word said to anyone instead.

August 7

My first day back from vacation. Tammie tells me she didn’t get the head cutter position at Polaris. But adds that Guy Ary has gotten suspended indefinitely, pending investigation, for rewrapping/redating meat at Worthington Mall. So that department head position is expected to be posted soon.

We have this new guy start for us, James, another from the halfway house. Except he will wind up setting what is believed to be an all-time record, at least for this department. He lasts about one hour. I spot him upstairs going through orientation, and then the next thing we know Charlene’s calling down here, explains he “no longer works” for us. It turns out he told Paul that he needs weekends off, and was greeted by a very loud laugh in response.

“I’d rather be in jail than work here!” he told Paul, and walked off the job.

Ryan and I are absolutely cracking up to hear about this development. At least until considering the fallout, and what it means. With Noble out for surgery, and Melissa finally transferring to the Reynoldsburg store, we’re now down to 8 people split between meat/seafood. Tom has already told Mary Jo and I that we will be both be working seven days next week. In meat, it’s just him, Patton, Erin, Tammie, Ryan and Donnie. Jesus. Tim Young has been coming in on Saturdays to help, but there’s only so much relief we can get from other stores. Particularly as the extent to which they call me and sometimes Ryan in to work their stores is a good sign that they don’t have a ton of help themselves. I like the OT, although I’m sure it will get old after awhile – probably around the holidays, which is when they’ll be most expecting it.

August 9

Boring, slow day, just not motivated at all. Donnie at the counter, marvels at hot chick walking past us and down toward pharmacy, makes hilariously lewd comments about what he’d like to do to her. He, Tom, and I are working this morning, I’m not sure who else. I leave at 2.

August 10

Off at 2:30 today. Ryan’s closing seafood – this is how desperate for help that we are.

August 11

Total mayhem breaking out at work. Upper management has been making Tom offers for two years now to go on “special assignment” and float from store to store in the zone – training, teaching, helping other meat departments out. He’s always dissented, but this time, it seems they have made him a proposal he couldn’t refuse. Nothing’s set in stone, but looks as though he’ll accept the offer, a two year deal that will give him weekends off and a hefty raise. That’s great, he deserves it, but at the same time it will suck for the rest of us. He’s the coolest boss I’ve ever had, in additon to being the best meat cutter I’ve ever seen. Our schedule is already mighty thin here, aside from everything else, so we can ill afford to lose an all-star up top.

But Tim Young is in here today, and a deal appears to be in the works to bring him over as Tom’s replacement. Well, if you can’t have Tom, Tim’s the next best thing, a close second in the cutter category and a really cool guy, too. He’ll probably be every bit as great a boss as Tom, if not yet quite as experienced. Ah, the good ol’ days when we had both of them here, and a full crew behind them, a regal one-two punch in meat/seafood: Ed and Donnie in seafood, Ryan, Tammie, Erin, Khan in meat, me bouncing back and forth between both departments as needed, with a healthy stable of part-timers just the icing on top.

Now everything’s falling apart – the meat crew’s down to six people total, and even if Tim comes in to replace Tom, Tammie has already signed up for the head cutter opening at Worthington Mall, and if she doesn’t get that, then she plans on going after the Worthington-Galena post that is theoretically about to open up when Tim leaves there. Whew. Additionally, Donnie just so happens to have signed up for a head seafood posting at Dublin this morning – the guy that ran that shop, David, has supposedly been busted by the cops, something drug related.

“I don’t wanna be here when the shit starts flying,” Donnie explains.

And then there’s me. Tom says I really need to slide back over to meat & work my way up the ranks there, because this seafood department is a dead end. It’s what I intended all along, of course, but when that bait shop captain opportunity came along for a lot more money, I couldn’t realistically turn it down. Stepping down now would only cost me just 60 cents an hour, though, plus the ceiling’s a lot higher in meat than it is over here. So I might make that move at some point.

“You’ve switched back and forth between departments more than anyone I’ve ever seen,” Ryan tells me. I’ve already done three tours of duty in both – maybe these war metaphors are a bit much, but not really, if you’ve spent any time working here.

August 13

Long busy night shift with Patton, Ryan, some Nick guy from the Delaware store. Funny Ryan comments:

1. “My one friend that was gonna get a job here got a job at Meijer, $7.80 in the FILM department” (weary shake of head)

2. “Tell Jamie I’m gonna go get Cheese Legs tonight. He’ll know what I mean.”

Me: “What, is that that one girl you’re tryin’ to bang?”

Ryan: No, it’s ’cause when you do Special K, you’re sitting down, then when you try to stand up it’s (wobbles around to demonstrate).”

I work a 2-10 shift and Ryan is still here when I leave. T-bone madness. Actually this Nick guy was supposed to be here at 3:30, didn’t show up until 4:15, then left at 6:15 anyway. So it’s debatable how much he helped. Also, though I’ve never seen and certainly never met the guy before, he’s over here giving me unsolicited “pointers” on how to do things in seafood.

It starts when I’m standing here cutting a whole salmon via the usual method, when I’m chopping the head off. I slice down until hitting the spine, then tap my knife with a mallet once, continue onward. This obviously isn’t necessary, but it does save some strain on your forearm when you’re doing hundreds if not thousands of these babies every week. After you’ve been doing this awhile, particularly during weeks where salmon is on sale, that one tendon between your wrist and elbow is on fire – a condition that John Ivanovich gave the immortal label of “salmon elbow,” a la tennis elbow.

Well, anyway, this Nick character apparently considers my antics bush league. He comes strolling over and says, “here, I’ll show you how to cut it.” Points over to the table instead of the small cutting board I’m using and asks, “can I cut it over there?”

“It’s already been cleaned,” I tell him.

“All you gotta do is wash it (the large table’s cutting board surface) in the sink.”

“Huh?”

“All you gotta do is wash it in the sink.”

Just then a customer approaches. So, as I’m waiting on a customer, he cuts the entire 6lb or so salmon into steaks, even though all I actually needed was two steaks and the rest as long fillets. He does fillet out the tail, then, two mangled up tiny ones that look terrible.

“Here,” he says.

“Uh…thanks for doing that,” I tell him, grateful up to this point even though he’s dirtied up my formerly clean table.

“All you need is a sharp knife, you don’t need to use that mallet.”

“Ah, why wear out my arm…,” I mutter.

“You WON’T wear out your arm if the knife’s sharp. The only thing you need that mallet for is cutting those huge halibuts,” he advises. Then catches himself, either that or sees the look on my face, and adds, “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to tell you how to run your shop.”

“Ah, it’s alright,” I tell him, but can’t resist throwing in, “I hope people like bleach with their salmon.”

Aside from his chopping up the fish into pieces I didn’t need and the two little mangled tail fillets, this is the actual biggie, the most crucial point. I had bleached the crap out this table, to the extent Ryan and Mary Jo were making jokes about the fumes earlier. So his eyes settle on that table now. Then he marches over, yanks that section out, stomps over to the sink to wash it, then brings it back without another word said. Finally returns to the meat department and must apparently be bitching to those other two about the conversation we just had. I hear Patton’s hilarious Fozzy bear laugh and then Ryan saying, “who, Jason?” But nothing more about it.

August 14

Work 6-2, inventory etc.

August 15

work 8 to 2. Great break with Sara, Donnie, Lori, Annie. New redhead girl Donnie knows supposed to start.

August 16

Work 2 to 10, Miles and I decide to go see this band on campus afterwards.

August 17

Todd in the deli tells me he has 14 days left – the next 10 of which he’ll be on vacation. That’s one more from the old crew biting the dust. We’re already down to not very many, and the store has only been open 3 1/2 years. Of course, like me or Miles or Jill, some may leave only to return.

August 19

Work 8 to 4. It’s Tom’s last day here before he goes into special assignment.

August 20

Long night working 2-10. It’s Donnie and me and 3 new people. Tiwana’s first night, she’s gagging on the fumes from our cleaning solution, so we tell her she can go home. Misty’s spraying everyone with water, Bob doing dishes & retaliating. It’s the first day of Tim Young’s glorious return, as our new head meat cutter, but I didn’t see him.

At one point, some of us are out back throwing away our trash. Jana says something to Jamie and Lisa about stocking the corn display. “I just stocked strawberries and grapes, did you notice?” Jamie asks, grinning.

“Yes, I noticed. But what about the corn?” Jana offers in rebuttal.

“I’m the man…,” Jamie’s muttering, even after Jana has walked away, still going on about strawberries and grapes.

“If you really were the man, you’d have corn stocked, too,” Lisa tells him.

“She’s got a point,” I say.

Then I’m walking along the back hallway, returning to my department when I hear someone shouting behind me, “COOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORRRRRRNNNNNNN MAAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNNN!” and the sound of slapping feet, as Jamie comes sprinting past me at breakneck speed.

It’s a safe bet to speculate he is possibly baked. An observation further bolstered by some conversations conducted later, out on the break table. I’m sitting out there with Jamie, Kris, and others. Then Bob approaches and sits down. He’s this big, burly, very talkative and friendly guy, I already think he seems pretty cool. Not a prisoner dude, and neither is Misty.

“That Eleanor’s a strange bird, isn’t she?” Bob observes, “I said, hi Eleanor, and she’s looking around, she’s like, who said that? Who’s saying hi to me? And then I’m like, I did, and she says, how do you know me? I told her it was in a past life.”

Then he’s talking about this rehab center where he used to work, calls it a “country club.” Also says he met his double once down in Newport Beach, Florida, that the guy had been getting him in trouble up and down the east coast for years. “I’d show up somewhere and people would want to keep kicking my ass for something he did.”

But then talk eventually turns to this Russian sub buried at the bottom of the sea, it’s been all over the news. “I’d climb out of that bitch and float up to shore,” Jamie is saying.

“You’d get the bends,” a couple of us point out.

Pressing on undeterred, Jamie explains, “I’d be on the radio giving out all our secrets, saying, please come pick me up! I’d raid the pharmacy on there – you know they have to have a pharmacy – I’d be gobblin up everything, Darvocet, Percocet, we’d be having the great American smoke out. I’d climb in the torpedo hatch and have someone shoot me out!”

Without being prompted, Bob for some reason hands me two caffeine lozenges, says they are made from bean extract and have the same effect as, “drinking a pot of coffee.” Sounds cool, but probably not the best idea in the world right now. He also scolds Jamie for drinking Mountain Dew. “You know what’s in that? Vegetable oil.”

Jamie scans the bottle’s contents before thrusting it away. “Oh my god! Brominated vegetable oil! What are they trying to feed me around here!” he gasps.

To top it all off, Ed Biance had even been in shopping earlier. I always find it weird when people are willing to patronize places that ran them off. Like if I were him I would personally be shopping anywhere in town except at Kroger, especially this particular store. It’s cool to see him, though, as always. And maybe he wants to take a victory lap of sorts. He’s tanned and looks to be in great shape, seems really happy, too. Says he’s installing handicap ramps for the city now, to the tune of $23 an hour, that a friend had landed him this plum gig and he is loving life.

“I heard Tammie got head cutter,” he jokes, “what does that tell you?”

August 21

So, yeah, these are the trades they worked out, so to speak. Tim is now here as head meat cutter…Tammie has gotten the job at his old store, 879, Worthington-Galena Road. So the scorecard on that is one original cast member returning, two of them shipping out.

Today I work 8 to 4, which means I get to see Tim here for the first time. “Glad to have you back,” I tell him.

“I’d say I’m glad to be back,” he halfway jokes, “but I’m not used to this!” By this he means he’d gotten somewhat spoiled by the laidback atmosphere at 879, things are much busier here.

It’s another crazy day all around. Jamie’s over in produce singing Family Tradition at full volume out on the sales floor. Then at one point, he steps into my department to chat, and they announce overhead that I have a phone call. Thinking that this must be Maria calling again, he picks it up and says in a fake deep voice, “hello, this is Jason…” But then it turns out this is Farisa, a manager from 879! She’s asking if I can possibly work over there tonight. So he laughs and then hands the phone to me.

Not that she personally fills me on all the details, but I will soon learn what happened. It seems that Denver walked off the job in what is basically the most epic fashion I’ve ever heard. Balling up his apron in one hand, he walked to the front of the store, where he could see their store manager Rocky standing. Without a word said, he handed his apron to Rocky with his right hand, raised the middle finger of his left. And then continued right out the door.

I can’t work over there tonight, though, owing to our own in-house mayhem. The solid and physically capable bodies are being stretched mighty thin all over this county. Tammie calls – her surgery went okay – to see if I can work her planned Wednesday night shift, which she agreed to at Worthington Mall, because they needed the help. But she says her doctor advised her not to be working doubles like that. Only problem is, I’ve already agreed to fill in at her own actual store on Wednesday, of which she hasn’t even been informed yet, thanks to this Denver situation. Whew.

As far as tonight, I have to leave and come back at 7, because Misty calls off and Tiwana can’t make it. So after clocking out at 4, I drop Jamie off at his place, have a couple beers, then return. Closing with Bob & Erin – she is being strangely flirty tonight for the first time ever in all the years I’ve known her. Like she rubs her boobs up against me twice and keeps throwing her arms around me. Must be the Valium that she says she has taken. Things are so out of control around here that Mary Carol closes the deli tonight.

August 22

Work 8 to 4. Today Jamie and I are shouting out the words to Family Tradition, mostly in call and response fashion, trading off lines, as he stocks produce and I my frozen section. Tiwana closes seafood by herself tonight and actually does a very good job.

August 23

Go in at 8, leave at 2 when Tiwana & Mary Jo get here.

August 24

Work from 8 to 2 or so. “You look better today than yesterday, you’re ready to climb back in the saddle!” Miles tells me. Then he adds, “Heineken’s calling my name.”

August 25

8 to 4 shift. Give Jamie a lift home.

August 26

Put in a solid 8 hours and 15 minutes, the last 45 of them helping bail Donnie out in meat. Bob bangs his knee on a cart, so Sara drags him upstairs to fill out an accident report. So it’s just Donnie and the even newer guy Simon in meat now, with the place looking like a disaster. Donnie’s pissed, but there’s only so much I can do – I already agreed to a closing shift at 879 and have to be there at 4:30.

August 27

Though us department heads are still theoretically making out our own schedules, that’s turning into more and more of a polite fiction. At the very least, upper management typically revises them, and the possibility of a complete overhaul is always open. Therefore you might not even realize that the version you turned in has changed, if you forget to double check – which is exactly what happens to me today.

I come in for my typical 8am opening shift, not even thinking about it. Except it turns out they now have Mary Jo coming in at 8 today to open seafood, I’ve been bounced to a 10am start time and over in meat. But Tim doesn’t care and neither does Patton, in fact Patton is the one telling me to go ahead and clock in. We are way too shorthanded to be quibbling over such fine details. For example, Patton’s vacation is supposed to start today, but he agreed to come in for 4 hours, if Tim would give him next Sunday & Monday off in exchange. Nice negotiating ploy, I’ll have to remember that.

The manager trainee who’d spent two weeks in produce, Denise, is also here at 8, to begin her two weeks in meat. Then Jody from the Marion store is here at 8:30, and we are on a roll, cranking stuff out. Patton’s on lunchmeat, Tim’s cutting beef, Jody pork, Denise is learning how to wrap and I’m alternately picking up, grinding meat, running carts out to stock the floor, or waiting on customers.

Donnie and Bob are in at 1:30. Donnie and I pound out cleanup & by the time I leave at 4, he’s so far ahead it’s ridiculous – a far cry from last night, and much needed.

August 30

I’m a half hour late for work, showing up at 8:30. But oh well – this almost never happens, and I haven’t actually missed a day since 1997. They’ll get over it. Ryan’s also working early, and has a rough start as well. He’d been out at this new downtown club called FM last night, done too much Special K and topped it off with bad liquid acid.

“I’m not doing K again for about a month,” he swears, but we both know he’ll never stick to this. Off at 4.

August 31

Work 8 to about 3:15. If you’re working every day or thereabouts (not to mention at other stores on top of it), it’s good to snip off a little here and there where you can. We have it in our contract in fact that your sixth (and seventh) day of a week are automatically all overtime, regardless of how many hours you’ve worked. So there are a lot of people who attempt to work 6 days of 7 hours apiece, somewhere in that vicinity – because it’s not much more than 40 hours, yet the sixth day is all time and a half. Why Kroger continues paying through the nose to have all this veteran help here at overtime is a mystery (much like the halfway house program), instead of just hiring more help. But you just figure they’re making enough money they figure screw it, we’ll take whoever we can get to show up.

September 1

Donnie calls off. Ed Lloyd from Henderson is here to help out – an unprecedented development, as far as I can recall. In fact I don’t remember us asking anyone from that store to come here, ever. I overhear Tim telling him, only half-jokingly, “should keep you here & we could get rid of Donnie & Ryan. No, we’ll keep Ryan, get rid of Donnie & Patton.” It’s all just b.s. shop talk, though, more of this meangingless sports-GM type wheeling and dealing chitchat. I can’t imagine anyone would ever be serious about that concept, least of all Tim.

September 2

I feel like a million bucks somehow despite less than 3 hours of sleep. It’s funny how this happens every so often. I actually woke up 45 minutes early today. Not being in my own bed is surely a big part of it, but still. We’re really busy today, too. Mary Jo is in at 10am, Tiwana at 2, I split at 3:15.

September 3

Slow day, plow through it and leave at about 2:30, after Mary Jo gets in.

September 5

Tiwana called to say she’d be an hour late, but never showed at all. Ryan has been referring to her for quite some time as “Dontwanna,” as in “Dontwanna Work,” and I guess he has a point. I know everyone has their personal problems, but still, come on. I wind up working 8am to 8:30pm, however, so there’s the silver lining. During which I tell Sarah to hire me some fucking help.

September 6

I work 1:30-9:30

September 7

Ah, Lori…great conversation with her at break, I clock in muttering to myself, “it’s on…it is on.” But of course, nothing is in the bag until it actually transpires. So we’ll see.

September 8

Jamie calls off, says he messed up his shoulder lifting weights last night. Jessica comes in and talks to me for a minute, she has some other dude with her. Is asking me about some party Jamie told her was happening on Saturday. This is the first I’m hearing about such but make up some “details” to give her about it anyway.

