Tag: Upper Arlington

For just about the duration of my days here, we’ve got these two corporate tools brought over from the conventional world, Bob and Tom, who never gelled with the workforce whatsoever. Seemingly on a daily basis you’d have these Dilbert-level bizarre exchanges with one or both of the guys which would leave you even more confused than before. And while we had our share of great customers, approximately 1% I would say were so horrible it was like nothing you’d ever experienced before, they’d have you on the brink of walking out on a nightly basis. On his first day working back in the meat department, my buddy Dan is attempting to talk me down from a series of bad encounters, telling me, “try to calm down, Jay, you shouldn’t let these people get to you…” Halfway through his second day, now he’s the one with teeth clenched, shaking his head and staring over at me with an expression that says, this is absolutely insane. “I’m not gonna last here too long, I can tell already,” he says.

So yeah, a day and a half has him talking like this, grasping the very nature of the Wild Oats experience.

It is true that good friends like him were one of the few things that kept me around during these hard times. That and we meat cutters were paid an exorbitant amount, enough so that I quit Kroger to focus exclusively on this place. However, this thrill is mitigated to some extent in that we were receiving extremely cliquish if not downright hateful vibes from roughly half of our coworkers. Part of it is that we are butchers working in a land rife with vegetarians and vegans, a sin which makes us, as Dan puts it, on par with “baby killers.” Some of it I believe has to do with jealously that our department is making more than any non-management folk in the store, and probably some of them as well. Fortunately, the other half of my coworkers are so awesome and hysterical that I have better, wilder times with them – before, during, and after work – than anywhere else that I’ve ever punched a time clock. And this is saying a lot, actually, considering if nothing else the various places where I’ve waited tables, for example.

Here are a few quick links you can click to jump forward in this odyssey:

2001

2006

The Customers

The Artifacts

Otherwise, quite naturaly, just keep reading…

II.

I start back in the meat department in April of 2001, as a part timer joining just four full time employees – three of which I went to school with back home. Travis runs the shop, and the other two old chums are Matt and Kevin. The only unknown quantity in the bunch is this veteran, middle aged meat cutter named Charlie, who is certifiably crazy and will admit as much to anyone. Owing to my particular circumstance, a unionized employee for another grocery store chain (the Bethel Road Kroger), we consider it best to keep this moonlighting gig under wraps on both sides of the equation. Maybe this is being overdramatic, but I like my newfound second job from the outset, and don’t want to do anything to jeopardize it – and at such a combative company as Kroger, it wouldn’t surprise me in the least for management to make a huge stink about this. As it turns out, someone else did recently try this exact same thing, not too long prior to my arrival. Some guy they refer to as “Fitzie” (I can’t recall his full name) was working at the Chambers Road Kroger and also double dipping back in this meat department a few nights a week. He got away with it, though also keeping his lips sealed on this arrangement, so we know it can be done.

Bob K, the store manager (his last name is pronounced “cotton steady” but I won’t even hazard a spelling at this point), had only arrived here about a month before me. Preceeding him, I am told, was some hardlined military guy that was kind of a bastard to work for, but did a good job, and was mostly grudgingly respected. In the early going, Bob seems extremely chill, possibly just what this place needs. He had left Meijer to take this job, and the cover story he gives everyone is that he got so tired of corporate life, he decided to downshift into a relatively calmer place like this. He’s had a ton of experience throughout the grocery industry, including a stint in Kroger, and just finally got fed up with it. Well, it all sounded very plausible at the moment, but we soon learned enough about Bob to recognize there’s no way things went down like this at Meijer. He’s as unrepentingly corporate as they come. If I had to guess, I believe there must have been some sort of scandal – possibly even just poor performance – which let to Meijer giving him the boot.

Second in command when I begin is this much cooler dude named Chad, who is in our basic age demographic. He wears camouflage shorts pretty much every day, a ballcap despite working on the front end, has shaggy brown hair and matching lightning bolt tattoos shooting up both of his calves. Everybody likes Chad, including presumably the cashier he is openly dating. At Kroger this would be frowned upon, to say the least, if not forbidden, so it’s cool to see this atmosphere is a little more low key. It feels right up my alley, that these are more my kind of people.

And yet it doesn’t quite work out that way. Oh, I have a blast here, to be sure, and will slowly accumulate a ton of great allies and associates, some of which I remain in contact with to this day. But it takes some doing. One thing I never counted on is the tradeoff at a place like this, i.e. the trendiness component – it’s very cliquish, and let’s just say some dudes who happen to be working in the meat department are automatically considered the equivalent of cavemen. The connection here totally escapes me, to the extent that I’m still oblivious to it after a couple of months spent working here.

“I feel like a bunch of the employees here hate me, but I can’t figure out why,” I admit to Travis one day.

“It’s because we work in the meat department,” he nods and tells me, matter of factly, already well aware of this phenomenon.

“Really?“

“Oh yeah, totally.”

So we meat peddlers are automatic pariahs here in vegetarian land. Right on. To say that this attitude flies in the face of the peace n’ love, Come Together Now, purported hippie ideology is not something I ever waste my breath explaining. I’m used to being an acquired taste anyway, so it’s no big deal, these distasteful leers around these parts when attempting to say a simple, “what’s up?” as though they can’t even believe I would dare speak to them. We might have more in common than many of these people may suspect, but whatever, it’s their loss. In fact I kind of like it when people dismiss me at first glance, I find it both hilarious and highly useful, in that I don’t have to waste my time getting to know them, either. Oooohkay! You betcha! But for starters, the guy RUNNING the entire meat department, Travis, doesn’t eat meat. And how far are we taking this guilt-by-association thing, anyway? Should any of us be working for these corporate clowns, regardless of department? Am I allowed to consider you a monster and in cahoots with Bob K, merely because you work up front and are often rubbing elbows with the guy?

The vibes here are very strange all around, though, and at the center of this phenomenon lie some of the most hostile customers I’ve ever encountered anywhere. This whole local/natural/organic trend is just blowing up during this time, and we are in the middle of a fairly upscale demographic base, so if many of these shoppers didn’t already think they were better than most, this is certainly true concerning some lowly clerks at a place like this, when they come in and plonk their majorly trendy dollars down.

Like anywhere else, the vast majority of patrons are cool, but the one or two exceptions per night are so horrific you want to punch the wall. I mean, my first significant adverse encounter is with this roided out bodybuilder who says he’ll be waiting for me in the parking lot when I get off that night, because I won’t fire up the grinder for him at five minutes before closing time. Meanwhile, we have this corporate lapdog Bob up top who is showing his true colors in no time at all, and taking their side without exception in every one of these incidents. Part of this is he adheres 100% to that customer is always right pap, but another huge chunk is that, I’m convinced, he believes he is one of these highly affluent shoppers himself, a member of their tribe, and is demonstrating his solidarity in this manner, currying their favor through ingratiation. And yeah, he had the weight lifter guy’s back during that altercation, you bet. Not mine.

One night a few of us are drinking beers around a fire behind Travis’s place, early into my tenure, and talking about the Oats when I observe, “we have the worst customers in town!”

Kevin chuckles and begins counting off the meat department roll call, past and present, with fingers and thumbs. “Let’s see, you say that. Matt says that. Travis says that. Charlie says that. Copper said that…uh, Stevie said that, Johnny Q said that, Imsland said that…I would probably say that, too, but I haven’t really worked anywhere else…”

“But no, according to Bob, we have the best customers in town!” I marvel.

“He’s in denial,” Kevin concludes.

We have this one doctor and his wife who are in constantly buying filet mignon, and seriously about 1 out of every 3 occasions, they bring some of the meat back, claim it was “inedible” and demand a refund. Which Bob and Tom (Chad’s eventual replacement) fork over without question every time, seem even eager to do so, on occasion hook up these a-holes with more freebies beyond that. Tripping over themselves to kiss up to this duo. One such incident I overhear the wife, who has some sort of French accent or something, telling Tom, “it was so bad I spit it back out onto the plate!”

That’s all fine and dandy if they care to burn store profits in this manner, but then the dynamic management duo (often referred to as The Bob And Tom Show; Charlie typically calls them “Bobbytomtom,” however, as though two heads attached to one body. Which I suppose is actually much more accurate)(he also likes saying “Bobbytomtom…Bobbytomtom” to the tune of the slogan used in Bobby Layman commercials) is always back in our midst right after this, grilling us about the quality of our filets. To which we usually reply with some variation of, “hey, did it ever occur to you that maybe, I don’t know…these people might be…full of shit!?”

We do after all sell hundreds of pounds of filets during a typical week. We are all seasoned veterans who know what meat is supposed to look and smell and feel like. Are constantly cooking up demos of our products, pretty much around the clock, of which filets represent a decent portion. We hardly ever get any complaints from anybody else about these cuts. What, are the illustrious doctor and his darling wife the most unlucky people in the history of the universe? Or no, wait, do they just maybe have the most refined palettes ever? Sure, that must be it.