Ryan and Tim are ransacking the meat desk looking for some ball bearings, but instead all they can find is a bunch of other stupid junk. “How’d my cock ring get in here?” Ryan jokes, extracting one of those giant rubber ones we use for our sinks.

Mayhem with the B.B. King tickets. This is a yearly thing, Debbie (our Gorton’s/Lloyd’s rep) bringing in a bunch of free passes for everyone – it’s sponsored by Lloyd’s and they will have a tent there. Somehow I missed the boat this time around, but she gave Donnie and Erin both a bunch of tickets, along with 2 VIP passes each. Most likely I just had that day off or something. But jokingly vow to “have words with her” at the show.

“Donnie’s got six tickets, maybe he’ll have an extra one,” Erin suggests.

“Oh, you know Donnie, he’ll say he’s got the President of the United States going with him,” Ryan cracks.

Well, Erin herself believes they might be able to spare two tickets, but she’ll call me later after discussing it with Ralph. She gets off at 3 and does call over here to say they have a couple extra ones. She leaves them in their mailbox for me, I drive up to scoop them up after work

September 9

Ryan leaves a message at my house earlier today, says they’re getting crushed. It’s just him and Patton and Erin to run the meat shop and unload a 7 pallet truck. So he’s trying to get me to come in early, but I don’t answer and don’t call back. Instead I just go in at 4 as scheduled (to cover a shift Tiwana was supposed to work, had she not failed to show up Tuesday and gotten fired). Mary Jo opened seafood and is also on hand for the mayhem.

By the time I get here, we are still getting crushed. But fortunately, Donnie and Bob are here now, they’re closing meat, along with this young Greg kid. He’s the latest bagger (with three years’ tenure also) who they recently slid back here, transferring to meat, since we’re so desperate for help.

“Ryan was calling Mary Jo The Riddler earlier,” Bob tells me with a laugh.

“Why?”

“Because she kept asking a bunch of stupid questions,” Bob explains, “Ryan was like, you’ve worked here a year and a half! and told her, you better not leave any of your clothes laying around, or I’ll draw a big question mark on them.“

September 11

In at 6:30am for inventory, we’ve got this new system of only counting random weight stuff now and it’s a breeze. Whereas Tim would have come in at midnight before, instead he’s here at 4 this morning; with me, I come in a half hour later than usual, at 6:30, and probably could have pushed that up to 7.

Our whole store’s being reset, too, all the shelves are being rearranged and reorganized. As a result, coffee has been free as an amenity to the workers doing it, though any of us are able to partake. Needless to say, we’ve all been consuming about, as Ryan put it, “7 cups a day.”

September 12

Ryan is off tomorrow and asks me about going clubbing later, but I tell him I already have plans to hit this Brian Wilson show. “Figures,” he says, “I want to go out with you guys for a change, and you’re going to a concert.”

Early on, Jamie is already in one of his frequent, possibly pot-related bursts of silliness and hopping around in a particularly goofy state. Say one thing about him, he is certainly entertaining – and unpredictable. He drifts by my department I swear at like 10am with this big idea about a few of us buying a couple bags of this Gorton’s fish I have on sale in my frozen bunker (buy one get one free, at $5.99) and eat them for lunch. He’s all pumped about the concept, on par with a five year old at Christmas, and I figure why not, I’ll be hungry in a couple hours.

Next thing I know, he’s dragging Garrett and Rick out from produce, walking them over here to look at my bunker. OK,so they are in, too. I’m cracking up at this point, wondering how he can possibly be so giddy over this. And yet, the giddiness is somewhat contagious, I suppose. Anyway, he collects the money, then runs to go for one bag of batter dipped fillets, one bag of crunchy ones. Come lunchtime, I fire these up in my convection oven, and we are soon eating like kings.

Well, three of us are, at least. Nobody can seem to find Garrett now and don’t exert a ton of effort trying to. Or any effort, in my case. So it’s Jamie, Rick, and me, huddled around these oven trays.

“Damn!” Jamie enthuses, after taking one bite, “this is the bombdig!”

I agree. Then he opens the door and shouts down the hallway, at somebody unloading a truck, “THIS IS DIGGITY DANK!”

Still, something is missing. This meal seems a little too plain. They ask if I have any tartar sauce, but I don’t, none we can use without paying for it. So Rick strolls over, buys a loaf of bread instead, brings that back here. And now we are talking! This is more like it! Hey, you’ve got to be knowledgeable about the product if you have to sell it, and that alone justifies this charming little experiment.

“Ah ha ah ha ha ha!” Jamie’s laughing, jumping up and down in the back hallway as he takes a bite of his sandwich, “see, I always come up with the best ideas!”

September 13

Second day in a row that I voluntarily go in early, at 7:30, just for the hell of it. Tom’s in here to help today, as he had been yesterday, and all rumors are now quelled about any “lineup” changes. Or at least one set of them – now there’s another possibility in play. Tammie has passed interim status as the head cutter at Worthington Galena and has officially been handed that job; Tim, despite being bounced over to here, was actually attempting to take that job back. He has threatened that he will step down and transfer to Hilliard if he didn’t get it, rather than put up with Jana and (to a lesser extent) Mary Carol. So that may be in the works, but for the time being, he’s staying here.

Tom and Donnie are setting our service case, and Donnie’s ripping on Patton’s boneless pork chops, how lopsided they are. Poor Patton. I really like the guy and try not to say anything about any of my coworkers ever, just kind of laugh at everybody else’s comments and move on. And don’t say anything now, either. But if forced to state for the record…I had been thinking to myself yesterday that his pork chops were looking pretty sad. Great guy, though, a really cool dude, and I know he really does make an effort. So what if he’s not the world’s greatest meatcutter.

“These do look a little better than the ones he did yesterday, though,” Donnie tells Tom.

I leave at 3:15.

September 15

work 8 to 4

September 16

I’m in great spirits today – a really interesting dream has put me in a chipper mood from the moment I wake up. So I’m talking more than usual and the good cheer seems contagious. Hollie comes back to borrow an extension cord and I mess with her head for a minute, though she seems to like this. Then I’m out on break and Katy sits down at the picnic table across from me, we have a pretty good chat. I would take either of these girls, but don’t exactly chase after them or anything.

As for the meat department, they’ve got a tiny pool going, $2 apiece to draw a number 0 through 9. with the combined last digit of the score between OSU & Miami (OH) paying $10 at halftime, $10 for the final score.

“Seven, eight, and nine are open,” Erin says, trying to sell me the last three numbers when I walk in.

“Okay, I’ll have seven,” I say and start to fish out two dollars, not really clear yet how this worked.

“You can’t pick your number!” she tells me.

“Oh,” I say, spotting the three slips of paper. She tells me to just grab one, and I do, muttering, “I’ll be pissed if it’s 8.”

“Get ready to be pissed,” Tim cracks, but it is.

“Goddammit!” I holler, but only jokingly, stomping around and throwing the paper away in disgust. I cough up another $2 and wind up with 7, at which point Tim decides to purchase the 9, though he’d already grabbed one number earlier.

Donnie brought in a black and white TV a couple of weeks ago, so they’ve got this on come game time. I do get a little agitated here and there that they’re all standing back there watching football while I’m waiting their meat counter, but soon get over it. Saying anything in front of the customers feels unprofessional and anyway I don’t want to ruin my fantastic mood. Donnie has 0 and 3 and winds up winning all the money – it’s 10-10 at halftime and the final score is OSU 27, Miami 16.

Then I’m heading out the door for the day and Katy calls out, “how ya doin’!” She casually walked out to the end of her checkout line specifically to address me. She’s referring to this fake accent as “West Virginia,” adopted to make fun of this other cashier, Kim. But it sounds nothing like that to me, is more New York than anything. So we talk for a moment. Waker drifts past, now, on his own way out to break.

“Have a lovely evening, sir!” I tell Waker, shake his hand. Everyone cracks up, even the handicapped greeter Joe Maness, over by the door.

September 17

After having yesterday off, Jamie comes in sunburned beyond recognition. It seems he has enjoyed a little reunion with the ex-girlfriend, one which included their going to the Buckeye game together.

We’re dead in the morning, but it’s crazily busy from about 11 o’clock onward. Tim and Tim are off at 1, leaving just Donnie and Bob in meat, me in seafood, until our respective reinforcements/replacements – Simon and Mary Jo – show up at 2. Throughout which Jamie’s always good for popping in with the oddball left field comment, such as when he comes drifting through the meat department, pointing up at the ceiling and announcing, “that’s a good stoner song, there!” with a grin on his face. Donnie just stands there looking at him.

“I can’t hear it,” I explain from over in seafood, “my speaker’s shut off.”

“Come here,” Jamie says, beckoning me across the room, and so I drift over there, to a spot underneath the meat department’s intercom speaker. Where I instantly recognize Southern Cross by Stephen Stills and company, relate this information to Jamie.

“Southern Cross!” he shouts, giggling as he leaves our department, “Southern Cross, baby, Southern Cross!” I’m cracking up, but Donnie continues just standing there watching him walk away, still having not said a word.

Then Donnie and I head out to take our last break at a quarter till 3. We’re pretty much caught up in seafood now, Mary Jo should be in good shape tonight. Katy’s out here on the picnic table, too, as are Jamie and Rachel. Jamie’s in a fired up mood, thanks to last night’s reunion. Even more fired up than usual, I should say.

“I was busy last night studying the female anatomy. I love eating pussy! I LOVE IT!” he shouts, “I’ll be swimmin in that shit…”

The girls are okay with this kind of talk, I think, but leave anyway. In their place here comes Joe Maness gliding up in his wheelchair. He’s laughing hysterically while Jamie continues to elaborate.

“…doin somersaults in that shit…,” he says.

“Backflips,” I add, and Joe’s losing it. On and on this continues.

Donnie & I head back in and get absolutely crushed for the remainder of our shift. He leaves soon enough, actually, even though Ryan, who was supposed to be in at 2:30, has not yet shown. He does eventually call to say his buddy’s car broke down on the way home from Cleveland (they went to a rave up there last night) and he’ll be here in about another hour.

Meat department is looking terrible, though, t-bones and porterhouses are on sale for $4.88 and the customers are gobbling these up the instant they hit the case. I had been slated to leave at 4 but decide to stick around, switch over to meat, fire up the bandsaw and start cranking out these steaks myself. I cut an entire case and am still barely keeping up with demand, they are flying out as fast as I can produce them. Meanwhile, Bob’s knocking out cube steaks and throwing trimmings in the grinder, while Simon, though a productive worker, is still too new to be an all-star. He and I fill up grinds on the service case, then I stock chickens, he runs the trimmings through the grinder and I cut the rest of the steaks, am still cutting at 5 when Ryan casually strolls in, with his backwards yellow baseball hat, letter K on the bill, fittingly enough…

Jamie, throughout all this, has been chilling on the picnic table out front. He needs a lift home and although he could have walked there by now, is waiting on me to take him.

September 18

Masood is in at 8 to help me set my case. This wasn’t absolutely necessary, but the bigwigs are going to be here on Wednesday and we thought it a good idea. He’s on special assignment himself now, the seafood counterpart to what Tom’s doing in meat. He’s telling me I don’t need much help overall, and I agree, but still learn quite a bit today just having him around. These new metal pans they want us to use make things look more organized, I guess, but I still prefer that sprawling fish everywhere on ice look, with kale separating the different species. But our president Bruce Lucia doesn’t want us using that anymore, so oh well. It’s just a job, who cares.

One funny incident today occurs when the truck arrives, and my ocean perch is in a goddamn wooden box, its original packaging nowhere to be found. I run up front to grab a Polaroid from the front desk, snap a picture for posterity – it helps with the claims, just in case, and is beyond that too hilarious to pass up.

But the highlight of my day is talking to Lori for 5 minutes outside after work. She’s hot but I think she digs me, even after Jamie pretty much told her I’m hoping to get with her (which is pretty much a no-no). So things seem to be moving in the right direction.

September 19

Working 8 to 4 in theory but have to stay until 6 when Mary Jo calls off. “Be prepared for a long day,” Erin warned me when I came in, and she was right. The two of them closed together last night, and Mary Jo had been bitching up a storm about this new way of setting the case. Told Erin she was going to call off today, and that’s exactly what happened.

I get it, and don’t necessarily agree with how this policy change looks, either, but there’s not much we can do about it. Instead of arranging our displays in artful fashion, with swirling display lines or whatever, on the ice, we’re doing straight vertical ones on these metal pans now. These are curved, with slits every so often for drainage – and the reason for this curved shape is so you can put out less product, but it still looks full. A huge chunk of Mary Jo’s beef, though, is that she expects me to wage some war against this, and is ticked off that I’m not doing so. Her major complaint is that she doesn’t understand why I wouldn’t set these metal trays upside down instead, so she can just yank them out. To be blunt, which is only fair considering it’s a key piece of her complaint, she is a large women and says she has trouble bending all the way to the front to grab these fish when they slide off the current, upright, mounded tray. There are a few more dishes at night now, too, in the form of these trays, but I wouldn’t say this is a major additional chore.

My responses to this are that a) I agree myself that these are kind of stupid, and definitely don’t look as nice, but b) if we are going to use them, then it does make sense to have these trays curved upright, like the bosses want them, so we don’t have to put out as much product, and also c) maybe there’s no tactful way to put this, but the depth of the case hasn’t increased any, it’s not even farther to reach in and grab fish now than it was when we put them directly on the ice.

But I don’t know, she’s just in a foul mood over these trays. So oh well. I work until 6, with Bob agreeing to work a few extra hours to close down seafood, leaving Simon to close meat alone. Greg was supposed to be here, but came in with a doctor’s note, which covers today and tomorrow. Ryan, who was due at 8 this morning but didn’t show until 9, does also stay over until 6, to help the meat department knock out cleanup.

September 20

Another messed up day. First I work 6 to 2 getting ready for the “walk through.” Home, crash for only a few moments, call Ryan, he never calls back. I drive down to the union meeting alone, though bumping into a bunch of familiar faces there, including my old pal Pete Rabquer who is a meat cutter at the Lexington Avenue store in Mansfield. We vote on this new contract, then I drive back here through a monsoon downpour. Clock in at 5:39, and close down seafood.

It looks like Mary Jo is so ticked off about this tray business that she has thrown in the towel. Rumor has it she’s already found a new job. Whatever the case, she most definitely called off today. Bob is still stuck over in meat himself. I’m able to leave at 9, but only because Jamie unexpectedly comes over here and pitches in to help me out.

September 22

Donnie stuck opening again, and I work 2-10.

September 23

Well, you can’t win them all. Hostility reaches a boiling point today with this one extremely obnoxious woman who shops here. She is constantly coming in and (among other oddities) requesting this mixture of ground pork and ground beef. Which is fine, we can put that together for her on request. The thing is, though, she continually expects it to be out on the sales floor, already packaged, which we’ve told her over and over again is actually against the rules – we’re not allowed to mix two different ground beef species and put them out for sale like that. But she always acts like never hearing this before.

Today I overhear her asking one of the meat guys, he tells her the same thing. She disappears for a couple minutes – must be out looking at the packaged section again, always moving in this completely frantic state – and then returns, flying up to the counter at a moment where she happens to catch me behind the meat counter.

“Do you have ground porknbeef?” she asks, jamming that last word together in precisely that fashion.

“Uh…well, we have ground pork, and we have ground beef…,” I tell her.

She scrunches up her features and bellows, “what, is everyone who works here stupid today!?”

From here we proceed to iron out what she wants. Even so, however, she takes issue with my attitude. “You just called me stupid,” I helpfully point out, however, believing this an adequate defense.

“No, I just asked if everyone was stupid!” she replies.

These interactions are highly unprofessional, of course, and they have the potential to snowball. But you don’t always have a chance to run for cover when the missiles come flying in. So some other customers overhear this and the next one, though usually pleasant, is kind of snappy with me as well, possibly less than impressed by that display.

But these ramifications can flow both ways. Before I explain my twisted form of retaliation, let me state for the record that I only did this, or anything even remotely like it, on one occasion in my entire working career, and it happened to Mrs. Porknbeef here. I can’t say for certain that today was the day, but I’m pretty sure it was. Anyway, after jawing with her for a minute, I dip back into the meat department to assemble her request, some ground pork mixed together with an equal amount of ground beef. Then dunk the entire ball in a sink full of dirty dish water. Tray it up, wrap the thing, price it and hand it off to her just like always. Yes, I totally did that.

In other developments, our store is having what is advertised as a “garage sale” today on a bunch of old stuff we no longer need. Jill’s mom swings through and checks it out, stops by my department to chat with me for a minute.

September 24

Me, pointing to a pan of boneless top loin chops sitting on my sink. “Your pork chops are getting soapy, man,” I say to Donnie.

As he whisks them away, we joke about this being a great new marinade. “It’s called Don’s Bubbly Delight,” he cracks.

On break, Dennis is telling some story about being younger & hunting in some woods that used to be by 161 & Cleveland, about holding a possum in place with his foot and being unable to kill it with the practice arrows he had, that they kept bouncing off the animal’s skin. Then Donnie starts talking about his gun collection, says they let him keep his M-16 from Vietnam. Of course, Ed always used to get on this kick insisting he didn’t believe for a second that Donnie was ever in Vietnam; I’m not sure about that either way, but at least the stories are entertaining.

“Only thing was they put a firing pin in there that changed it from automatic to semi-automatic. All I’d have to do is shave that pin down, though, to change it back to automatic. I know some guys that did that,” Donnie tells me, as we’re coming back inside on this gloomy afternoon.

This older lady, a customer, asks me where the eggs are at one point today.

“All the way down at the other end,” I tell her, pointing across the store.

“I knew I should have gone to Henderson Road!” she moaned, in response.

Yeah, as if driving to another store blocks away from here is quicker than wheeling your cart fifty yards. We have been seeing way more grumpy geriatrics in here, though, since Henderson started remodeling. That sent much of their elderly, set-in-their-ways crowd clanking in this direction.

Donnie’s bitching about the job Simon & whoever else had done last night. “I’ll be glad when some of these people learn how to wrap,” he mutters, bringing a package in from the case that needs redone.

September 27

Eleanor from bakery, who as previously noted is a little bit off, is pulling a cart full of empty boxes, and as I come out of the back hallway via those double swinging doors, she drops a bunch in front of me.

“Shit!” she says.

“Hey, watch the language,” I joke, “this is a family establishment.”

I stop to help her put them back on the vart and she then goes on to comment, “you need to help me take these outside.”

“Nope, this is as far as I go,” I tell her. Then unexpectedly hear Patton’s trademark laugh go off – he’s around the corner, stocking lunchmeat. I had no idea.

On the Muzak today, we’re fortunate enough to be treated to not one but two Billy Ocean songs. Whew.

Mary Jo it turns out did not decide to fully quit just yet, but has probably mentally and attitudinally checked out. Today she gets fed up with this one customer at the meat counter and tells this person, “kiss my ass!” So when the customer complains, Jana hands Mary Jo a one day suspension for her troubles. Although in truth she’s probably thankful to have the time off.

September 29

I work late. Jamie was suckered into working in the deli today – that’s how desperate they are. Meanwhile in meat, Simon got in trouble at the halfway house for walking across the street there. So he’s been suspended for 2 weeks, beginning a week from Sunday. This seems like a strange sentence, although I guess they must be conceding to the schedule that has already been written, for next week, decide not to mess that up.

September 30

Tim tells me he’s officially stepping down as head meat cutter. One reason you see a lot of guys doing this – and it partially applies to him, too – is that there’s this quirk to the meat department union contract. You only have to keep the head cutter position for six months, and then if you step down, you only lose 20 cents an hour. Which leaves you making way more money than you previously had been as the backup.

October 1

Somehow get on this kick singing Xmas carols at work with Donnie and Erin. Donnie’s in one of his zany moods and kicks things off by making up his own tunes, even, splicing bits of one favorite holiday chestnut with another. A sample:

“…then one foggy Christmas eve, Santa came to say…I’ll have a blue-oooooh Christmas without youuuuu….”

Then cracks up and starts all over again with something else. What got all this started, incidentally, is us talking about that awesome jazzy Xmas tape of ours & how we can’t wait till it’s time to break that puppy out again. Then I began humming Silent Night and it was all downhill from there.

Next thing I know he’s singing 12 Days Of Christmas, then I start improvising the gifts we could really use at this point: “two seafood clerks…one head meat cutter…” et cetera.

Donnie then pipes up with, “and a big fat waaaaaaaaaaaterrrrr bonnnnnnnggggg!”

Erin starts cracking up, joins in the fun with the next rundown: “Three Vicodan…,” she sings.

I come in next with, “…two seafood clerks…” and Donnie wraps things up by once again crowing, “and a big fat water bong!” and cracks himself up all over again. This customer I’m waiting on at that moment, some kid in his early twenties, starts grinning over at Donnie while watching this performance.

“Has Donnie been in Erin’s purse?” Bob wonders.

I came in at 8:30 today, thinking I was running half an hour late despite the extremely short drive. Tim & Tim are sitting outside on break when I arrive. It turns out that Jana changed my schedule from 8 to 6am for the start time, however, but I didn’t know it and neither did they. Whatever, though. It was an absurd change to begin with and the hours I’m actually here are probably better. They could at least let you know if they’re making drastic updates like this. Of course, you always feel like they’re hinting around that they are making some sort of nebulous “point” with these changes. Well, the point obviously is, they are in charge and you are not. But there’s no need to even spell that one out.

October 8

Get in to work this morning and discover that I won both halves of the football pool – my 1st ever victory! $20 prize on a $4 investment – not bad. I treat everyone by buying a dozen Krispy Kreme donuts from our bakery.

Later, I cook up some outdated patties or steaks or something for everyone for lunch, and we make the mistake of leaving our half empty cooking pans sistting out on the meat department’s desk. I’m waiting on a customer and here comes Jana breezing past me, flying in our swinging door before I or anyone else has time to react.

“What’s this?” she demands, pointing at our pans.

“Lunch,” Tim tells her, not missing a beat as he continues cutting beef.

“Why is this back here? You know you guys aren’t allowed to cook,” she says.

“We thought you had the day off,” Tim quips, and she storms off without another word said.

It’s possible I’ve never laughed this hard on any occasion, and certainly not while on the job here. It turns out I’m not alone, however, as pretty much everyone’s busting a gut over this one. “Good answer, good answer,” Patton tells him.

October 12

Ed Bianco calls to see what kind of crab legs I have, says he’s got a buddy who wants to come in and buy some. Then he asks about Mary Jo, although I don’t initially know who he means.

“How’s my girlfriend?” he asks.

“Who?” I say.

“Mary Jo,” he laughs, “how’s she doing?”

“Ah, she’s still hanging in there,” I tell him.

“Yeah,” he scoffs, “like old luggage.”

Earlier in the day, Mike Harper and Donnie actually tackled some shoplifter outside. It’s always interesting to put all talk aside and see how people truly respond in a certain situation. Anyway, this guy had lifted six cartons of cigarettes and strolled out the door. They saw the whole thing, chased him, threw themselves at the dude. Management appreciates their dedication but basically tells them, yeah, maybe don’t do that ever again. That’s not such a hot idea.

So now everyone in the meat department is calling Donnie “Crime Dog.” In other developments, we all decide to grow beards back here today. Tim, Bob and I just have goatees at present; Ryan, Donnie, and Patton already have full blown beards, and we make a pact to join them.

October 14

I had told Ryan I might come in at 7 today, to get a jump on things. But am scheduled for 8 and this is when I show up. When I arrive, he and Patton are stocking the wall case.

“What happened to seven?” he asks with a laugh, as I approach them.

“Well, I didn’t get to bed until 7:14,” I say.

“What do you do when you’re up that late?” Patton asks, grinning.

“More than you can imagine,” I tell him, and he rattles off one of his trademark high volume machine gun maniac laughs.

In other news, Kammeraad dressed like “Ghost Dog” today. I manage to leave at 3 – Tim’s birthday.

October 15

I work 8 to 4:30 at my store – at least during Phase I. As far as Phase II, it is unexpectedly kicked into motion when Tommy Baytos calls me. He is at Chambers Road now and I was so desperate for help that I reached out to them, to see if they could spare any bodies for a shift or two. At which point he volunteered himself. But is now calling, “to see if you still need me tomorrow.”

“You’re supposed to work here tonight!” I tell him.

Well, these entries here can’t all be sunshine and are often not for the faint of heart. But I’m not just going to redact every negative comment about everyone, nice guys or not, even though some of this might come off as cruel. To give a bit of backstory, Tommy is this dude with one somewhat lame arm – I’m not sure exactly what, but there’s some sort of physical challenge there – who used to be head seafood at Dublin, pulled such consistently horrific grosses there (like negative 50%) that they eventually asked him to step down.

One day back in the spring of ’97, when Mike Green was still head seafood here, he’d had Tommy over here to close one night. Doug and I were in meat for that shift and couldn’t believe what a horrific, half assed job Baytos did, even blowing out of here early on top of it, with the place in absolute shambles.

“He is never working here again,” Mike had said the next day, upon viewing the results.

In more recent times, despite being stepped down at Dublin, they posted head seafood at Chambers just before I returned here. Tommy signed up for it, but so did Ed Bianco. I still find it unbelievably hilarious that they actually picked Tommy over Ed – which just goes to show how down they were on Fast Eddie by that point. Still, I think Baytos should theoretically know at least enough to fill in as an emergency replacement for one night. And yet, it seems that Mike Green may have been on the money after all, for Tommy is telling me he thought it was tomorrow morning, and he can’t work here tonight.

I’m glad he called, actually, but still. As I relate to the meat department that Tommy can’t make it, I start cracking up hysterically. Donnie, who knows who Baytos is, shakes his head and laughs right along with me.

“You know it’s frustrating,” he observes, “but sometimes all you can do is laugh. Am I right?”

“Yes,” I agree, nodding my head as I cackle some more.

But the problem is, Worthington Galena had already roped me into a 5-9 shift over there tonight. So now this ridiculous, unprecedented (as far as I can recall) scenario will have me driving there to work four hours, then returning here to close up shop. Ryan is in meat until 6, though, and Bob and Greg are closing over there, they agree this should be fine.

I return here for a quick 9:15-10, bare minimum closing job on my own department. Bob and Greg are still struggling to get meat closed when I jet. Bob says Sarah is flipping out but oh well.

One funny thing happens during this nine o’clock hour. We’re all busting a hump trying to close down, when first someone up front jacks the volume on our overhead Muzak up full blast. Then switches it to some Mexican radio station. Bob’s cussing, getting fed up with this music, but I think it’s hilarious. And this has to be either Nick or Mike doing this, I’m telling myself, as soon as it happens.

This suspicion is all but confirmed when I hear Costill get on the intercom, saying, “Kim red line, por favor, Kim red line.” And am therefore laughing uncontrollably while cleaning the floor, trying to get the hell out of here.

A word about Kroger intercom lingo: at every store where I’ve ever worked, red and green lines refer to internal communication channels, for speaking to someone else in the building; when you hear someone get on the intercom and announce, “all departments, blue line, all departments, blue line,” however, that is a code. This means they are opening up the back dock so that everyone can take out their trash. And if you ever hear them page Mike White, this is a code name for the plainclothes spy type person that is often wandering around the store, keeping an eye on things while pretending to shop.

October 16

Opening early. Donnie’s in meat filling the service case, talking about these marinated steaks he’s preparing. “This looks like my puppy’s diarrhea,” he says about this one marinade. More of Sarah’s flirtations with me. But in possibly more significant news, she’s also hired me this new guy. It’s this black dude whose actual first name is Arthur, though he likes to be called Rick. He’s yet another halfway house character, although something tells me this one will be different. For starters, he’s a really sharp guy – he had a degree in engineering or something comparable, and a great job, then got mixed up with drugs and his life totally disintegrated from there.

But he also happens to be really funny, too. Actually the first thing he says to me, beyond simple introductions, is to start in with, “I want to speak to you about the Lord.” I’m standing there speechless in response, thinking, oh, great, this is just what we need back here, but then he begins cracking up and says he’s just messing with me.

Mary comes over to close with Rick, thus saving me another 12+ hour day.

October 17

Up at 7:30, drive in heavy rain for my 8-4 shift. Rick is in at 2 to close. “You missed it last night,” he tells me, “I think the Miss America finalists for the last five years were all in here shopping.”

Yes, I believe this new guy’s going to work out just fine.

Tommy Baytos is in to see how my shop’s set up – he’ll be opening for me tomorrow, dear Lord. I’m asking him what was up with his bad grosses in Dublin.

October 18

After working earlier at Worthington Galena, I make it here for a 1-5 shift. Ryan only discovers now that Bob is supposed to switch over to seafood at that point, and is none too happy about this development – I guess he should have checked the schedule before agreeing to flip-flop shifts with Tim.

“It’s only been up for a week,” I tell him.

But they are in bad shape & I have all sorts of catching up to do myself, which means I’m not actually able to leave until 7 anyway. And Jana doesn’t help matters any by calling me on the intercom to bitch about me switching things around without management approval, including me working over at 879 this morning. Maybe this looks weird on paper or whatever, until you consider the sequence of events – I can’t possibly be here every minute of every day, and rustled up what help I could from elsewhere to cover in the blanks. Which ended up being less than expected anyway after Tommy already canceled on Sunday, and Mary was only able to work 4 hours on Monday instead of the full 8 I wanted. If this chance to fill in over at 879 came in after I’d already lined up Tommy to work here, then this is none of Jana’s business. Whatever I’m doing when away from here is none of her business.

We’ve got bigger problems elsewhere around the store regardless. Jamie is in the store today, fresh out of jail and acting mellow, and I tell him I feel bad for not bailing him out. “It was the best thing for me, though,” he says – is buying magazines, which is an appropriate metaphor in that he says he’s reaady to turn a new page. He’s got AA meetings to attend, drug counseling lined up, anger management as well, is on two years’ probation…oh, and he has just lost his job.

Meat is so desperate that Paul is helping them wrap today, and I overhear him telling Ryan & Bob about this decision to fire Jamie, as a result of the jail stint.

“But I had a felony (busted with a pound of weed) when I was working for Kroger, and nobody fired me,” Ryan points out.

“Well, it’s not so much the misdemeaneor as it is the time he’s missed,” Paul explains.

“What about Simon?” Bob shoots back. Simon of course recently received a two week suspension from the halfway house for walking across the street, yet still has a job. Paul has no answer for this one, but I think the most simple explanation is that they’re tired of dealing with Jamie and this gives them a convenient escape hatch. After all, we’re bringing in felons from the halfway house all the time; it makes no sense to argue that a current employee with a 3rd degree misdemeanor is no longer permitted to work here.

Jamie’s already been on the horn with our union rep, Randy Quickel, though, about keeping his job. So Randy told him to be here in the morning, they’ll attempt to hash things out with management.

October 21

Arrive here this morning somewhat ticked off about the way my shop looks. Management has insisted I have two days off a week now, so they gave me Thursday and Friday off (the past two days) with Donnie coming over from meat to open both. I’m not exactly mad at Donnie, because at least he volunteers to help me out, and I really do appreciate the help – especially since nobody else from meat except Bob will come anywhere near this place, and Bob has not yet learned how to set the case or anything else about opening. Still, the place is somewhat in shambles, things are out of stock and left undone, which is what’s going to happen much of the time with fill-in emergency help. And even a half-assed job from Donnie is still better than a 100% job from almost anybody else they’d throw in here to cover my off days, or whomever I might rustle up on my own.

Mostly I just don’t get management. Especially after that last conversation with Jana – you tell me I’m not allowed to have overtime here now…but are ticked off when I pull down some overtime at another store (which doesn’t get charged to my own labor budget, obviously)…and some of these shifts here have to be covered by someone anyway, which could have been me, but they’re not…and then to top it all off, they’ve nixed the personal day I requested next Saturday. You always feel like instead of trying to, you know, sell groceries, they’re constantly trying to make some “point.” But what point is this? Just act normal. Are we trying to run a business here or not? And it’s usually not the store manager, who typically knows what she is doing and has the authority to make it happen, it’s almost always assistant managers playing a bunch of weird games that they think will help move them up the career ladder. This is where the friction originates.

Damon drifts through at 2 to tell me a few interesting tidbits, then at the same time Maria calls, and Masood shows up…all while I’ve got two customers at my counter, which I am waiting on in turn. Finally after dispensing with everyone else, I’m able to see what Masood needs. It turns out he’s only looking for some egg boxes, for unspecified reasons.

“I don’t think we save egg boxes here, only banana boxes,” I tell him.

Donnie was scheduled 1 to 9 today but called off. He might be worn out after the back to back shifts handling seafood solo (which, owing to the layout here, often means you are left high and dry as the de facto meat counter dude, too). But then Ed Bianco swings by to conduct some sort of business with Tim (I spot Tim handing Ed some money) and he is cracking up about this development.

“Who does he think he’s kidding?” Ed says of Donnie, “it’s gorgeous outside! I’m sure he’s really home in bed right now with the blankets pulled up to his chin…”

But then he’s talking about his construction job, how it was rough the first two weeks, that he’d come home hobbling and sore. Now, they’re ripping up curbs and tossing them up into the bed of a truck, chunks of concrete “about as big as a loaf of bread, except they don’t weigh the same as a loaf of bread,” he says, and it’s no big deal at this point. “You’ll have a little swelling in the elbow…,” he concludes, explaining the symptoms involved in this line of work.

Just then, a cute, skinny brunette walks past, boasting a perky handful of titties, her nipples rock hard underneath a tight grey tee shirt.

“Speaking of swelling…,” I mutter.

“No shit,” Ed agrees, continuing to watch her as she moves away from us, “I’m sporting some gristle right about now.”

So talk then shifts to the non-stop parade of beauties that drift through this fair store. “That’s one thing I miss about working here,” he says, “Every now and then we’ll have a hot one walk by us on the sidewalk, but it’s different when you’re out there working with power tools…” A funny statement in its own right, but doubly so for phonetic reasons – he always pronounces words that start with a p with a big puff of air (“puh-ower”) and the “oo” sounds like “ewwww,” which truly elevates a phrase like “power tools” or “blankets pulled up around his chin.”

But yes…you could see where power tools + hot women might equal a dangerous combination. “You got guys coming in with toes missing…,” Ed jokes (I think).

“Yeah,” I elaborate with a laugh, “you’re using a jackhammer when some hottie walks by and…”

We both crack up, and this is when Tim appears, handing Ed that money. “See ya later,” Ed says to me.

“Off today?” I ask.

“Yep,” he says in parting, “weekends off.”

“I don’t wanna hear it!” I moan.

“Holidays off,” he grins.

“I don’t wanna hear it!”

He laughs and is gone. All those perks and he’s making 23 bucks an hour. And so to state the obvious, who got the last laugh here? Kroger Company? I don’t think so.

I’m off at 4. Bob Carver is in to close seafood (meat, too, since Donnie called off, with our own Bob Harrison off at 7 and Greg alone after that point). In produce, this is also Kris Kammeraad’s last day – he’s been shipped off to Sawmill Road as a backup, against his will. So there’s a little gathering at Roosters on Henderson, which I hit immediately after leaving here.

Kris, Miles, and some Scott guy are already here. Linda Watson shows up, then some hottie from the Dublin store named Jenny (Kris is seeing her mom), then Damon (I told him about it when he was here) and eventually Lisa Varner.

Scott, as it turns out, will unexpectedly complete my “research,” if you will, concerning the last missing link as far as who’d been in meat/seafood when this store opened. I knew there was one other guy, but I couldn’t remember who. Then sitting here today, I’m thinking he looks familiar, and finally figure it out. He’s saying he lasted here all of one week before quitting – and it’s extremely interesting for me to hear him give the reason why.

“No one would help me out or tell me what to do, I felt like I was just standing there not contributing anything,” he says.

Which is exactly my experience as well, precisely how I got the nickname Pockets; the difference is they’re not helping Scott at all and he quits after a week – they don’t help me out at all, and I stand around with my hands in my pockets for eight months, just waiting on some customers whenever they appear.

Jenny invites everyone back to her place to drink some more. By this point Damon has split, however, as have Linda and Lisa – it’s just her and us four guys. She seems really cool, a blue eyed cutie with long curly blonde hair. And she likes to party, too, from the looks of it. “I’m sitting right here all night,” she says at one point, which is a far cry from most of these women we run into, who, wherever they’re at, act as though they’ve got someplace better to be.