Regarding the help, though, I should mention there is also one other mysterious figure lurking about the fringes, during my early days here: Chris Carfagna. As in, of the legendary Carfagna Italian meats empire around town. Though he and Charlie go way back, Chris isn’t involved with the meat department whatsoever here, and in fact it’s never fully explained to me what he’s doing at this store. Possibly nobody else knows the details, either. I have worked with the old man, Adam Carfagna, for years prior to this, and am of course familiar with the family’s flagship store on 161. But the first time I ever meet Chris, he is drinking at Dino’s, a month or so before I even start working at the Oats. Matt introduced us, and yet even in that social setting, he was tight lipped, taciturn, just like on the job.

I never learned if this was his basic state, or if he was perhaps unhappy with his current station in life. Without details I don’t want to dish gossip on the family, but a lot of my coworkers whisper Chris is the black sheep of that clan. At this store, his capacity seems to be vaguely some loose third in command/front end manager/merchandiser role. My most significant memory of him at work – and the only occasion I really recall him messing around much in meat – concerns one night he spends a great deal of time fixing and restocking this wonky refrigerated seafood case in between the two service counters, where we sold smoked salmon and dips and the like. It’s an upright and we’ve had some problem with the shelving, so he the empties the thing, repairs all the shelves, then reloads it. A short while after he walks away, I’m behind the counter when I hear the distinctive sound of shelves collapsing and packages flying every which way as they fling themselves toward the ground.

He seemed very defeated when confronted by this sight. A heap of products and all the shelves, this ungodly mess on the floor. I might even detect that this summarizes where he’s at right now in life, period. Whatever the situation, though, he disappears without ceremony before 2001 is even out.

III.

The walls here are peach, mostly, though pea green over by produce, pomegranate over by sushi. Door to stairwell bright light blue, with purple awning above “Community Room” written in funky yellow. In Natural Living section, signs every few feet designate “essential oils” or “women’s health” or “men’s health” or “soap” “liquid extracts” “green foods” “supplements” “enzymes” et cetera on dark brown stalks that sprout from top of case. Wooden posts throughout store, wooden racks here & there – beeswax in middle of Natty Livin’ aisle, a wine rack by seafood, a boat shaped rack on one wooden post with smoked salmon items. We have some blue plate with an engraved sun (gold-yellow) & rays (tan) & other ancient-South-American-esque carvings on sale on top of island case for $34.99. In our meat case, ostrich eggs are a popular conversation starter – at one point we even have a specimen sitting atop it bearing Chris Spielman’s signature.

Without question, to this day I still have more artifacts from my time here than any other place I’ve worked. This is going to take some sorting out. One other company was maybe objectively wackier, but Wild Oats remains the most fun I’ve ever had at a place of employment, too, and that continued to be true even after things went south between me and management. You could almost say I wouldn’t let them ruin this experience, no matter how terrible they became. And the same applied to those unruly 1% who shopped here.

So let’s jump right in and begin sorting out the carnage, beginning with an organized timeline of what I know…

1998: This store opens, at 1555 W. Lane Avenue. I’m not sure what it was before. I think Charlie was an original employee and Travis came along about a week after it opened, because these two would occasionaly argue about who else was and wasn’t still remaining from the opening cast. Then Kevin a few months down the road, something like that.

2000: Matt starts working here, possibly before he’d even officially moved down to Columbus from Lexington. But I will have to confirm some of these points. What I know for sure is that he’d only been here about 6 months before I arrived on the scene, though he has a way of explaining his adventures to make them sound epic, as though spending an eternity here. It truly is a gift – although in reality, it probably felt that way as well. And he does make friends very quickly.

Other developments are known, though the dates are not. Slotted in between these four stalwarts, some familiar faces came and went (Dave Copper, Scott Imsland) in the meat/seafood department, some others I’ve just heard about (Fitzie, Johnny Q, Little Stevie). Charlie is a legend for a quasi-unionizing stunt he pulls that results in higher pay for the entire meat department, which persists to this day. And may explain some of the other employees’ hatred of us actually. After arguing with management over raises, he went to some other store across town, got applications for the entire meat department. Which the guys all filled out and hung not-so-inconspicuously behind the counter, neatly filled, ready to be turned in. Management apparently didn’t care to call their bluff and gave them all hefty raises, essentially meat cutting pay without any need for certification.

2001: Which brings us up to the moment I’m coming aboard, to begin my own fractured narrative here. The meat department employees are completely frazzled, because business has picked up, though they have less help back there than before. The day I come in for my interview, it’s just me and Travis sitting on this waist high concrete wall beside the store, because the nearby break table is fully occupied. He’s eating a lox and cream cheese bagel, which gives some indication as to the informality. Somewhere in the middle, I ask him something I’ve been kind of wondering about, which is how good an employee Matt is, anyway. Travis raises his eyebrows and laughs, as though surprised to admit this himself, as he says, “he’s actually a really hard worker!” So this is cool to hear, that he is pleasantly, unexpectedly impressed.