Or at least she’s saying this before eventually inviting us over. But what about that rock on her finger? Well, she repeatedly refers to her man as an asshole and when this comes up, it seems that he will not be there.

October 22

Another early shift, and as I arrive, Chef Jennifer is hanging out in the meat department, talking to Tim. And to me it looks like he might already be high on pot this fine autumn morning. But anyway, she wants me to intervene on her behalf, on this musical discussion they are having.

“Tell him who George Clinton is!” she urges me, “he doesn’t know!”

“You don’t know who George Clinton is?” I gasp, explain, “black guy, long dreadlocks all different colors, used to land onstage in a spaceship…?”

Tim shrugs, says, “if they didn’t party with Van Halen, Aerosmith, or Led Zeppelin, I don’t know who they are.”

I have a busy day running around like a madman. Mary Jo in at 2 for closing shift, after being on vacation all last week. I’m off at 4.

October 23

A 2-10 shift, sighing as I leave. “I know, that’s how I feel,” Sarah says, overhearing this.

October 24

Dennis Tracy in early & Tim too to set up for our new president’s visit. Lucia recently transferred to Georgia to be with his family, so they’ve got this chick from Michigan running the show now & we need to look sharp. A good visit means we don’t see her again for another year; a bad one means she’ll be back soon – that’s the way these things go.

Dennis & Tim set up their case the “old” way, flowing in waves everywhere instead of those straight line pans. Dennis is cutting up pineapples & peppers & throwing lots of kale in there with the meat, it really does look great except he gets done and there’s one gaping hole left.

“Tom’s not even here and we got a T.T. Hole,” Tim jokes to Dennis, explains, “that’s what we used to call it, the T.T Hole – every day, when Tom set the case, he’d do beef and I’d do pork, and he’d leave this one hole in the corner.”

“Put a six pack in there like they do at 273,” I suggest.

Dennis fills it with a watermelon cut in half and a bottle of wine. Some manager type walks by and makes a comment to Dennis about liking the case he set, that it “had flair.”

“Ric Flair…,” Dennis mutters, as she walks away.

Later on, I’m upstairs getting an order together (it has been a very slow day), and Sarah tells Dale, the produce manager, that she came up with a slogan for some sign she was supposed to put up, begging for help, that people should apply for a job in his department.

“PICK OUT YOUR PRODUCE AND PICK UP YOUR APPLICATION,” she says, revealing the slogan. Then wonders aloud, “what about seafood…” since she needs to find me one more person as well.

“FISHING FOR A JOB?” she suggests, coming up with this on the spot, soon enough.

“YOU’VE GOT CRABS AND SO DO WE,” Dale offers, and we all start cracking up. You know, for such a straight laced dude, he sure does say some funny shit. Then again I guess that’s part of what makes it so funny.

October 26

Donnie is frustrated with the help situation around here, and surely looking forward to leaving. “They expect you to fly with the eagles, but then make you work with a bunch of turkeys,” he says.

October 28

Donnie’s last day. There’s a cake demo lady with her table set up close to our department for much of the day. Erin asks for a piece, is somewhat ticked that she’s only given a sliver. So then we see that lady leave her station, and Erin says to me (with a degree of urgency), “grab the plate!” So I dash out to get it, which has about five pieces or so cut for sampling. Erin takes those, stashes them in our department, while I put the plate back, walk away like nothing ever happened. The two of us are wolfing down the bounty we’ve collected, giggling and cursing the stingy demo lady.

“Teach that bitch a lesson,” Erin says.

“Don’t fuck with us, lady,” I agree.

October 29

Buddy is our new head meat cutter, brought in to take over for Tim. He seems like a pretty cool, laidback guy overall – maybe just a little bit on the cocky side, but nothing too extreme – has a long ponytail, might possibly be somewhat black. Simon is back now too. I’m only scheduled for a half day, 7:30-11:30.

October 30

2-10 shift with Erin and Simon. Insanely busy night. Mary Jo had opened seafood this morning, broken toes and all.

October 31

In at 8. The demo lady had brought a different kind of cake and left it sit in my freezer Saturday, half gone. I’d been nibbling on it last night, figuring that if she wanted it that badly, she would have remembered to take it with her Saturday or even Sunday, when she came in to work again. Today, I bust it out, Erin & I are cracking up all over again about that stingy old hag.

“That’s what she gets,” Erin opines while partaking of this new cake. Even Buddy joins in.

Mike Sturgill from Henderson Road is in, shopping for groceries with his woman. What a cool, nice guy he is, and he never fails to crack me up, too. Example: I’m stocking my seafood freezer, Mike comes by and sptos the big sale we’re having on Gorton’s items.

Mike: (grabbing two boxes) “what are these, buy one snag one free?”

November 1

I’d turned in my schedule Monday night, and now it’s Wednesday, Jana’s paging me on the intercom. When I get on the phone with her, she’s basically chewing me out, saying my schedule isn’t feasible in its current state. She’s trying to figure out now how she can rewrite it so that:

a) I’m here for inventory on Monday

b) I can squeeze in a personal day, since I still have 3 left for the year, and they crossed one out in each of the past two weeks already

c) some coverage Tuesday morning, since I have to be at some big f*@king department head meeting across town, which is trickier now that Mary Jo can only work Sundays, Mondays, and Thursdays. And Donnie has been shipped out as well.

d) a night shift for me, since everyone is supposedly required to work one per week

e) an early morning elsewhere, so that I can clean the case

At the end of the conversation, nonetheless, Jana has no answers and says, “I’ll get back with you on it.”

Mary Jo never shows and I can’t get ahold of Rick to come in on short notice, therefore have to work over until 6:15. Buddy makes a comment which sticks in my head, says, “I don’t get paid to close seafood.” I’ll remember that one. Overall he does seem okay to me, although I get the feeling the guys in meat aren’t too crazy about their new boss. Patton & Greg are closing meat and agree to paper down my seafood case at the end of the night, a decent enough compromise, so I’m not stuck here from open to close.

November 2

It’s slow and I only have to fluff & rotate the trays & bowls in my case, as they’d only been papered down last night. Buddy is off and wanted Patton & Ryan to do all kinds of stuff, but they’re not really stressing, figure they’re the only two in meat this morning and can only do so much. Nice easy day for me, though, everything is done and then some by the time Rick shows up at 2. I manage to find odd jobs and stay busy until about a quarter till 3, then split.

Despite Jana’s hand wringing and grousing over my schedule, it gets posted today…(drum roll if you please) exactly as I wrote it.

November 6

In at 7 to take inventory. Erin and Buddy get into a shouting match, then Andy comes up and says, “your head meat cutter’s gonna get punched in the mouth.” I laugh about this one for hours.

November 7

Ridiculous day hustling around to set case, then leaving at 11:15 for holiday meeting at Stoneridge Shopping Center – boring talk in movie theater there, followed by a “walk thru” of the Kroger up the sidewalk. Buddy has no clue how to get there, and follows me. We eat appetizers & mingle – too many familiar faces to list. Among the most surprising though might be Wayne Cyphers, this dude I went to school with. He’s now head produce at the 4th Street store in Mansfield.

Anyway, as far as the meeting, we’re sitting in one of the theaters, so they can use one of the screens. Everyone picks their own seat at random, and I land about maybe 3/4 of the way up, with Dennis Tracy sitting to my immediate left. “As soon as the lights go down,” he says to me, jerks his thumb toward the exit to indicate he is bolting. But though that may have been in keeping with character, he does manage somehow to sit through the whole thing.

Some dork in a suit gets up front and cracks, “I know you all came here expecting to see Titans…“

“Digimon,” Joe Barnes whispers behind me.

Then, an hour and four speakers later (president, two VPs, advertising chief), we are able to head next door to the store. I meet up with Buddy, Dennis, Ed Lloyd, et al back in the meat/seafood department as a succession of meat merchandisers explain to us how our shops should be set up for the holidays. By 2 o’clock we’re calling it a day – no sense in driving clear back cross town to work an hour, then turn around and drive all the way back home. At least not for me. And nobody else is going back to work, either, but although many continue standing around and shooting the bull, I just split.

November 11

Feeling mighty hungover this morning. It’s Erin’s last day here, too, sadly enough, she’s transferring to Dublin – I bring her a bottle of bubbly as a going away present. “You’re crazy!” she says, but laughing, appreciates the gesture. At one point today, Tim’s shaking his head & mumbling something about our new boss Buddy, and Bob asks him what’s wrong.

“He came back to get a coat to wear in the freezer, said it was cold!” Tim remarks, “I thought men were men…guess I was wrong.”

We assumed he would be transferred somewhere when he stepped down, but so far that hasn’t happened. And thankfully so, considering how bad we need solid help around here.

November 13

Work opening shift. Pointless department head meeting from 12:30 to 1:30. Greg shows up at 4 to close seafood – first time ever, I give him a quick primer course.

November 14

Another early shift. Today Tom stops in and is talking his usual sports GM type wheeling and dealing proposals with moving people around. After awhile maybe you start to tune this stuff out – or at least take it less seriously – because most of it never happens. But it sure is interesting to listen to, if nothing else. Whatever the case, he does known his stuff, as neither Tim nor Buddy has quite been able to post the same results since he left. And this is with Tim being in my opinion the 2nd best I’ve ever seen, from a meat cutting standpoint.

Today, Tom’s saying Ryan cannot work in seafood on Saturday (Buddy’s idea, which he got ripped for; although as I’m pointing out, the only other option is to stick Bob over there, to cover my day off – at which point Ryan would have the option to bump him out of there and grab the overtime himself if he wants anyway, since he has more seniority). But Tom has a trump card of sorts in announcing that Bob’s being slid over into seafood permanently, at least for now. Bob’s kind of pissed about this development – he will continually rant for the next little while, to Tom and whomever, that meat cutting is a “skill” and slinging fish is not. While I would disagree with that assessment, I know what he means, from the standpoint of which pays the most money, long term. He’d hoped to be entering the meat cutter program soon but it looks like that’s being put on hold for now.

In other news, there are rumors than if they do decide to post the head cutter position up in Delaware (Donnie was just given it on a provisional/trial/emergency basis) then Ryan might sign up for it, at which point he would probably get it over Donnie. I know Ryan’s been saying for awhile now that he wants to be the youngest head meat cutter around these parts, so this isn’t too far fetched a scenario.

November 20

Sarah’s going around asking what, if anything, everyone plans on bringing to our Thanksgiving meal on Wednesday. “A bag of chips,” I tell her.

“We’ve already got that covered,” she says. When I alter my response slightly to suggest Dorito’s specifically, then, she replies, “we’ve got that covered, too.”

Buddy, who is busy weighing turkeys nearby, chimes in with, “a fifth of whiskey and a dime bag.”

Sarah shoots him a gimme a break type look and suggests, “something legal.”

“Whiskey’s legal,” I point out.

“So what are you guys bringing?” she says again, resetting this conversation back to the beginning, as though totally erasing our first responses from her memory.

“Fifth of whiskey and a dime bag,” Buddy reiterates.

Sarah starts to walk away, so I call out, “Hairy Buffalo!”

“I’ll get back to you guys,” she says.

November 21

Work 8-6:30 after Rick calls off. My former coworker Colleen (Damon’s on Olentangy) is in here shopping. Well, this script has played out in all too predictable fashion yet again. Back then, you know, she’d been decent looking, cute but not earth shattering, and I probably could have made something happen with her if I ever thought about it or tried to; now, of course, she looks absolutely fantastic. We talk a little bit, but nothing really comes of it. My best bet would be if she continues to shop here down the road.

But there are always plenty of options swirling around. The battle half the time actually seems to be focusing your efforts, and just deciding on one reasonable target at a time. To that end I’m feeling a little more confident about another project in the works, which rears its head and is already apparently common knowledge, as I learn during a highly unexpected phone call from Ed Lloyd. He’s at Dublin now after they busted up the Henderson Road crew, and sounds mighty trashed (so I can only hope this means he is already off for the day, though nothing would surprise me.) He’s called here looking for Tim, but I answered the phone, tell him that Tim is on break. For whatever reason he makes me promise not to mention this call, because he wants it to be a surprise when he tries back later.

“What’s this I hear you’ve been scoping out that one girl in our deli?” Ed asks, however. I laugh and confirm that yes, it’s true. This would be that blonde Jenny chick who’d been out with us for Kammeraad’s goodbye party. Conveniently enough Erin has just transferred over there as well, and I asked her to try and hook me up with that chick. So we’ll see what happens.

“You ol’ dog, you,” Ed concludes with a laugh.

Tim and Simon are closing meat. Though I stay over quite a bit, they are watching seafood and shutting ‘er down for me beyond that point.

November 22

An insane day, I work 6:51 to 4:48. We do $3200 in seafood sales! It happens to be Sarah’s last day, too.

“I’m gonna miss looking at her,” I tell Rick.

“Me too,” he agrees.

I got my hair cut last night at Jill’s behest. So today Tom and Jeremy both tell me I looked like Charles Manson before, with the long, stringy locks. “Very scary,” Jeremy adds, so I think maybe this was the correct call in chopping it off.

November 24

Work 8 to 4. Very slow. Jana’s trying to be friendly now talking to me about her boring Thanksgiving. Marlene tells me, “I have to be honest, seeing youo the other day with your hair long and no hat on, it put to mind that you looked like Jesus. Especially your profile.”

“That’s not good!” I tell her with a laugh. Thinking more that I was sullying this image, obviously, than anything else.

“Yes it is!” she says.

“I guess so, I guess. Maybe I should have kept it long.”

“Yes, you should have,” she agrees. Wow. Telling me I should have left my hair long…driving a PT Cruiser to work..Marlene is a hip, hip old lady.

Those bastards at the warehouse billed me for 2 cases of salmon, but never sent them. So this means I have to call up Henderson Road to see if they can spare some. Mary answers, it’s her last day before she ships out, having transferred to a far east side store that’s closer to home. She sounds a wee bit testy, but says I can come over and take one case.

Some Vern girl is working back there, I swear I thought she was going to molest me before I even had a chance to get out of there. Whew. She’s got a nice body but the face leaves much to be desired. David is here, too, we chat for a minute while I grab (literally) a piece of Mary’s going away cake.

“Now there’s a kind of man I like, eating with his hands!” Vern says as I’m leaving, pushing a cart full of salmon with one mitt and eating with the other.

November 25

Run over and borrow 2 more cases of salmon from Henderson. Drizzling outside. Vince is there, Masood too. Vern follows me out to my car.

November 26

8 to 4 shift

November 27

Jill and I both work early

November 28

I’m off but they’ve got this Jeff guy back in meat now. Ryan’s telling me all about it the next day, says this new guy is bugging the hell out of him. Like Jeff stirs up a bowl of ground pork to make it look fresher, brings it out to where Ryan is – stocking chicken on the wall case – to show him how good it looks.

“He’s worse than Donnie,” Ryan says.

November 29

David from Henderson is in, says Vern has the hots for me (not exactly a newsflash) and has asked Masood to hook us up. “I’d hit it, but that’s about it,” he cautions. I think this is pretty cool of him, not just letting me know but warning me about her as well. Although I’ve already seen enough to know she is mighty aggressive.

On break I’m reading this hysterical Other Paper article about a campus riot after the Michigan game last Saturday, which might seriously be the funniest piece ever written. Today is also notable for another Miles soundbite, “slow motion is my girlfriend.” At least I think this is what he said.

Meanwhile, Jeff is getting on Ryan’s nerves some more today. “He’s forty something years old, and I’ve got to babysit him,” Ryan mutters to me at one point, “I feel like a scout leader.”

December 3

In for work at 8. Angus ribeye steak for breakfast.

“My reign as supreme commander is over,” Ryan tells us this afternoon, when he arrives at 2. He’d been the acting head cutter all last week with Buddy on vacation.

Tim’s standing back at the one table cutting beef, his hat just laying ever so gently upon his head, with the bangs hanging down, like always, an extremely hilarious look that he always favors. “Is that what that was?” he cracks, about Ryan’s “reign.”

Tom Robinson calls, he’s an assistant store manager at Worthington Galena now instead of Dublin. Says they’re completely out of t-bones and porterhouses, meaning they have none cut and nobody to cut them. So I agree to head over there and help them, after I leave this place.

December 4

In at 6 for inventory. Easy, productive morning turns into hectic afternoon & I fly through the last two hours trying to get everything done, split at 2 as scheduled without even waiting for Rick to arrive – management’s kooky hours-slashing scheme has Rick closing seafood and meat tonight, with the last person otherwise being Jeff, who leaves at 7. I know Rick’s going to be pissed and want to get the hell out of here.

Ah, but we did eat good this morning. Angus ribeyes again, this time having marinated in Korean sesame dressing overnight. Yum. Followed that up with some breakfast sausage links.

December 27

Blowout on way to work, have to drop car off at Goodyear. Horrible afternoon. Jill’s deathly ill at work and has to go to hospital. Jana pages me on the intercom when it happens, has me bring a…candy bar upstairs, because her theory is that Jill’s blood sugar is low, that this is the issue. So she’s sprawled out on the conference room’s carpeted floor, Jana’s attending to her, dispenses the candy bar before the paramedics come. I head back to my department.

2001

February 10

Work 8-3.

March 17

My last day before vacation. I’ve got an insane amount of stuff to do today but am on sheer adrenaline and fly through all of it by 11, the halfway point of my shift. Can just coast from here on out.

March 20

I’m forced to grit my teeth and swing by to make out a schedule. Only to discover that management has done so already anyway. I’m jazzed to see they’ve given me Sunday off as well, extending this fantastic vacation by another day.  Technically speaking, I really should be here on Sunday to reload, handle price changes and set up sales displays.  But if they’re going to give the day off, I’m really not going to object. 

April 1

Somehow plow through seven plus hours (8 to 3:15) of work, despite being up late last night.

April 2

Leave work early – at 2:45 – and some birds, Canadian Geese I’d say (I’m no expert) are quacking by my car. “Baseball! Opening day!” they seem to be saying, and yes, it is true.

April 4

Working unbelievably slow night, just me and John Maul. He transferred here awhile back from the Rome Hilliard store. This dude is a goof ball, let me tell you. Nice guy and all, but still. Lopes around in his baggy pants, laughing at everything…he does produce some funny, unexpected comments every now and then, however.

We’re putting away the meat from our cases and he says something so funny I swear I haven’t laughed this hard in weeks; mostly, I think it’s because I never expected him to intentionally say anything comical at all.

                “What’s with these burgers?” he gasps, eyeing this pile of misshapen, oversized beef patties Dennis had cut earlier, ones I’d already noted as looking absolutely terrible, “these might be good,” he scoffs, “but only if you’re hungry, or stoned.”

                I laugh my ass off, catch him muttering something about, “looks like they were cut with a scraper,” as he walks away.

                Usually, however, John says things that are unintentionally funny, during times he’s trying to be serious but doesn’t realize how doltish he sounds.  Two examples from this evening:

                “Man I saw this chick the other day she had perfect legs, long hair, perfect face…she had to have been a junior in college or something, man.”

                “Most of the girls I meet in online chat rooms turn out to be, like, 300 pounds or really ugly or else they’ve got something else wrong with them….they’re not like most of the guys in chat rooms, normal like me.”

                Incidentally, Bob also took one look at those hamburger patties and posed the definitive question: “Did Dennis cut those,” he wondered, “before or after hitting the bar?”

                Dennis is known in some circles for being quite the drunk; myself, I rather like the guy, he’s real easy to work for. Well, so this is the timeline we’ve had here on the head meat cutter front. Tom Tatera was here for the first 3 1/2 years of this store’s existence, but it’s been mighty turbulent since then. Tim Young and Buddy Farrell each lasted about two months. Then, after they busted up the Henderson Road crew, Dennis Tracy was brought over here to run the place (and we also got Melissa as part of that package deal).

                Tonight, John and I are also laughing at these stupid food safety posters, one of which showed this dude dressed in riot gear to clean our band saw.  Right on, brother. A bit excessive, but whatever works for you.

                In an entirely unrelated note, I saw the year’s first pair of panties today.  Funny how something like that can give you such a jolt. Damon was the first guy to clue me into this phenomenon, back when he worked at that Mansfield Kroger. A ton of the guys at that store were hip to this trick. This is by no means the most P.C. thing in the universe to admit, but in the name of posterity, I should probably document it. The thing is, for whatever reason, a ton of the frozen and refrigerated cases in these Kroger stores have shiny reflective metal strips at the bottom, angled at about a 45 degree angle. These are for all intents and purposes mirrors. If you stand the right angle…you can see right up some chick’s skirt. And we’re not talking like, eh, I can sort of see what’s going on there – no, it’s plain as day.

Rounding the corner to stock something or other, I notice this attractive brunette is wearing one of those frilly kind of skirts like a tennis chick or cheerleader might, bright pink.  Looking down at the chrome beneath her as she stands in front of my seafood case and her white cotton panties are staring me in the face.  I can even see her camel toes, it’s an incredibly erotic scene – and funny how I used to try and tell guys at this store about how much you can see but they’d laugh.  I don’t even bother anymore, it’s my own little secret.  Walk around quite amped up for the rest of the shift, though, from that but also the heretofore unthinkable sight of Carrie working all night with the top three buttons of her shirt undone; I’ve never seen her act like this before, don’t know what got into her tonight but it sure was appreciated.

April 7

So many fine honeys are in shopping today, including Stephanie, the blonde barmaid from Arlington Cafe. Seems she’s good friends with Dennis from when he was head cutter over at Henderson Road.

April 12

I’d been scheduled 2 to 10 at work but with our new president coming in, Marnette Perry, management felt it would be wiser for me to come in earlier and get the place looking sharp.  At least my own stake in it, anyway.  So I drifted in at 9:30 instead.

But I have to pay a bill today across town and they close at 6, so I need to scoot out before 8 hours is up. These work places expect you to upend your entire life at the drop of a hat nonetheless, as though there is nothing else of consequence whatsoever. Therefore I have to sneak around just to slip out, even though there’s really no justifiable reason to panic about my presence at this point. Everything has been taken care of. I clock out at 4:45, but then every time I try and make a break for the door, Mary Carol or Tony are standing guard near it. Marnette still hasn’t made it here and I know they will throw a fit if I try to bolt. Have to slink around some more, then, off the clock, before finally managing to leave at 5.

April 13

In at 8am.

April 15

day begins rough with me dragging ass to work for the second morning in a row, after a wild night out. It’s beautiful out again and we get hit hard with a rush around noon.  But that slacks off by one, and come two, when our night crew showed up, I was ready to roll out of there.  Instead, I stick around till 3 doing odd menial tasks, but even then that’s leaving an hour early.  All these 7 hour days have been putting a dent in my paycheck, but it’s all coming to an end now w/ that job at Wild Oats. Besides, we’re saving on my department’s labor cost, and if I’m not truly needed then I probably should just bail. I wind up putting plenty of hours on the clock overall. Half the time if you stick around when it’s slow you just wind up taking on meat’s slack anyway, meaning they get some more help for free.

April 16

Work a rare, weird, 4-9pm shift.

April 19

Rick comes in early, so I leave at 3. Ridiculously slow all day, but it’s cool because Carrie comes out and sits by me on break. I tell her that she simply must go camping and boating with me this summer. She readily agrees, even squeezes my arm all excited as we talk about it. Heh heh. What got this entire ball of wax really rolling was a casual comment she made a month ago about how we should go camping, because since I work in meat and seafood (I’m not sure the logic really computes, but who’s complaining) I could hunt and fish for us. Sure. As far as today goes, this chat was a highlight. Kristen was working, too, so I could at least look at her if nothing else.

April 21

Rolled in this morning just barely on time. Rick showed up earlier than scheduled again, and I took that as my cue to split after six hours. This will be the new reality I guess, so long as I can keep my numbers up around here, as I’m working two jobs. And still pulling occasional other shifts at random Kroger stores around town.

April 23

Waker Hassan, this hilarious guy from the Middle East who works in our deli, drifts by this morning and is checking out the seafood case I just finished setting. We’ve worked together off and on for years, and in fact Khan, former all-star in the meat department back here, is his son. But for some reason, though I’ve been back at this store for a year, he is pointing approvingly at my case and only now offering his assessment.

“Seafood looking better,” he says, “when fat man was here (Ed Bianco) – bullshit! (Forms his hand and makes gesture to act like somebody drinking) He needs to go to NBC or Channel 4 (does the drinking gesture again).”

April 24

Carrie’s looking hot today in faded tight jeans and tight old blue top, not to mention her sexy secretary glasses. She and I are talking in front of the meat counter about potential places to go camping, boating, et cetera.

Later on, I’m upstairs checking the sales plans and she approaches me, asks if I would like to go play frisbee golf with her some time, says it’s a lot of fun if you drink beer while doing it.

“Yeah, sure,” I shrug, “everything’s fun with beer involved.”

“I’ve never actually drank while I played,” she clarifies, “I usually (pretends she’s puffing on a joint) beforehand. But whichever, you know, it works.”

“Sounds like fun,” I agree.

“We should meet up somewhere and go.”

“Yeah, okay,” I shrug again.

“Well, what are you doing tonight?” she wonders.

This is where I have to slide into evasive mode, however. “Actually, I’ve got to work at another store,” I tell her, which is true – it’s just that the store in question isn’t a Kroger one. I’ve only been at Wild Oats for a week and haven’t told anyone, because I have a strong suspicion Kroger brass and/or the union reps would not look too favorably upon this, working for a competitor. About the same as dating your human resources person, I suppose. But whatever the case, I don’t feel like we’re quite close enough to where I can divulge this to her.

Finally, later in the afternoon I’m upstairs closing out my orders. David and Charlene are both asking me about Jill, how she’s doing, when she’s coming back, et cetera. Carrie’s sitting right there the whole time.  And of course, this can only make me look cooler – I’m sure Carrie’s heard through the grapevine all about me and Jill, which never hurts, and in fact I think her knowing that Jill will be coming back to work in less than two weeks is only making Carrie that much bolder to get w/ me before that happens.

                Next thing I know, after those other two leave, Carrie comes up from behind, unannounced, and starts massaging my shoulders. “Oh, you like that?” she says, after a spell.

                “Uh huh,” I tell her.

                She plays it off like she needs to use the computer after me and was checking to see how long I’d be, but I knew better.  A few minutes later, after I was finished, I bumped into her again as we were both headed downstairs together.

                “So, you liked my massage, huh?” she reiterates.

                “Oh yeah.  I never knew you had such talented hands…..”

                “I have all kinds of talents you don’t know about yet,” she tells my cryptically.

April 28

Big Bob flays his hand open cutting sirloins, and will require surgery.

April 29

I work 7 to 2:30 – at least during Phase One. Big Bob is out for awhile now, and John Maul stopped showing up. This means Little Bob is left closing both departments by himself. But then we hatch this plan that I will just clock out for lunch at 2:30…work my second job (nobody knows this specific detail) at Wild Oats…then return from lunch at 8:30, spend an hour here closing down seafood.

May 5

Opening shift here.

May 9

Drag myself in for brutal (planned) 4-9 shift. Big Bob is back, but essentially one handed and they asked me to come in to knockout cleanup in meat. Suck down some coffee and a couple breaded chicken patties he made, though, and I’m more or less inspired enough to get cracking. Still, I’m soaked to the bone and exhausted by the end of this, don’t get out of here until 10 despite admittedly half-assing things somewhat by the end.

May 11

Early shift.

May 12

-In at 8 on 3 hours’ sleep.

-“Get it together, Simon!”

-singing with Mike

May 31

Coming in to work at 2 and bump into Carrie – it’s actually been two weeks since we’ve so much as talked. First I was on vacation, then she was gone. Right away she starts asking when I’m going to take her camping.

“I think maybe a weekday might work out best,” she suggests, which is funny because I’ve begun to think the same thing. Weekends are so goddamn hectic for me I can’t even fathom cramming something like that in right now.

Tammie sends Simon home for wandering around the store aimlessly. Therefore I’m stuck doing cleanup in meat, although this is a nice change of pace. Matt Montanya swings through with some Noah kid, looking to get into something this evening.

June 1

Rick comes in to pick up his check, tells Mary Carol he can’t work because his eye is still bad. As it has been for the past couple days. I don’t know. Me, I think he maybe just wants another day to screw around, but who can say. This does mean I have to leave at 3, then return at 7 after a short nap at home.

June 2

opening shift

June 3

opening shift

June 5

Totally unprecedented day in that first I open the seafood shop at Sawmill road, slide through McDonald’s for breakfast, then make it here at 8:30 to start my normal shift here.

Smash the absolute FUCK out my thumb today, though. It’s 100% my fault, just not paying attention. What happens is that I’m pulling this cart full of product out of my freezer, and Tammie’s talking to me from over by meat. So I’ve got the non-pulling hand planted against the door frame, am turned toward her while yanking this cart. Think I have cleared the doorway but instead slam the thing directly into my hand, with a ton of weight on board. It instantly fills with blood and begins throbbing, and I know I’m probably going to lose this nail eventually.

June 8

Working late, but at least Miles is here for entertainment.

June 9

early shift

June 10

Hellish, hellish day. In at 7 but then it gets to be 2, and first Jim calls off (yes, it’s true, Captain Kirk is back after 2 1/2 years away! Though for how long is anybody’s guess) and then Rick says he’s going to be late. But then doesn’t show up at all. To top it off, t-bones and porterhouses are on sale for $3.99/lb. (family packs, that is; single steaks are $4.99/lb.) and with good weather, this being our first really good steak sale of the year, the doors are blown off of this place, people fly in from every angle, wiping us out. By 6pm we are completely out of every steak in the store.

And guess who gets suckered into staying. It’s good that I’ve got a little leeway with my second job, as long as I don’t get carried away. I’m supposed to be at Wild Oats at 3 but initially call Travis to tell him I’ll be late. But Rick never shows at all, so I have to call back at 5, tell James it doesn’t look like I’m going to make it.

Little Bob hangs in here until 6, but for the last three hours it’s just me. Paul Ash does an awesome job helping out, but people are really vicious sometimes about our being out of the goddamn steaks.

Earlier, in the afternoon, when Chris was literally cutting the last short loin, this one fat party animal looking guy of maybe thirty asks if we can cut him some special, about an inch and a half thick.  I tell him no but he keeps pestering, finally I give in and run back to ask Chris but he’d just gotten finished cutting the absolute last steak.  Oops.  Now I have to explain to the fat guy we were completely out of loins to cut.

                “Why couldn’t you just do it for me the first time instead of arguing with me?” he bellowed.

                “Well, we’re not really supposed to in the first place,” I lied.  Truth is, we were just getting too crushed, I wasn’t about to hold up the production with his stupid request.  I’d even taken to wheeling a cart full of steaks out and leaving it sit on the sales floor, the customers were gobbling them up that quick.

                “You can’t cut me some?” he asked again.

                “No,” I reiterated, “we’re out.”

                “Let me see your manager,” he demanded, “or are you out of those, too?”

                The store is still swamped but I clock out at 9 p.m. – 14 hours is enough for one fucking day.

June 11

Fortunately, I’m able to sleep in. Although Rick is supposed to be in at 8, and doesn’t show up until 2 himself. Tony writes him up and sends him home on a 3 day suspension. Otherwise, I’m working 2-10 today and it’s a fun shift, really, I’m besieged by all kinds of visitors & calls. First it’s Christine rolling through here, shopping, she has her 10 year old son Jordan with her. He’s laughing at my comments, at least, though she is not.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

“Getting stuff for a cookout, I’m having my man over,” she says – apparently meaning the guy she met at Vinnie’s last week.

“Sounds good,” I observe with a nod, not thinking about anything she has said per se but just cookouts in general, “some beer, some ladies…”

“Beer yes, but no ladies,” she corrects.

“Aw, come on, you gotta have some ladies over for your boy, here!” I crow, indicating Jordan, and he laughs.

Lisa is in next, telling me to come over for her own cookout after work, and I’m game. Then Damon stops in – I mention the cookout to him as well – though he’s actually here to turn in an application. He’s been sweating money, and I told him we needed help in the meat department. Considering that Carrie does the hiring, he’s pretty much a shoo-in.

Tony jumps back here for a little bit to help me and Bob out.

June 12

We leave at 5am for the annual fishing/golf trip on Lake Erie. Last year I mis-remembered my email and was half an hour late, am determined not to make that same mistake again. Therefore arrive at this parking lot, north of town on 23, on literally no sleep whatsoever. My thinking is I can crash on the way up and back if needed, if not on the boat itself. We all board the bus here and are on our merry way.

I’m in a bit of a philosophical quagmire as far as what to report about this here. Technically none of this happened in Columbus. However, we are a bunch of employees from Kroger stores in Columbus, on a group outing together. And I think I’ve just hit upon a brilliant loophole to get around this C-bus specfic reporting restriction – did I not write this stuff down in Columbus, after returning from this trip? Yes I did. And so here are some notes about this trip, with material based upon my journals, which were written in Columbus and stored in my Columbus apartment:

Donuts and o.j. on the way, except Ed Lloyd’s drinking beer. Donnie, Paula, and I end up in a boat together, along with some Tim guy we’ve never met before. Our boat is named the Sharon B and its captain looks exactly like your textbook grizzled middle aged seafaring dude, with shaggy salt n’ pepper hair and beard stubble to match. Ed, Ginger, Debbie, Rhonda, some other fat guy are some others in the fishing expedition, elsewhere. Meanwhile, Tom Tatera and Tim Young are among those golfing on South Bass Island instead. Then Ginger gets so seasick right off the bat that they have to detour over to drop her off at Put-In-Bay also.

Our captain immediately tells us he has the hot tip, and takes us to some island near the U.S.- Canada border. Here we disembark to pay for Canadian fishing licenses. Then continue across the border, where, our captain says, the walleye are larger. And it seems he knows his stuff, too. Which makes sense considering he does after all do this for a living.

His method is to find big waves, turn the craft sideways so we’re between them, and cast our lines here. We do have quite a bit of success with this approach. Everything we catch (not counting sheephead) is at least 20 inches. However, he is getting mighty frustrated with me. According to him, he has never seen anyone in his entire career snag so many fish, yet fail to reel them in. Who knows, maybe this is some big metaphor for life in general. While I do manage to bring a handful of walleye aboard, at one point late in the day he gets so agitated that, after I’ve hooked one, he comes over to grab the rod from me and make sure we haul it in.

Paula and I are drinking beer all day. Donnie has literally I think half of one beer, otherwise is smoking weed from this little “one hitter” pipe he brought with him. And sharing it with this Tim dude, who seems like a major burnout. I also see Donnie fall asleep at one point, sitting on the boat floor, his back against one corner of it, enjoying his little catnap.

Ed estimates he has 20 beers himself today, which puts our tally to shame. After me make it to shore, all of the walleye any of us have caught gets pooled together, so we all end up with an equal share. Then these dudes fillet them right there, with some slick electric knives I’ve never seen before. Then it’s onward to dinner at this Elk’s Lodge in Port Clinton, and there’s also this ceremony to follow where they are drawing names for various prizes.

By the time we make it back to Columbus, it’s 9:30 at night. Donnie’s ticked off because this Tim character tore out of the parking lot in his car, before Donnie realized the dude still had his one-hitter. And we’re not even sure what store he said he worked at. I make it home and collapse in bed with the lights on.

June 13

Work a closing shift, I’m off around 10.

June 15

opening shift. Rick has served his time, but shows up at 9 this morning, forgetting that he and I had switched and he was supposed to be here at 2.

So he leaves, rides the bus home, naps, comes back, sits outside on the picnic table – even though it wasn’t my fault he’d forgotten, I felt bad and bought him lunch anyway, ran up to Burger King as soon as he clocked in at 2.

                “Thanks,” he said.

                “Thanks for coming back!” I joked.

                “Aw, come on, you know I don’t plan on burning any bridges,” he replies.

                “I know, man,” I tell him right, before leaving, “you don’t need to tell me that.”

                Rick wound up getting fired tonight for stealing…he’d wrapped up 3 ribeyes & 3 strip steaks & tried to go through the check out line w/ a price tag of 25 cents on the whole package.  Management knew he’d been stealing for quite some time, they were just waiting to nail him…I knew too, just as I knew about Simon (he caught wind & transferred to Livingston Ave. store a couple weeks ago); I guess I was just hoping he’d knock it off.  Saying something to him about it didn’t seem right, because he definitely deserved to get fired for ripping us off, and yet I still feel guilty, because he was my friend….                