April 13

I slide up to Wild Oats again today and formally file out the paperwork of my hire there, working nights part time. All we had to do was iron out exactly which shifts I’d be working – Tues, Sat, and Sun nights to start with, 4 to 9 shifts except 3 to 8 on Sunday, as they close an hour early. Beautiful.

April 17

My first shift here, 4 to 9, closing with Matt. It’s a breeze to the extent that even the Hobart scales we’re using on the counters are the exact same models we have at some Kroger stores. So highly familiar to the extent I already know how to make changes within them if need be. I think I’m going to hit it off with the girls here, too. These seem to be much more my type of people. Travis started me off at an impressive hourly rate, all things considered, too. Yes I have quite a bit of experience, and will be cutting some meat, even while only working nights…but at the same time, the responsibilities should be relatively minor here. Wait some counter and shut off the lights and go home.

April 21

A Saturday night, much more in line with what I will expect from this place. Closing with Travis and we are much busier than my first shift.

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The first time I met Charlie was also my initial foray into this building, which I believe must have been the day I came here to interview. Matt and I were talking out on the floor, in front of the service case; Charlie was doing something inside it, and when Matt pointed at him, to introduce us, he only said, “that’s the boss,” to which Charlie merely grumbled in response. I wasn’t sure what this meant – nor what to think about this wild looking, veteran meat cutter with the long salt and pepper hair.

Though I don’t seem to have the exact date of my first shift working with Charlie, I remember it quite well, and am guessing it must have been April 22nd. He was the one coaching me through my first ever case cleaning project, which we did on a weekly basis. That I am 100% certain on. The only problem with this scenario is that this would be a Sunday, and my memory is that we always cleaned cases on Saturdays. So, either we switched it from Sundays to Saturdays at some point, or else maybe he was also with us on the 21st and left before closing time. We were the only two doing it, but Travis might have been on lunch or downstairs working on paperwork or something.

Except this scenario doesn’t make total sense, either. Because one of the primary thoughts running through my head, as he shows me the finer points of this case cleaning, is wondering why on earth the bosses thought it a good idea to have this madman showing me the ropes. If Travis were here, I probably would have asked him such outright, if not for a second opinion on procedures.

“Do it like this, dawg, but don’t let eeeeeeeeenyone see ya do it,” Charlie tells me.

We are breaking down the seafood case when he mutters these immortal lines. Having said this, he reaches in and extracts one of the metal trays inside, which are a good four by four feet and about a foot deep, jammed with ice, then heaves it onto this rolling cart. Determining somewhere along the line that these carts can support two such trays, he repeats this process to stack a second atop it.

“But what’s the right way?” I question.

“This is,” he barks, “just don’t let anyone see you do it.”

Apparently, the standard routine for most is to set a garden hose spraying hot water inside the case, shut the door, and let it do its thing melting all the ice. But Charlie isn’t having any of this. Instead, he and I surreptitiously wheel this cart out of the department, around the corner into the back dock, and down to their handy trash compactor hatch. It seems that certain key figures are not exactly keen on his process, hence the secrecy. We therefore work as quickly as we can. Set along the back wall, this hatch door opens up to a chute, where we can just dump this ice and fish juice slushie (along with more legitimate trash, throughout the day), before hitting this big button on the wall to mash it. Speaking of which, there’s a neatly printed sign stuck to the wall, beside the button, which originally read:

AFTER TOSSING OUT YOUR LOAD, PLEASE PRESS COMPACTOR BUTTON.

Except somebody long ago drew a black X across certain portions of this message, then wrote some new words above it. The altered sentence now advises:

AFTER TOSSING OFF YOUR LOAD, CUDDLE.

It will remain here just like that, if I’m not mistaken, for the entirety of my stint with this company.

April 24

All day here I’m in a great mood. It starts out shortly after I arrive, when this camera crew shows up out of nowhere to film some spot about our meat department. I think it’s a local news segment, but might be footage for some commercial. Either way, it’s just Matt and me back here at the moment they appear. They’re asking us if we want to be in it. Truthfully, I would love to…but am not convinced this is such a hot idea, if I’m hoping to keep my employment here a secret from Kroger. So I regretfully bow out. Figures this would happen after I’ve literally only been here a week – with more time I might have a better idea what I can get away with.

                Matt doesn’t have any problems hamming it up for the piece, though. As they are setting up their equipment directly in front of the case, he’s standing behind it. I’m off to the side watching the action.

                “Here, this is my good side,” he tells the crew, facing left as they beam their lights and camera in from the right, boom mic held overhead, “do you think I should put on some makeup?”

                “I don’t have any make up,” the girl running this operation replies with a laugh.

                I stay out of sight but peek around the corner to check out what kind of equipment they’re using. Being more than a little interested in filming my own low budget movies some day, it surprises me to see how little gear you could get by on – just a camera mounted on a tripod, a bank of four flourescent lights on one tree, and a guy to hold this oversized microphone above the speaker’s head. And that’s it.

                Then Travis comes in at 5 to work the back end of this split shift, as I have to go through orientation. It’s supposed to last two hours but drags on until 8, as this Sarah chick who runs it just won’t stop talking. She seems very nice, though. And the other kids that have just gotten hired along with me are pretty funny – this one, Jay, who looks like Bruce Springsteen with bad teeth, he interrupts Sarah at one point for no discernable reason and says, “you used to ride horses, didn’t you?”

                Speaking of horses, already I am seeing that this is a very Wild Oats-esque carts before horse maneuver, to have me work three days and only then begin orientation. Totally par for the course. As it is when Sarah goes to put in a video and this hipster looking Brad kid with shaggy black hair and matching horn rimmed glasses, he says, “does this video have any hijinks in it?  ‘Cause I don’t wanna watch it unless it’s got hijinks.”

                Sarah’s got short black hair – it comes down just short of her shoulders – and one hell of a body, but she’s definitely the antithesis of what you’d call “my type.” For one, her arms are likely more muscular than mine, and she talks at great length about her vegan lifestyle – certainly at odds with my own. She probably doesn’t even drink, for crying out loud! I like chicks that talk a lot, to an extent, but she seems to be one that would test even my own tolerance for that sort of thing.

                These two tall brunettes, though, they work stocking the shelves, and I keep catching them staring at me, giggling, whispering to one another. I talk to one, and while she looks like some kind of sensual seductress, her voice is really squeaky. It’s quite the jarring contrast.

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                This orientation is conducted in the Community Room, which is located in our basement. Unique to any other business I have worked for, the basement here is actually a major, bustling hub of activity. It’s a three story building (the top floor is used only for storage, and I regretfully never find any reason to ever venture up there), while the ground floor and basement, I can verify, have identical square footage.

                So here’s the basic rundown on our underground space. In addition to the Community Room, which is at the bottom of the front stairs, Bob’s office is down here, as is the payroll lady’s. In the middle, a relatively wide open area houses these partition separated desks, facing one wall, that each department manager claims. There’s this huge communal freezer in the back middle, then a separate huge room for dry storage off to the side, one which also houses the floral person’s sad little corner with a standing desk. A pair of employee restrooms along the back wall, along with the elevator and the rear stairwell.

                Various other little closets and cubbyholes all over the place, but also, in a tiny separate room, the employee break area, a charming, incredibly cozy nook that everyone refers to as The Opium Den. The Opium Den earns it name by virtue of being dim – the room has no overhead lighting, only lamps – carpeted, with some sort of colorful Asian tapestry for a door. Stocked with plenty of reading materials, chairs, and couches, oh yes…and is also, curiously, not all that populated, ever. One reason I think is the distance, i.e. it would eat up much of your fifteen minute break period walking down here, but also that we have a ton of smokers working here (one curious phenomenon about the vegetarian/vegan crowd is they seem to smoke more cigarettes than the general population), and/or social butterflies who prefer going to our outdoor table, beside the store, to congregate instead. Many a day will I navigate my otherwise impossible schedule, of working two jobs, by napping down here in The Opium Den before clocking in at the Oats. I get through my first shift at Kroger sometimes by daydreaming about this blissful sanctuary, anticipating landing here for a much needed fifteen or thirty or forty-five minute catnap.

April 27

Our freezers are down for much of the day, and when we’re leaving, Bob lets us employees take as much of the food home as we want – he explains with a chuckle that it’s better than pitching the stuff. He seems like a nice guy, I think I will enjoy working for him. I load up on a bunch of goodies, and wind up taking some ice cream over to Jill’s house.

April 28

Another 4-9 at the Oats.

April 29

A Sunday night closing alone (another reason that I think that cleaning tutorial with Charlie must have happened on the 21st; and come to think of it, that would be a very Travis-like move, to make a deal – he would close if Pappy Grease agreed to clean the case before jetting) and we are getting absolutely crushed on the meat/seafood counters. As had been the case last night. To the extent that Chad has to come back and help bail me out, waiting on people.

“I need to talk to Travis about hiring some more help back there,” he says, up by the front door as I’m leaving, “there’s no sense in you busting your ass like that, that’s crazy. Hell, you’re working harder than any of those guys do in the morning!”