Rick’s on probation anyway and Kroger’s pressing charges, they’ve got him in jail now. I think he must be back on crack now as many people have been saying. It’s just a really sad situation because he is a good person and an intelligent guy.

June 16

opening shift

June 17

opening shift

June 18

Tammie is back from her vacation to Arizona, thank god. Man what a crazy ass week she missed! Our union rep Randy Quickel is in, cautioning us about letting management work back here. He refers to the day exactly a week ago where Tony Gossman helped out Bob and me. It didn’t bother us but somebody must have reported it, obviously.

“That’s someone else’s overtime, if you think about it,” Randy tells us. And of course he’s right.

Chris brings me a burned copy of Radiohead’s Amnesiac. Tammie and I close tonight. We’re both scheduled 1-9 but have to stay over a bit thanks to this late rush.

Funny, Kroger has Canadian walleye on sale this week – some of the stuff we caught up there?  It’s on sale for $4.99 but the shit they sent me is so funky I’m caught up in some kind of dilemma.  I sure as hell didn’t order any more, and have to make the original 4 cases last all week…but at the same time, I want to get rid of this crap before it smells & looks even worse.

Jim is in here shopping late. He’s the nicest guy in the world, but the booze is ruining his life.  Already not looking so hot and now, tonight, he has this big cut on the side of his head, said he got it, “moving furniture.”  To me, though, it looked like a scrape mark – like falling down drunk on the pavement.  

June 19

Linda the Empire Foods rep is in. We met once, months ago, but I couldn’t really remember much, and vice versa. Today though she’s talking my ear off, even more than Carrie. Says she’s going to Aerosmith, has 7th row seats and that if I’m going, I can come up and sit with her. Did I mention she looks fine as hell, a professionally dressed, well shaped brunette in (I’m guessing) her early 40s? Wow. Adds that she has a daughter who will be at the show, too, whom I would absolutely die for. Cool. Linda also tells me that I have “pretty eyes.” A very business related visit, as you can see.

Work flies by today, too. Jim called today at 10, though (his scheduled start time) to say he can’t make it until noon. But then never shows up. Little Bob has to close down both departments by himself.

June 20

Work 9 – 5:45. Another in the seemingly endless string of totally insane days. Today Jim does show up, at 1:30, and Tammie happens to be out front smoking as he strolls up. She sends him home for good. He starts crying and says he really needs this job, begs her to keep him on. Tammie says she feels bad but really has no choice.

So we’re already short one body, two if you count Rick having been fired also, and then Chris manages to cut his hand on the boneless saw. He’s using it to slice hamburger patties from a roll, the very last thing on his list today, and his left index finger gets caught up in the plastic wrap, then yanked back through, into the moving saw blade. If this had been the bone-in saw, he’d have lost the tip of it.

I have to call the ambulance for him, after Little Bob tries paging Tony Gossman three times to no avail. Then I end up staying over 45 minutes to pound out cleanup. But once again, Little Bob is stuck closing both departments on his lonesome.

June 21

Chris will only miss a couple days. But even so, after he comes back, he will be stuck on lunchmeat duty for the next little while. He can’t get his finger wet, can’t cut meat or risk contamination.

So with Jim and Rick being fired and Chris on light duty, we’re stuck with a ridiculously light crew. Tammie, Melissa, Big & Little Bob, Chris, and me. That’s it.

Poor Little Bob comes in at 5am today to work lunchmeat and frozen, leaves at 9. This was supposed to be a day off for me, too, but I’m also roped in, for an 8-2 shift. There’s this big zone-wide head meat cutter meeting here today from 9-1. Tom and Tim come in to help Tammie set up, since a bunch of bigwigs will be on hand. But then after those three head upstairs for the meeting, I’m on my own, covering both departments for the next five hours, from 9 to 2.

June 25

in at 7 for inventory hung over, Carrie asks about concert, I make up some story about it being “my sister’s birthday” which I think she actually bought. 

June 26

opening shift

June 28

Talking to Damon, after straightening out this mess of getting him hired. This has been going on for two weeks! Carrie and Tony both have been asking me when he was going to start, even though each would tell me the other had to approve it. Miles always refers to Gossman as a “bird brain,” though, and to me this is mostly on him. Tony, that is, obviously. Anyway, I tell Damon he’s supposed to come in at 6 tonight for orientation.

“Yeah, I know,” he replies, “that’s what I agreed on with her before I left.”

“Well, I didn’t know,” I told him, “Carrie’s such an airhead, I wasn’t sure.”

He asks me what in the hell kind of operation this place is running, exactly. I tell him I honestly don’t know. And this is the biggest grocery store chain in the country? I’m actually off today, though – for the first time since the 12th.

June 29

Damon calls up to tell Carrie to forget it, he doesn’t want a job here after all.

July 1

7am to 3pm for phase one of my day. Then later return (after working at Wild Oats) to close, am here until 10pm.

July 3

opening shift

July 4

Today on the Muzak they play Saturday in the Park twice and Good by Better Than Ezra once, both of which mention the 4th of July. I work an early shift.

July 6

Supposed to be off but Tammie asks me to come in for a couple of hours this morning. So I put in a short 8 – 10:30 shift.

July 10

opening shift

July 11

Supposed to go to Aerosmith but stuck working late with Chris. Carrie’s dropped down to part-time now, having gotten a full-time position at Franklin U. So now, she’s only working five 7-10pm shifts, a very strange arrangement. Swings by for a second, insists we need to go golfing.

July 12

Work early. Call to wish Jill happy birthday. Have my glove with me as I meet up with other guys at Worthington Mall – we’re heading down to the Reds-Indians game again. Patton’s driving, just like last year. We are split 3 and 3 with our allegiances: him and Chris Dowdell and John Ivanovich for Cincy, me and Mike Mansfield and Randy Cashman for Cleveland.

July 13

Work 2 – 9:15 with John. Change here before heading out. Miles says he’s going over to Lisa & Maria’s, but I have other ideas.

July 14

Supposed to be off but Tammie cons me into coming in at 7 to open seafood. Agreed to put in 2 hours, but the next thing I know it’s a quarter till 11, I’ve been bounced over to meat for the last little while, and am stuck at the grinder cranking out ground chuck. After that, though, I manage to slip away without a word said to anyone and get the fuck out of here.

July 15

opening shift, fairly slow.

July 16

8 to 4 here

July 17

opening shift, slow as hell.

July 20

opening shift

July 31

opening shift

August 3

opening shift

August 5

work 7-3

August 7

early shift

August 9

late shift, I’m off at 9:30

August 14

early shift

August 20

Scheduled 7-3 for inventory day, but manage to leave at 2:30.

August 23

work 2 to 10

August 24

then back here to open at 8am

August 25

in at 8 again

August 26

in at 7am on exactly no sleep whatsoever

August 30

work from 2-10 by myself

September 2

Well, we knew it was bound to happen. Nobody can maintain this frantic pace forever. I actually miss a day of work here today – my first in about 4 years. I guess it’s my “fault” for trying to maintain a social life and some other side interests on top of working 2 jobs. But some of the blame must be laid at the feet of this stupid company, a massive juggernaut of a corporation who nonetheless have pared the help down to a skeleton crew. Everyone who’s managed to stick around is overworked and frazzled.

What happens is that I actually wake up on time this morning, more or less, at Lisa’s – Maria is yelling up the stairs to tell me I’m late, this is what wakes me up. But they live literally across the street, so this is no big deal. Then I wander out to the parking lot, realize when I get to my car that I have no shoes, just flip-flops. This sucks, but I decide to drive across town to my apartment to get my shoes, then return. I’ll be mighty late but oh well. Except then I get there, and make an impulse decision to stretch out on the couch for a “quick” nap, maybe 15 minutes I figure. Next thing I know, it’s noon. Tammie’s voice on the answering machine is what wakes me up this time. At this point, I’m more than 4 hours late, so it’s automatically considered a no-call/no-show. Therefore there’s no reason to even go in.

September 3

Make it in today, feeling like an ass for yesterday’s debacle. Tammie admits this was so unusual she worried that I was in a ditch somewhere or something, and thought about driving over to my apartment to check up on me. Melissa tells me I should at least apologize to Mary Carol, and everything should be cool. Which it is, considering she doesn’t even write me up. Although I’m forced to admit to M.C. that I have been working two jobs for months now, this is the excuse I give her. She asks me where and I tell her, “a health food store.” She nods, accepting this answer.

September 5

work 9-5

September 7

early shift.

September 8

8-4 shift. First Buckeye football game of the year and we have an early crowd, but then it dies off hardcore.

September 9

early shift, very slow

September 12

early shift

September 15

Closing tonight with two new guys from the halfway house, Joe and Jim. So they’re back on this kick again.

They seem like pretty cool dudes, really, I’ve got a feeling they’ll stick around.  Joe was actually up doing his training on the computer, but finished early and came down at about 8 to help us out.  Considering we were already ahead of schedule, this worked out marvelously and despite this being a Saturday night, we were standing tall and pretty much finished by 9.

                Right at 9, Lisa, Maria, and Christine came in.  I introduced everyone, told the new guys they’d be seeing plenty of these crazy girls.

                Maria & Christine walked on, but Lisa was too busy giving me shit – “did you behave last night?” “You know my rules!” she kept saying, but I’d just laugh.

                “Pockets’s got his own rules,” Maria chuckled.  She knows, everyone knows, Lisa even knows but doesn’t want to think about it.

    

September 16

in at 7 to hang tags

Jim came on at 9 and was telling me Joe liked Maria, he liked Christine – this is where I first heard it.  Funny, too, because earlier last night he was telling me he hated to see interracial couples, something about it he just couldn’t get used to.  And here his black friend Joe – they worked together at a factory during their day job, too – was wanting to hook up w/ Maria.  I kept trying to tell him Christine was crazy and that I wouldn’t hook any of my friends up w/ her, but he kept insisting. Maria, meanwhile, I know was digging Jim – she admits as much to me.

                “Crazy, like, how?” Jim asked.

                “I mean, she’s cool to hang out with, but I’d never be in a relationship with her.  She’s always flying off the handle for no reason.”

                Still, he asked me to get her digits for him.

September 17

in at 7 for inventory, which was a breeze, blast thru setting the case – looked sharp, too – and spent the rest of the day more or less helping meat dept out.  I’ve gotten so ridiculously good at my job here that I think it makes me look bad, like management thinks I’m loafing or something because everything looks great all the time and I can effortlessly whip thru my days, put up good numbers, and still have hours left over without breaking a sweat.  Whereas everything was always in chaos when Eddie was running the place, hell, I think I’ve got it down as smoothly as Mike Green did (there’s only been 3 head seafoods there since the store opened) but he had himself and 3 others on the schedule and did less business…I’ve got myself and 0 others and am doing about $1,000 more a week. 

It’s the same old story though as many other places where I’ve worked – certain management figures will look at the chick who’s running around behind the 8-ball and crying, assume she must be busting her ass; then they look at me and I’m mellow and standing there smiling and they think I’m just fucking around. I wouldn’t say that about Mary Carol – as previously noted, the store manager is curiously typically much more measured than the assistants (then again, this is probably why they’ve made it to that level) – but some of these other characters leave a little to be desired. Management types who never seem to consider that the reason I have time to stand there smiling is because I’m competent and have worked hard in the past to make it easy on myself now – i.e., in my current position, setting the computer so it does my orders for me, staying organized, getting things down to a science.  If I can do in 4 or 5 hours what it took Ed 8 to do – and he had 2 full timers working behind him as well, to my 0 – then isn’t that efficiency?  But no, sometimes I think mgmt. just looks at the 4 hours I shaved off and think I’m clowning around.  That’s why I go over and help meat dept out now, both to stave off boredom but also as my trump card to throw in their face if they ever try and say anything; not that they would, I post the most consistently good inventories in the zone (always in the top five in gross profit, every month) and set a better case than anyone in the zone.  So whatever.

September 19

In at 1:30. Closing with the new guy Joe, it’s just him and me. We’re getting insanely slammed for some reason, on a random Wednesday night. Plus I’m spending all my time down on chickens (he’s closing seafood, I’m closing meat) with an assload of markdowns. Not to mention the phone never stops ringing and I’m continually bombarded by visitors.

This social scene is getting hilarious, let me tell you. And yet it’s like the funnier I find this entire convoluted mess – just kind of hanging back, laughing, giving cryptic answers, not really explaning anything whatsoever to anyone – then the more outrageous it becomes. Seemingly of its own volition, I would say. So it is that this “random Wednesday” becomes possibly my most outrageous night here, to the extent I’m not even sure whether to file this under personal stuff, or work related instead. Neither makes total sense, but it also doesn’t make sense to compartmentalize these occurrences, either, split them in half.

It all starts around 3 or 4. Clif and Robin hit it off pretty well at the Tool show and have spent the entire day running around together, they stop in to say hi. So who should walk up while I’m talking to them but Lisa. The two women in this equation have never met, but are aware of one another. Lisa takes one glance at Robin and her face instantly assumes a majorly pissed off expression, to the extent these other two hightail it out of here.

Talking to Lisa at the counter, she’s still angry about me taking Jill to the zoo on Monday, too, but oh well. I just keep laughing and saying, “yeah, whatever,” and eventually she is laughing too.

“What’s going on tonight?” I ask.

                “Oh, you want to spend time with me now, you can fit me in your busy schedule?” she says sarcastically.

                “Whatever,” I shoot back, “let’s do something tonight.”

                She tries playing hardball, but I insist, and then when I throw in the fact that I could hang out w/ Robin and Clif instead if she wasn’t interested, then, wow, her pissed off act comes crashing down and she agrees that I should stop by. Funny, though, that I’d already invited Robin and Clif over to her house, while she was standing there right before those two peeled out of here.  So of course Lisa’s insulted about something entirely new, now, wondering why I invited some girl I “used to” sleep with (she doesn’t know “used to” meant about 12 or 15 hours earlier) over to her house.  But oh well.  I tell her I’ll be over around 9:30 or 10 and she walks off.

                Clif calls later, about 7, saying he and Robin will be over Lisa’s at 9:45, they’re not going over there until I’ve arrived, they don’t want any part of that drama.  Fair enough.  I tell them I’ll see them there.

                Then Carrie stops by to introduce two people she’s hired – one totally new – and I’m standing there w/ my crazy hair flying every which way (left my Indians hat at Wild Oats) and shake their hands.  Then she comes back around, later, to ask if I want to grab a beer after work.

                “Sorry,” I tell her, “I’m supposed to hang out with my peeps across the street. I already blew them off last night…”

                “Your peeps,” she laughs, “Okay.”

                “You should come with me,” I say, figuring that since Lisa is already pissed at me it couldn’t get any worse – only more hilarious – to have Robin and Lisa both sitting there as I walk in w/ a third girl, Carrie.  But she’s not sure about this.

                “Uh, I don’t know anybody over there.”

               Lisa stops back by with another argumentative onslaught, but I just laugh some more.  She finally has put two and two together about Robin – only took the girl a few hours to figure it out – and she’s grilling me about that fact.  I’m sure as hell not volunteering any info about what I’d been up to the night before.

                “You’ll be over at 9:30 or 10?” she says as a parting shot.

                “Something like that,” I nod.

                Joe, the new guy, is cracking up.  This is our first true night working together, apart from an hour so the other time, and his reaction makes this all seem even more hysterical.  And I figure that, well, if a smooth black guy like Joe is getting a kick out of these antics, they must be some worthwhile ones indeed. “I like that,”he says and chuckles, repeats my phrase, “something like that.”

                Joe leaves at 9:30 to catch the bus. I have a few more odds n’ ends to attend to, and am still around when Clif comes strolling back onto the scene.

                “Be done at 9:30, huh?” he taunts, as I’d told him to meet me over at Lisa’s.  “I ain’t going over there until your ass does, you got too much drama around you.”

                But it isn’t drama, not at all, just entertainment in its purest form.

                He says Robin is waiting outside in her car, and I tell him to head on out, I’ll just be a couple minutes.  But then when I do clock out and walk up front, Clif is standing talking to Jill.

                “I’m off at eleven,” Jill tells me, and Carrie’s standing just off to my right hearing every word of this – god, this night couldn’t get any more bizarre, “what are you guys doing?”

                “I don’t know,” I say, and shrug, “drinking over at Lisa and Maria’s.”

                “Call me here if you go anywhere,” she says.  She also does not wish to go over to that house – would be willing to meet us at a bar or something, just not there.

September 20

Working late again, 1:30 – 9:30, this time with Jim instead. Much less eventful than last night, both professionally and personally.

September 21

early shift

September 28

Thaaaaaank Christ! Nick H. starts in the meat department today, a totally normal, squeaky clean college kid from OSU, who just happens to live up the road. He has meat cutting experience already, too, up in his hometown of Lima.

September 29

work 8-4 here. Matt the new guy is closing seafood by himself and does a fabulous job. Before today, last worked in the Kroger seafood department in ’93 at the Sawmill Road store, but I guess is like riding a bike. Or maybe a small fishing boat.

September 30

work 7-3 here

October 1

Matt F. helps me open seafood, so I can show him the ropes, and does just as well as he had with closing. He’s about a month and a half away from getting out of the halfway house himself – drug problems, what else. Well, this Jim W. character actually has huge anger management issues, that’s his deal, I think he was busted on assault charges and possibly drinking but nothing drug related. Joe I’m not sure about, but it’s probably drug related. Still, we’ve gotten four fresh bodies in here recently and they all range from decent to great. So we are mighty thankful for that. Big Bob is gone, though, which sucks, but only because he made head seafood at Polaris – my first employee to achieve this honor. It feels good, and I’m proud for him (even though he’s older than me, which always feels odd to me still, having older employees in my department), especially because we are on the same page and he agrees with me on many work-related theories.

This latest wave of abrupt changes has me thinking about the history of this store. Tammie and I are both original members, but have left and returned. Elsewhere there are a handful, like Miles and so on, although even he too left for a spell. Ron Billings and June are among the few who have been here this entire time, off the top of my head, though this store has been open for less than 5 years.

October 4

I get here at 1:30 and it’s a somewhat hellish day. One small encounter after another has a cumulative snowbell effect, to the extent I’m in a sour mood by the time I leave this place. And almost none of it is strictly work related per se.