This was actually Matt’s frequent complaint about working back there, before I ever started – business was picking up bigtime, they had less help, he was often stuck closing alone and getting murdered on the counter. But now that I’m aboard, they seem to have curiously slid the coverage into another body working during the day. Still just one person a night, more often than not.

May 29

Being lazy I hadn’t shaved in a few days. Pressed for time like always, today I just manage to shave off the beard part, leaving the goatee. No fashion statement on my part, merely a time-energy crunch concern, but I get here this evening and the strangest things keep happening: one decent looking older lady winks at me, and it seems like these hot girls coming in keep checking me out, then this one gorgeous blonde in a skirt bends down in the one aisle in such a way that I can see pretty much her entire world under there.

                Hmm….think I’ll stick w/ this goatee thing awhile.

June 5

About a month after I was hired, they do indeed bring aboard another night person, so there are two of us closing most evenings. James is the individual in question, a physically ripped bicycle enthusiast with a shaved head and some of the most intimidating glares the retail industry has ever witnessed. Matt secretly nicknames him “Vlad” – not that we are ever bold enough to use it in James’s presence – and while there’s no specific reason for this, the handle just seems to fit. And yet he speaks in somewhat of a squeak, with a little bit of a lisp, leading Travis to speculate, “I think he does the voice of Mike Tyson on The Simpsons.“

Vlad is positively brutal to some of the customers, but he and I get along just fine. Tonight, it’s a slow Tuesday and my thumb is killing me thanks to a mishap at Kroger. Therefore he and I decide to slip out at ten minutes till 9, not even waiting for the official closing hour. Bob shoots some weird glances in our direction, as we’re leaving, but doesn’t say anything.

June 19

Work seems to fly by. James and I knock out cleanup in record time, then he lets me leave early (about 8:40) since he did so the last time we worked together – a nice arrangement, I think. As far as consorting with the help goes, I might have a decent shot with Elizabeth. She seems to like me okay.

June 23

Getting your paychecks at this place represents a major battle, especially for a part timer. The payroll lady, Marie, has specific hours posted on her door during which you are permitted to disturb her with your request: noon to four on Fridays only. But then half the time the door’s locked during those hours, too, and she’s not here.

I usually ask Bob or Chad if they can retrieve it for me, since even being here during the payroll poobah’s hours is often logistically impossible. And I start to request such from Bob tonight, until a thought strikes me: I didn’t even have this job two months ago, and therefore don’t technically need the money. If I want to buy a house, I really need to save money for a down payment anyway, to avoid breaking into my retirement account. What better way to do that than to stop picking them up altogether? This would get pretty hilarious, too, if I managed to let them pile up for about six months or something, and force the payroll lady to bring them to me.

June 29

Increasingly rare closing shift with Travis. At one point that Chuck Mangione song comes on the Muzak, and he’s whistling along with it, which strikes me as hilarious.

July 10

Our first departmental meeting since I’ve been here. We’re supposed to have these monthly but, well, that obviously seems like a bit of a stretch. This one is held at the employee break table outside. It had rained earlier, so we lay out a bunch of newspapers everywhere to sit on. All six of us are present – plus Charlie’s girlfriend, Mama Bear. She sits in her car in the parking slot right beside this table. Charlie had shown up here with a trunk full of Coors Light, of which we are partaking (everyone except James, of course) to help, ahem, grease the skids of this here meeting.

Charlie was off today. Mama Bear drove them here and he seems already about half sauced. Travis kicks off the meeting asking if we have any ideas about ways to increase profitability. Charlie raises his hand, and when called upon, starts ranting, “I just got one thing to say, dawg, you boys, you gotta start keepin that top shelf clean…” Travis points out that this is great and all, but has nothing to do with the topic at hand. Still, Charlie keeps going on and on about this dirty top shelf.

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In the wake of this meeting, I can basically never hear the phrase “top shelf” again without thinking of it. One day we’re hanging out behind the meat counter and someone utters it in passing, which causes me to question what kind of liquor Charlie would stock if he owned a bar. “He would only have two kinds – top shelf clean and top shelf dirty,” Travis jokes.

But this is also the last department meeting held like this, at the store. Reason being that these are still the early days, where Bob is attempting to be cool and fit in, before his true colors have been revealed. And therefore he points out that if we were to hold these at a restaurant instead, the company would reimburse the entire bill (drinks included, so long as we don’t itemize.) Yeah, you can imagine how this subsequently goes. Our next meeting is conducted at the Knotty Pine, but The Black Horse Inn will prove our most popular, go-to choice down the road.

July 14

I’m slightly late getting here. Charlie’s with us until 6, and after that it’s just James and me. Though James actually leaves at 8.

July 15

Closing alone and get slammed

July 20

Well, this worked exactly like I suspected it might. Today the payroll lady tracked me down, venturing up to our meat department, to hand over my last three paychecks. So much for your silly goddamn rules. This could be the ongoing method, moving forward.

September 5

Work 5-9, it’s me and Scott Imsland closing. He had worked here in the past, but was just rehired last week to replace James. Vladdy was traveling out west and fell in love with Austin, thus decided to move there. His last day is Friday – after which, hilariously enough, it will then be just us five Lexington graduates working back here, plus Charlie.

September 9

Matt works late-ish with me and he’s improvising some rap lyrics to keep himself entertained. Here’s one about a former neighbor:

My name is D-Pife, I got a license to throw

but when I go to throw I don’t know where it will go

I just said go three times in a row

heh heh heh…yo yo yo

Or how about this selection, (somewhat) pertaining to his girlfriend, Libby, who works up front:

Got a dozen roses and a card for my girl

Gonna pick up a 12 pack of beers of the world

We’re really busy for a Sunday. He leaves at 7.

September 11

I just so happen to be off on this day of unthinkable tragedy. But will admit that maybe the full extent of what just transpired hasn’t sunk in with me yet, either. Still, it’s highly informative to see what kinds of businesses did and did not close their doors today. Out running errands, I stop in here to get my next schedule, and can tell you they were humming along as though nothing ever happened. Then again, knowing Bob, a plane could crash into this building and he would be attempting to keep the cash registers open, telling us all that we’re overreacting and still need to hit our sales forecasts for the week.

September 12

Hilarious conversation at Wild Oats with Imsland. We’re standing around behind the meat counter, radio is on – a Creed song is playing:

Imsland – “buh duh duh duh” (imitating singer)

Me – God these guys suck

Imsland – yeah, I guess the singer was brought up in a really religious family and they got their name…wait, what’s their name?

Me – Creed

Imsland – yeah, they got their name from this one passage in the Bible

Me – what, the one that said if you suck you’ll burn in hell?

Imsland  – yeah (laughs). What a bunch of jack offs.

Me – that’s what they should have named themselves. The Jackoffs, it’d have been more honest

Imsland – I guess his favorite singer is Eddie Vedder, he says

Me – go figure

Then, he waits to tell me at 8:15 we’re supposed to clean out the seafood case tonight for some reason! Talk about a half assed job, then, as a result.

September 14

Tool are playing just up the road, at the Schottenstein Center. Prior to the show, although I can’t recall if it was day-of or the night before, this dude comes up to the counter, explains that he’s their tour chef, and buys some fish from us. I’m pretty sure it was Scott and me working, though it may have possibly been Matt instead of Imsland. Anyway, the chef says he has a daily budget of $1000 to spend on the band. I’m pretty stoked, considering I’m going to the actual show, and tell him as much. I seem to recall Imsland thinks this is just vaguely interesting, nothing more, which is why I think he was the one helping me with this customer – Matt would have been more excited. Actually, as far as I know, I was still working just about exclusively closing shifts at the Oats at this time, and considering I went to the concert, this must have taken place the night of September 13 instead, with the band already in town. Either way, though, kind of a neat experience.

September 16

Up to Wild Oats at 3, it’s Matt and I closing.  He’s cold and wearing some crazy jacket around in the meat department, I tell him it looks like something out of an old Sesame Street episode from the 70s.  All night long, I’m singing “One of These Kids is Doing His Own Thing” or else “Me and My Llama.” It’s green, but with tan edges all around, including this wide swath that starts at each armpit and drops straight down. Then, there are two red pinstripes at each sleeve, the collar, and the waistline, plus the entire zipper is red. I can’t stop laughing about it.

September 29

5 to 9 shift. James returned last week after not even a month in Austin, and is here till 6. Imsland closes with me.

September 30

3-8 at the Oats. Matt and I closing together, have a good time like always. Behind the 8 ball again, though, just like with Scott last night.

October 5

Travis is closing with me there and we have a relatively mellow night…it gets cold and windy, rainy outside and our store traffic more or less dies. Chris Puckett is in, though, and he looks so different I barely recognize him. All clean cut now, he’s got his act together and is currently running a painting business up in Mansfield, taking classes at the OSU branch up there, but has enrolled at Franklin to finish up a degree in economics. Jesus. Who’d have ever imagined it. He recognized me first somehow.

October 7

3-8 shift. James is working with me and we both agree it’s the busiest Sunday we’ve ever put in here.

October 12

Car trouble coming back from North Carolina means I miss my 5-9 shift. Vlad is alone, and mighty pissed.

October 14

3-8 again. Vlad and Charlie hanging around when I report for duty, now it’s all laughter and good times – they’re razzing me about missing Friday and also about my shaved head. A decent night.