First, while on break, I go up to the front desk to grab my check and Jill’s working the counter there. She starts asking me questions about Lisa, mostly playfully teasing me, but not entirely. Though it’s common knowledge Lisa and I have messed around some off and on for the past few years, lately she’s kind of lasso’d me into something semi-serious, I guess you could say.

“I never thought you’d stoop so low,” Jill tells me.

So then I’m pondering this on my break, wondering what brought that bizarro comment on and if she might possibly be right. Only to return from my break and arrive back at the meat department…and see Jill and Jim heading off together, on break themselves! It would seem that they might be an item now. Which makes me see things in an entirely different light. She’s giving me shit about Lisa but is seeing one of these so-called “prisoner dudes” from the halfway house herself? I think that’s some kind of weird counteroffensive attack on her part, like having huge reservations herself about how cool this is.

And things actually head downhill from here, even while I’m seriously trying to be level-headed and professional tonight. Matters turn ugly as the night progresses, albeit in a totally different way. To cap it all off, Archie Griffin is here, up front signing autographs – and while they were expecting a huge crowd, it’s a dud, we are totally dead.

But anyway, Jim also picks up his check, and notices he’s only making $7 an hour, completely flips out. According to him, he claims, Carrie had told him he’d be hired in at $8. This might not seem so believable, except…Damon had the same beef, and quit after one day. Damon told me Carrie promised him $8, then he got here at it was $7.50 – I don’t think this is a coincidence. So however improbably, I hate to say it, but I’m actually taking Jim’s side in this dispute.

Jim’s been ranting and raving all night, stomping around, getting progressively more and more pissed off about the pay situation. Then it’s almost 8 and Carrie happens to come strolling by. I pull her aside to ask what the deal is, and she tells me she never promised Jim $8, that they’d never actually discussed his rate of pay at all.

I tell Jim this and he starts going off.  By this point, Matt and I (I was training him on how to close seafood) were so far ahead we’d started helping Jim out in the meat dept, because it seemed he was so angry thinking about his pay and how much work he had ahead of him the rest of the night that he was getting bogged down and not getting a whole lot accomplished.

                So I went upstairs to close out an order, and then stopped at Carrie’s desk to tell her Jim was still muy upset and ask if there’s any way she can break him off more cheddar.  Jim’s chief gripe is that he does more work than Joe and has more experience, but they both are getting paid the same.  So Carrie whips out both of their applications, and shows me that Joe actually has more experience.  Wow.  She tells me to have Jim come upstairs when he’s done and she’ll explain all this to him.

                I come back downstairs and relay the info to Jim.

                “Aw, she’s just going to blow smoke up my ass anyway,” he huffs, then threatens to put in his “five days’ notice” and in general keeps ranting and raving, doesn’t even show any appreciation for the fact that I’d already – twice – tried to help him out by talking to Carrie on his behalf. 

                And so he keeps venting and walks across the room, and I’m starting to see the temper he told me about when he started, the one that used to get him into bar fights and eventually in trouble with the law.  His face is all red and he’s hollering across the meat dept, and finally, I just turn and look at Matt, shrug my shoulders and chuckle.

                Jim happens to be turning back around to ask me a question about a cut of meat he was trying to wrap, but sees me laugh and this sets him off again. 

                “I really don’t see what you think is so GODDAMN funny, man!” he yells at me, as we’re now standing less than two feet apart.

                By now, it’s after 9, and Matt and I were entirely done with our duties in seafood.  All we had left to do is either a) go home or b) go above and beyond our duty and help Jim out. 

                Up to that point, after I help him pull the service case, after Matt had washed half his dishes, after talking to Carrie about his pay situation and to see him get right in my face after all this and start yelling at me, my B becomes and easy A.  Fuck this guy, I tell myself, walk off without a word, clock out and go home.  Matt does the same.

                Then after we’re gone, I later learn, Jim goes up front and tries to get Matt and me in trouble by complaining that we left early and he has a mountain of work to do. 

October 5

Having a good day, staying very busy and bustling around getting all kinds of things done, but hearing about Jim trying to get me in trouble and I’m steaming, but keep my thoughts to myself. Of course he has to be off today too. I only take one break, leave at 4:45.

And now this is really getting crazy – Jill calls me much later, after I’m home for the night. Saying she’s interested in Jim, and asking for my take, if she should date him or not after he leaves the halfway house. Despite what happened with Ty, and my own recent horrific experiences already with Jim, I tell her she’s going to have to decide that on our own. Then she brings up the incident from last night, which means he obviously told her about it, and is sticking for him. So okay, she’s known the guy 2 weeks, versus 3 years and some change dating me, off and on. I’m like whatever, then, think what you want, I don’t care.

October 6

another busy day, but fun, too, somehow.  Melissa and Bob were in at 7, I’m in at 8, Matt comes in at 9:30 and Chris at 11.  We stay busy, get a lot accomplished, and I’m able to show Matt everything I think he’ll need to know before I go on vacation. 

                Jim comes in at 1:30 and is trying to act all friendly with me, but I immediately pull him aside and ask him about Thursday.

                “What, were you trying to get me in trouble?”

                “What do you mean?”

                “Going up front and telling them I left early.”

                “I didn’t tell anyone that,” he says.

                I roll my eyes, shake my head and start to walk away.

                “Okay, okay,” he stops me, “yeah, I told Carrie. But I had all this work to do, man, and you just left without saying a word.”

                I tell him the reason I left is because he started getting an attitude with me, when all I was doing was trying to help.  Just then, though, a customer comes up and keeps ringing this stupid bell they installed on our service counter until I quit talking to Jim and wait on her.  Everyone can see I’m red in the face – even though they couldn’t hear what we were talking about, because I was trying to be professional about it and not discuss this in front of the others – but while I’m waiting on the customer Jim tells Melissa and Chris that we were “having some differences.”

                Eventually, we’re able to clear up everything.  He apologizes for going off on me, and while I can’t believe it didn’t occur to him at the time, I explain that the only reason I walked off was because he went off on me – seemed obvious if you ask me, but whatever.  In talking to him, though, it occurs to me that if the only person he said anything to was Carrie, then she was the one trying to get me in trouble.

                So I march upstairs to put an order on, and then have the same discussion with her that I’d had with Jim.  She apologizes, too, when I tell her – tactfully, though – that she has no idea what’s going on down there, has no idea what hours I work even, and it wasn’t her place to go around stirring things up by telling everyone I left early and Jim was hung out to dry.  Especially when she didn’t know the whole story.  I’m not even in the goddman meat department, actually, and didn’t leave early. She admits she felt bad after she thought about it, but by then it was too late.

I am kind of starting to wonder about her, too, however. But then you have to think, when a bunch of people are piling up on you at once, am I crazy? What is going on here? Have I totally missed something? In this instance, though, no, I really don’t think so. It’s randomness and some snowballing ignorant crap – and also proof that this place has begun to attract not-that-great people on a regular basis. This has become the default, it’s now the best that they can do around here.

Then Lisa is in here getting all teary eyed, crying about this and that. Miles strolls past, sees her puffy eyes and stops long enough to ask what’s wrong, but then keeps on cruising. And I don’t think any more about it. Right up until Melissa pages me to the back dock a minute or so later, and I tell Lisa I’ve got to go.

So I get as far as the back hallway, bump into Melissa and Miles, standing there grinning at me. I instantly know what’s up and thank Melissa for doing that.

“Well, I asked Chris if this was the same girl who stood there yesterday talking to you for half an hour and told him, fuck this, man, we need his help too much,” she explains.

“Thanks,” I tell her again, and chuckle, “that was great.”

Oh, and this dinging bell! The reason we now have this on the meat counter, like something from a hotel desk or what have you, is also considered to be my fault. What happened is that, however many days ago this was, I was standing at my own desk in the seafood shop, facing away from everything, writing some stuff down (possibly just normal old writing, but I think this was actually work-related). Anyway, next thing I know, I hear some insistent banging sound. I turn around to see some middle aged blonde woman pounding her hand repeatedly on the counter, she is redfaced and shouting and glaring at me, plainly just furious.

I stop what I’m doing to walk over there and help her. It’s true that my face is somewhere halfway between confusion and agitation. But the main reason for this is that, apart from her antics, wondering why she’s screaming, when I look over at the meat department, it’s completely deserted. It will later emerge that they all decided to slip out for a quick break together but never even said a word to me about it.

“I’m standing here, and standing here, and keep trying to get your attention, but you’re just ignoring me. And then you look at me like I’m doing something wrong!?” she seethes.

“Sorry but I wasn’t ignoring you. I was just wondering why you were pounding on the counter and screaming, beause I obviously didn’t hear you those other times.”

I do mention that the entire meat department seems to have disappeared without telling me, just so she’ll know what happened. Left unsaid, though, and one other thing most shoppers probably don’t realize, is how loud it is back here. These giant fans are blowing all the time, in order to keep the department cold. You can’t really tell from out there (probably one reason they typically have a divider dropping down from the ceiling, above the meat counter – to block the noise) (either that or totally separate rooms, or both) but if you were to step back here, you would understand immediately. So if she was saying hello, hello? progressively louder, it might take a while for me to hear this.

Something similar to this happened not so long ago, actually. One afternoon I was in the cooler doing something, and though my door was wide open, this department is shaped like a backwards 7. I can see my counter from there, but not the meat department’s. So when I finally emerge from the cooler, I’m surprised to see Mary Carol standing over at the far end of the meat counter – she’s leaving for the day and wants to buy something. Once again, though, the entire meat crew went on break without a heads up. She doesn’t really say anything, but she has been standing here for quite some time and I can tell she’s pissed. This is another of those lose-lose situations of corporate life. I don’t rat out the meat department, but by not doing so, this just makes me look like an ass, for no reason.

Anyway this blonde woman goes right up front after this to complain. Within a couple hours tops Mr. Leonard is back here installing a bell at the counter, wordlessly, not even explaining what this is about. He just goes about this business with a determined look on his face, and walks off again. A little bit later I chuckle and make a wisecrack to Tammie about it, asking what’s up with this.

“It’s because you wouldn’t wait on some woman,” she pointedly tells me.

“Wha-ha-ha-ha-at?” I reply, with a disbelieving laugh.

“Oh yeah. That’s what I was told,” she says, 100% serious.

It’s just turning into an idiot convention around here. Not just this store, but company wide. Still, as these instances pile up you do have to take a look at yourself and wonder if you’re majorly out to line, and all these flipping out people are right. It’s only natural. But I feel like I’m being completely reasonable, it’s everyone else losing their minds, and the poor quality of help we’re attracting now, and a bit of a ganging-up situation because this stressful situation is making people lose their minds.

You can interpret this any number of ways, of course. Some would consider this a “test” (meaning you’re supposed to persevere through it), others a “sign” (meaning you’re supposed to move on from here), still others “total randomness” (often my own take on most everything that happens). Whatever the interpretation, though, it does make one consider how much longer he might last in an environment such as this.

October 15

First day back after a much needed vacation. Matt did an amazing job running the place while I was gone, and he’d been here one week! I’m amazed how smoothly today goes, too, as a result. In at 7 to take inventory, and by the time I leave at 3, everything is looking beautiful.

October 17

Work 9 – 5:30.

October 19

In at 8am. They ask me to take over lunchmeat, even though I’m head seafood, and I’m cool with that. So today is the first day of this new strategy, an afternoon project after everything’s knocked out in my actual department. Technically we should be adjusting the labor hours in some fashion – because this should reflect on meat, not me – but being realistic, nobody is going to trifle with this. Then again, this really ties in with Tom’s counterintuitive seeming theory (which I happen to agree with now) that you want to MAX OUT your labor budget at this place. Though this wouldn’t seem to make much sense on the surface (and shouldn’t, but this isn’t your normal place of business). Reason being that if you don’t use your entire budget every week, they wind up taking the hours away from you at some point, and then you’re really screwed when you need them. Bottom line is that if nobody else cares about this level of detail then I guess I don’t either.

October 20

Ah, this is the life…working a cake 8-4 shift, the last half spent out on lunchmeat – I’m their new all-star, knew it was only a matter of time before they asked me to.

October 26

In at 9am.

October 31

early shift

November 1

Closing shift. Another winner of a Jim experience, it’s just the two of us closing. The real cake topper is when Carrie drifts back here to talk to me, and as she’s leaving, she says, “hi,” to Jim. That’s it. And he goes absolutely apeshit over this.

“HOW DO YOU EVEN DARE TALKING TO ME, HUH?” he shouts at her. 

Now, admittedly, I could probably list about 15 factors that make Carrie the most non-corporate corporate HR person in history. Still, his reaction seems more than a little extreme. It apparently all stems from the fact that Carrie has been telling Jill that she needs to dump Jim – even I have never said anything like that, just want her to be happy and don’t really care beyond that. Professionally this is probably way over the line for Carrie, but if you’re thinking of it as a friend-to-friend chat you can maybe justify it. Whatever the case, Jill has obviously informed Jim of these chats – it’s why he’s flipping out now, or at least one of the reasons, and possibly explains why he’s gone off on me both times I tried to help him out in the meat department.

After Carrie keeps trying to defuse the situation and he repeatedly bellows at her, she understandably flees the scene. But this just means that I now have to listen to Jim endlessly bitch about her.

“Got a lot of nerve, a lot of nerve,” he tells me, adds, “I know you two’s friends and all, but I don’t play that game. If I got something to say to somebody, I say it to their face.”

                Makes you wonder why he’s telling me this stuff now, then, instead of Carrie.  Makes me also wonder later about rude comments he makes in leaving the room, half hoping I wouldn’t hear him but then getting belligerent with me when I do.

                “Talking shit about me ‘cause I ain’t got a college degree,” he mutters, “whole lotta good a college degree’s done her.  You got a college degree and still working at Kroger?  What’s up with that, huh?”

                “Come on, now,” I tell him, look at the clock – which now reads 8 p.m. – “let’s have one more nice, quiet hour and get out of here.”

Apparently he has some big plan to bail on this job as soon as he leaves the halfway house – we can only hope!

November 2

Early shift. Matt F. is called into the office and written up for using wax paper instead of gloves at the service counter. We all think it’s ridiculous, because almost nobody uses the gloves at the service counter, when handling raw meat. We use the sheets of wax paper because they are much faster, unless something’s messy or hard to handle, like ground meat, marinated stuff, etc.

Management occasionally gets a bug up their butt about this topic – usually due to a customer complaint – but then it dies down again. One main reason for this is that, though certain customers certainly don’t want to hear it, there’s no law about using gloves when handling raw meat. If not for the sheets of wax papers, which can be grabbed and then discarded in an instant, then you’re either going to be putting on a fresh pair of gloves for every new species, or washing your hands between the species. Nobody has time for that junk, 99.9% of the shoppers included. And if you think the butchers are back there in the cutting room wearing gloves while they sling primal cuts through the bandsaw, I’m sorry, that’s not happening. Or perhaps you believe the fishermen are out there strapping on a fresh pair of latex gloves as they reel in their catches? Oh yeah, totally. Well, we do after all sell some Lake Erie fish here and I can tell you for sure that isn’t happening up there, either. Or what about the guys filleting the fish right there or the docks before they’re packing them on ice to ship to us? I’m sure they are continually slinging on and swapping out fresh latex as well.

We do have the occasional crybaby (like this one fat woman with glasses who’s been shopping here for years, we eventually noticed a pattern with her – she wouldn’t say anything, would just stand there leering at you with her lopsided frown, then the next thing you know a few minutes later she’s up at the front desk complaining) (with her, we already know to put on gloves and make an elaborate show of switching out for a fresh pair with every new animal she wants). With those, management has to put up a good front of following up on the complaints but otherwise nothing becomes of this.

November 4

Lately it seems the days are uneventful around here, or else a total war zone of hostility. Nothing in between. Today there are 3 such awesome episodes:

#1: The first of these is relatively minor. I’m weighing up a couple racks of ribs for a customer who happens to be a mystery shopper instead. Am using wax paper sheets instead of gloves and this is noted on the report.

#2: Another, much worse confrontation with Jim W. I’d come over to the meat department to help them wrap off the line, since it’s late afternoon and I’m caught up over in seafood.

“What’s this?” I ask concerning one pan of product. It’s ground beef but I’m not sure about the fat content.

“Round, I think,” Jim says, offhand, as he’s over by the desk fiddling with a date gun.

“Matt, do you know what this is?” I question, turning to him for confirmation.

He mumbles something, which I can’t hear, because drowning him out is the sound of Jim saying, “can’t you hear, man?” before banging out of the department in a huff.

I stop what I’m doing, figure fuck this, I was only trying to help the guy get caught up and once again he’s being a dick for reason whatsoever. Then he returns and I ask, “what did you say?”

“I said I think it’s ground round,” trying to play the whole thing off. He’s been running his mouth all day, actually, and is obviously in a great mood. Earlier he was bitching to Joe about Tammie, when she wasn’t around. Now he’s bent over doing something, avoiding eye contact.

“No, I mean after that.”

Now he stands up, his face glowing bright red, shooting an angry glare back at me. “I SAID CAN’T YOU HEAR, MAN!?” he shouts, “WHAT? It sounded to me like you were getting a little bit smart.”

“All I did was ask you what the meat was,” I reply, dumbfounded.

                “RIGHT!  AND I SAID IT WAS GROUND ROUND, AND THEN YOU TURNED AND ASKED MATT LIKE YOU DIDN’T EVEN HEAR ME!”

                “You said you think it’s ground round,” I pointed out, “that’s why I asked Matt.”

                “Right.  And like I said, I don’t know, sounded like you were getting a little bit smart with me.”

                Now I do in fact raise my voice, to match his.  “YOU GOT A PROBLEM WITH ME, MAN?”

                “Whoa, whoa!” he says, and throws his arms up between us, “why you gotta come at me all crazy like this! I ain’t got no problem with you, man.  I ain’t even gonna play this game – hey, four more days and you won’t even have to deal with me no more, Jay.”

                “All I did was ask you a simple question, what’s with the rude comment?”

                “Like I said, it sounded like you were getting smart with me.”

                “Bullshit,” I say and walk away.

                “AW WHATCHA GONNA DO NOW, MAN? HUH? GO AHEAD AND GO CRY TO MANAGEMENT!” he hollers behind me.

                I turn around and storm back, get in his face again.  “GO TO MANAGEMENT? WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?  ALL I DID WAS ASK YOU WHAT YOU SAID, AND WHY YOU SAID IT!”

                “THAT’S RIGHT, AND I SAID IT BECAUSE IT SOUNDED LIKE YOU MADE ANOTHER ONE OF YOUR SMART ALECK COMMENTS!,” Jim says.

                “Another?”  I question, unaware that there’d ever been a first one, not to mention my confusion over how the simple question I’d asked him could be painted as such.

                “Yeah, another one of your smart aleck comments,” he smirks.

                “Whatever.” I shake my head and walk off.

                As I wait on a customer at the meat counter, I can hear him bitching to Joe behind me.

                “Man, you saw that, didn’t you?  Why’s he gotta come at me all crazy like that?  I don’t need this shit.  In fact, I’m gonna do something about it right now,” and he storms out of the department, only to come breezing back in about ten seconds later – a change of heart, apparently. 

                Aside from the obvious fact that he’s a raving lunatic with an outrageous temper – which is the reason why he’s in the halfway house right now – he apparently thought better of complaining about me to management.  His one month with the company doesn’t amount to a hill of beans, and if a person like me, or Tammie, got pissed off enough, we could have him fired – he’s not even in the union yet.  And getting fired, when he’s 4 days removed from getting out of the halfway house, would be enough to keep him there even longer.

                Of his two tantrums today – the one he threw about Tammie earlier was actually worse – even his best friend, Joe, is so tired of hearing him rant & rave that Joe just smiles wearily and says nothing when Jim insistently says, “you know what I’m sayin’? Huh? Huh?”

#3: After this madness, being called upstairs by Mr. Gossman feels like a relative trifle. Especially because it has to do with the mystery shopper, not Jim. This is when I learn about her gloves complaint, 5 minutes before I was supposed to clock out for the day. Like I’m telling him, though, if they are going to put their foot down about this, then put their foot down about this. All they have to do is tell us, “hey, we don’t care if it’s a law or not, just do it.” And if they’re going to start writing us up now (which seems to be the case, as he adds a Significant Reminder to my file at this moment, too), then that pretty much amounts to the same thing. But thus far, they haven’t really done this. I’ve never been seriously reprimanded in any fashion before today, for example. They’ve played it off as they personally don’t care if we wear gloves, and then claiming it’s the law, which we then blow the whistle on and call nonsense. All this really amounts to is a dog and pony show to appease a tiny percentage of the customers, who are wrong – and I trick him into all but admitting as much:

“I don’t have a problem with that,” I tell him, about wearing the gloves, “but what is it, food safety or just worrying about what the customers think?”

“Food safety,” he says.

“Okay then,” I challenge him, “why is okay for the cutters not to use any gloves on the line when they’re cutting meat, then? What’s with that?”

“Because the customers…,” he starts, but then catches himself. Looks away and starts shaking his head, with the patented Gossman furrowed brow. My point exactly. He doesn’t even need to finish the thought. Because the customers can’t see what they’re doing back there. That is the only difference.

But, whatever, gloves it is now. Except I don’t quite get why management almost seems to attack the help more during highly contentious, paper thin staffing periods, when they’re already having trouble keeping decent employees around. And here we are about to head into the holiday season. Yet all this has accomplished apparently is not scoring a point in my favor, rather getting him all riled up as he abruptly changes subjects.

“What’s with you saying I never told you about ice bathing your fish?” he suddenly blurts out, scowling still.

“I never said that,” I reply, “you told me to ice bath the fish, and I told you I wasn’t doing it. You told me I couldn’t take it upon myself to make that kind of decision, and that you were gonna talk to Tom Tatera about it.”

This all stems from a recent showdown back in my department, a morning why he asked me yet again why I’m not doing it. Between him and Mr. Leonard they’ve got the fear of god instilled of Matt to where he’s doing so, on the morning he opens, even though I’ve advised him not to. I give Gossman a rundown of all the top notch seafood people who are not ice bathing their fish, including zone overlord Masood. At this moment, I’m holding a tray of tuna, which has all the color bleached out as a result of Matt ice bathing it the day before. I tilt this in Tony’s direction and tell him, “look at this! Tuna isn’t supposed to be white! This isn’t the right way to do things!” To which he actually chuckles and says, “well, it’s the Kroger way.”

                But today, upstairs here, he looks off into the distance once more, shaking his head again.  Part of Gossman’s problem – don’t me wrong, I actually like the guy, he’s just out there sometimes- is that I think he knows most people consider him somewhat of a “bird brain,” and he secretly fears they might be right. Any kind of argument at all, any resistance, throws him for a real loop.

                “Okay, I’ll email him right now, then,” Tony says, springing up from his chair.  I leave, and never heard any more about it, not even at the meeting the next day.

November 7

Work 7 to 3 in the meat department only – it’s been 2 years since I’ve done that at this store.

November 8

normal old opening shift in seafood

November 9

Opening shift. Maria calls, puts Scott Hart on the phone – he spent the night there. First time I’ve talked to him since he quit here back in October of ’97! He’s living up in Delaware now, got the one girl but isn’t w/ the kid’s mom anymore, coming down for classes at OSU.  Cool talking to him. I stay over a half hour, working from 8-4:30.

November 10

Jim’s last day – thank Christ – and here they fired Joe earlier in the day, for not showing up at all.

  I’m in at 1:30, Jim leaves at 2, and that’s hopefully the last I have to see of this clown.  Everyone in the whole department (and management, too) was aware of them stealing candy out of the back hallway at night when they work, so it was only a matter of time before they got busted for that anyway.  I even found a half empty package of beef jerky in my seafood cooler that one of them had stashed.

                Crazy night, since I have the Bob Dylan show to go to – but Matt F. had troubles w/ the bus getting him to work (and the supervisors at his halfway house fucking w/ him) and he didn’t get here until 12:15, which means we have him until 8:15.  Little Bob is closing w/ me, too, and we are in great shape for a Saturday. I knock out cleanup, Matt stocks the wall & waits counter, Little Bob does lunchmeat and then the dishes. 

               Forgot the concert ticket, though. So I had to leave at 7:45 on a lunch break, race home, grab it off the kitchen table, then race back, and from 8:15 until 9 bust down the seafood case entirely (since it had been 2 weeks), clean it, clean the floor, do the dishes, clean the sink.  Whew.  Little Bob and I both blow out of here at a few minutes past nine.

November 11

work 7 to 3

November 12

In at 7 on two hours’ sleep to take inventory, and am finished by 7:30. I got a head start yesterday, though – you can count anything in backstock ahead of time, if you know isn’t going out on the floor. Set case, then, and it’s a pretty mellow day.

Melissa talks me into hitting Best Shot with her for happy hour. I agree to it, but plan on just having two beers – and somehow manage to stick to this. Even though right after we arrive, the door opens and who should breeze in her but Nick Leonard. Who then insists on paying for our rounds. To top it off, his beer is apparently Rolling Rock, which happens to be what I’m drinking these days, too.

It’s been an exceptionally strange experience thus far with Mr. Leonard. You almost suspect that if we met under any other circumstances, we might even be friends. I really want to like the guy, but he’s made it pretty much impossible with this really odd behavioral split, to where I never feel truly comfortable around him. You can have 99 straight days with him that are totally normal, but then on day 100 he will assail you out of the blue with something that is so over the top, uncalled for, aggressively hostile and just plain out of line that you can’t imagine ever speaking to him again. But then he’s back to normal after that, for the next few weeks or months, and you almost start to forget about it. Until something like that happens all over again.

I can remember my first ever interaction with the guy – at Henderson Road, naturally. He was an assistant manager there before here. It was a shift where I had been called in to close over there, but early enough that some of the openers, Dennis included, were still around. I had never seen the dude before, at the moment he comes barging into the meat department, where I alone stood behind the counter, as the others were all back in the cutting room.

“What is this!?” he barks, and jabs a finger at Dennis’s famous hot plate, on the table behind me, where he has some meat concoction cooked up for our consumption.

“Uh…I don’t know…,” I shrug, totally horrified. He’s in a suit and tie, name badge, is obviously a manager here.

Except then he says, “looks like dinner!” and his face breaks out into a broad smile, as he then helps himself to a healthy portion of the stuff. So I laugh, and I’m thinking, okay, this guy must be alright.

But then I would subsequently hear other, mostly horrific stories about him. He did not get along with Melissa whatsoever back then. In fact, there was a notorious confrontation at this very bar which evidently led to his being transferred away from the Henderson Road store (I know quite a bit about that incident, but don’t feel like getting into it here). It was so bad that, as I just so happened to be upstairs when everyone found out Mr. Leonard was coming to Bethel Road, the always stoic Mary Carol even broke character for once and shook her head, obviously not pleased by this news.

“We’re gonna lose Melissa now,” she said, as they all discussed what this move meant.

And that was the general assumption. The thing with Mr. Leonard is that everyone says he has this pattern of being really cool to everybody, but then he’ll just have one person he seems to target relentlessly to fuck with, wherever he goes. Everybody just assumed this person would be Melissa, once he was reuinted with her at Bethel. But it hasn’t worked out like that, in fact they’ve gotten along great. Instead, it’s now shaping up that this person might be…yours truly. Or at least I feel that way, on his 1 in 100 days or whatever. Tonight he’s exceptionally chummy, though, sitting to my left at the bar, Melissa to my right.

November 13

Cakewalk day. Sunny morning, I’m in at 9 to staighten seafood up a bit as Matt sets the case. Then at 10 head upstairs for a head seafood meeting that lasts until about 3.

November 15

early shift

November 16

Early shift. All day long Miles and I are talking about grabbing beers later, but it never happens.

November 17

Well, whatever Miles got into, it must have really been something. Somehow it was just him and Dollar Bill over in produce, and Lisa Yanik too – don’t ask me how that crew came together. “Go look at Miles,” Melissa tells me with a laugh, as soon as I roll in, “he looks like he got in a fight.”

Not literally, though, she just means he is looking mighty rough around the edges. He’d drunk so much that he is obviously still wasted, in fact, from last night. His voice takes on this crazy rasp when he’s trashed, which is one dead giveaway.

And yet…here were are after work today, Melissa, Miles, Mike Harper, Nick Leonard and me, up at J. Lindsay’s for happy hour. I’m lucky to have left early, and escaped most of the carnage.

November 18

I’m in at 7 and Melissa says, “I stayed too long,” about the J. Lindsay’s experience yesterday. But Mike Harper fared even worse – he had 3 shots of Beam, not sure what else, and fell down in the parking lot. Mr. Leonard ended up driving him home. In other news, Mike tells me that Mr. Leonard is a pool shark, too. Which makes sense, he just looks the part somehow…

November 19

early shift, leave at 4:15

November 22

Thanksgiving. I work 12-4 and it’s a ghost town. I have one customer all day on the meat counter – he buys 1 1/2 lbs. of ground round. The seafood case is never opened. Melissa works until 11, Tammie until 12, then I’m on my own until the store closes. Our service case only has brats (?), hamburger, chicken, and a pan of stuffing in it today anyway. A few customers straggling through ask me a question or say hello, but just the one bought something at the counter.

November 24

Today is Chris’s last day at our store – he just made head meat cutter at Sawmill Road. A bunch of us will meet up later to celebrate. But it also happens to be the day of the OSU/Michigan game. So they’ve got this TV that Melissa brought in, with the game on back in the cutting room, it’s dead all day and various people are continually huddled around back there watching it. When Miles and I leave, just before 4, I look back and am cracking up to see the current collection is Chris, Rick Gardner, and Mr. Leonard, standing around in the butcher shop / viewing lounge.

November 25

Oddly slow for a Sunday, and a rare beneficial scheduling screwup means there’s six of us on hand at 1:30. Melissa had left at one, told me I could split at 1:30 if I wanted, and this is exactly what I do. Maybe I could use the money, and should have stuck around – but came in at 7 and really need a nap before working my second job later.

December 1

early shift

December 2

early shift

December 7

Off at 4, head over to J. Lindsay’s for “Dollar” Bill Flory’s going away party. Even though the guest of honor doesn’t show up until 4:45 himself.

December 8

Early shift. Nothing exceptional happens, at least not while here. Afterwards I do run Tim down to the halfway house, which is my first chance to actually see this place. He just started back here, has had a bunch of drug problems, but has hopefully put all this behind him now. It’s clear out on the east side, on Alum Creek Drive. He insists upon giving me two cigarettes (even though I don’t smoke) as payment for gas – mainly because they’re considered “contraband” and aren’t allowed inside the building anyway. But I’ll have no problem finding someone to give these to.

December 9

work early.

December 10

Once again, Lisa screws up setting her alarm clock and I’m late for work, this time by an hour. Melissa laughs and laughs when I come in, because Miles has already been here for a few hours and told her about the night before.  So it looks like I got tore off the frame or something, which actually wasn’t true.

December 11

Late shift with Nick H. and Larry, ridiculously easy night.

December 15

Early shift, off at 4.

December 19

Probably the most ridiculous day of my Kroger career. You could make a case it cracks the top ten list for my life, period, except I don’t want to give Carrie that much credit. She was never that important to me. But I don’t think it’s an exaggeration to say that today’s events directly contribute to my eventual exit from this company. And it’s without question the most shocking and absurd falling out I’ve had with anyone, ever, not just a coworker or somebody I was involved with or a friend or whatever. And the bulk of it goes down before I even get here today.

I’m here for an early shift, too, but shit has already blown up. What happened is that yesterday, Carrie somehow got this completely unfathomable idea inside her head. She found a page in my journal where I was ranting and raving about management (10/28/01), took it, made copies, and…started passing them out to everybody here this morning. I still can’t get over it. I had no idea until Joe Barnes came up and filled me in.

If there’s a positive to be found in any of this, though, it’s that an incident like this really shows what people are all about. Three different people – and I’m not really close to any of them – were nonetheless disturbed enough to confront Carrie on my behalf, before I even got here this morning. This would be Melissa, Tommy, and Joe Barnes here. “That was bullshit,” each of them tells her, almost identical comments though they approach her independently, unaware the others did. So that’s really cool. I can see who has my back, and I will always have theirs as a result. I have a ton of respect for all three of them now.

As for Carrie? Not so much. She didn’t just grab some garden variety pages where I happened to rip on Gossman and Leonard. No, this was an extended rant and might realistically be the juiciest one of the entire year. So those two are majorly pissed. About like I am at her, you could say. I don’t think she anticipated the backlash from everyone else, though. But yeah, I immediately track her down and go off. She of course has to put about the zaniest spin imaginable on this stunt.

“I’m here to help people communicate. That’s what I do,” she tells me at one point.

“You’re a troublemaker. That’s what I think,” I reply.

I’m willing to take the blame for getting kicked off her basketball team back in the spring. Not entirely my fault, okay, sure, but whatever. She didn’t have my back then, though, and in more recent times I’ve seriously begun to wonder where her head is at, period. It all started with her bizarre antics when Damon and Jim were hired and escalated from there. To where I’m basically determined to never speak to her again, and am totally okay with this development.

As for Mr. Leonard and Mr. Gossman, unfortunately I have to suck it up and apologize to them. My rehearsed explanation is, “I don’t feel that way all the time, I just did that day.” Which I think they mostly bought. Tony’s response is plenty off the wall, too, though, as expected. I mean, he has a copy of the rant in his possession, but doesn’t seem to have caught the drift anyway. Part of it is me unloading about that whole tuna incident, which he doesn’t even remember. “If I was laughing, I wasn’t laughing at you,” he tells me now. So yeah, totally missing the point.

December 21

Work early. Chris has a party later tonight and I’m invited, but decide to skip it because I know Carrie will be there.

December 22

Work early. Tommy Lawson is talking to Carrie some more about what she did. He’s telling me about it later. “That was wrong,” he says he told her today, “you really should talk to Jason.”

“I’m scared,” she admitted.

We cross paths upstairs later in the day, but are thankfully at opposite sides of the room, with a ton of people around. Therefore are successfully able to avoid one another.

December 23

All things considered, a fun day. In at 7, my eight hour shift blows by in no time – it’s just like the good ol’ days, we are so busy. They even spring for an Xmas lunch for employees (cold cuts, chips, fruit, etc) in the conference room upstairs.

December 24

Xmas eve and I’m scheduled an odd 10 hour shift at Kroger, 8 to 6.  How this bit of overtime slid by the wage conscious store management I couldn’t say.  Insanely busy on one hand, but a pale shadow of the business we used to do on the other hand.  During the store’s peak, seafood did $20,000 in sales Xmas week; last year, it was down to $15,000 and this year I slumped to $9,000.  Two factors contributing to this – the new Giant Eagle store just up the road, but also a recession we’re in now where people cut out luxury items to some extent – and shrimp, crab legs, the normal things I sell during Xmas, are definitely not what you’d consider an essential, it’s definitely a luxury expenditure. 

                The store dies down completely by 4 and with Tim & Nick in meat and me and the latest desperate new hire Will (he has already earned the nickname Will Sample because he always wants to snack on samples) in seafood, we have everything done by 5 except the last little bit of cleanup and I am able to leave then, an hour earlier than scheduled. The whole store was closing at 6 anyway, so it didn’t much matter.

December 26

Work from 9 to 5. Linda is in again, and all I can say is…whew doggies! It’s half this situation where she wants me and her daughter (Andrea) to be together, half where I really feel like that’s just a cover story and she’s actually hitting on me.

She’s here about 2 in the afternoon, I haven’t seen her in weeks. Hair shorter, wearing this black coat with grey and white fur around the back of the neck – looking sharp. Blows me a kiss, says hello.

                “I told my daughter I was coming in to see her boyfriend,” Linda says.

                “I haven’t even met her yet!” I laugh.

                See, the deal with this Linda chick is that she keeps telling me – and is apparently dead serious – that her daughter’s marriage is on the ropes, and when it finally falls apart, she wants to hook the two of us up. I walk around from behind the counter to chat with Linda and we’re hanging out by the frozen seafood case when this blonde in “workout” attire breezes past.

                “There you go, there’s your woman!” Linda says.

                “No,” I shake my head, “she’s too serious.”

                “I’ll help you pick out the right woman for you,” she tells me.

                Well, if the daughter’s as hot as the mom and she really does get divorced, I’d love to have her help…

December 27

Work 9 to 5

December 28

work early shift

December 29

Off at 4.