October 26

Rare closing shift with Charlie. At 8:30 he’s filling up sausages, trying to find tags for them all:

                “they want me to tag everything but how the fuck can I when they don’t even have them all? (Mimicking the others) all the tags are there. Oh yeah? Where the hell’s the pork andouille, then? Get it straight you bastards! That Matt don’t know what he’s doin’…”

                (of course I’m cracking up to hear this)

Something else that will seem strange to me in retrospect, though it somehow didn’t at the time, is that we will always hold our work parties here in the store. And I remember a great deal about the first of these, though the actual purpose seems lost to the sands of time…

November 4

To Wild Oats at 3 (a bit late actually), Vlad & I working together. I’m jazzed to hear that we’ll be closing an hour early – at 7 – so our office party can start, following a brief store meeting. But Bob doesn’t get the meeting started until 7:45, and with it ending at a quarter after 8, we get paid more than expected. Two mini kegs of beer – K9 Cruiser in one, Bell’s Pale Ale in the other – a ton of pizza, another whole table of goodies. Charlie & James split as soon as we were no longer getting paid (at 8:15) and while everyone in our crew had brought a guest – Matt brought Libby, Travis Martha, Kevin Vanessa, hell Scott at least brought Dave Copper w/ him – I didn’t even try to rustle up anyone. My own choice, maybe, since Lisa or Robin would have both gladly gone, for example, maybe Jill or Carrie too, but it never fails that I seem to wind up at these things by myself. Not that it matters – somewhat boring early and I’m thinking about bolting, until bumping into Matt in the parking lot, and he convinces me to stay.

                And it does wind up being a great time. Amy kicks our new manager Tom in the knees; everyone smoking blunts in the parking lot; Amy and her sister Stephanie both trashed beyond belief; Lawrence spinning records and Matt rapping; the mini-kegs run out early and someone makes a beer run for Bud & Bud Lite, which Bob pays for; Kevin mildly drunk; Travis, Scott, and Brandon in back telling conspiratorial war stories; Copper hitting on Danielle. But then it busts up at 10:30 and everyone leaves.

November 9

In at 5 to grab my last three paychecks ($420, fairly decent) and work a shift. Although once again “grabbing” my paychecks is not quite accurate, for Marie brings them to me. Granted, I should maybe sign up for direct deposit, but am admittedly having fun with this game. Plus would actually consider it highly beneficial, when it comes to saving money.

                Other hilarious developments – that bitchy redheaded chick Heather (whom Chad dates, somehow, though he could surely do better) was led out of here in handcuffs. Apparently they determined she had stolen about $1500 in Wild Oats gift certificates. On the downside, Chad is also fired, though they can’t find any proof he knew anything about it, and does in fact deny having any knowledge.

                Everyone is cheering Heather’s dismissal, though, at least back here. She was one of those people who, despite just being head cashier, was often attempting to bark orders all around the store. One night she was just walking past the counter and angrily snapped at James, “where is your HAT!?” as she continued stomping across the store.

                He turned to me and said, “she thinks she has an important job, but no, she doesn’t. I used to handle nuclear warheads for the military. Now that is an important job.”

                As far as that hat business goes, I get it, and I don’t. Regarding someone like James? No. He keeps his head impeccably shaved at or near total baldness. From a half mile away you could see he has far more hair in his goatee, and yet we aren’t required to wear beard nets. It’s just more of this dog and pony stuff to appease customers who think they know what they are talking about – or in this case, meaningless rules that power trippers get off on enforcing. As for Vlad and me, we will subsequently refer to this chick as The Hat Nazi.

                Tonight, Matt is with me up until 7. Speaking of hair, he’s dyed his yellow – it’s just like old times with him and his ever changing colors. It’s busy at first but dead by 6, we’re able to catch up, clean the back room, etc, spend an hour getting things tip top. From here it’s a breeze and I stand there reading a magazine, listening to the radio. To top it off, there is no manager on duty, only a supervisor in Regan and even though she’s kind of standoffish, maybe even vaguely stuck up, she’s good friends with Libby and doesn’t bother me ever.

November 17

This tall new brunette seems to dig me already, even though this is the first night we’ve worked together. It all starts in typically hilarious fashion when I’m taking a nap in my car in between jobs. Instead of going downstairs to The Opium Den today, I reclined right in my driver’s seat, with one sweater over my head to block the sun, and another underneath for a pillow. I wake up with a start and am looking around outside the car, and here’s this girl, in the next slot over, apparently just now getting out of or messing around in her own vehicle, smiling over at me.

                So of course, this winds up being a brand new employee here. Tonight she walks past the meat counter and smiles over at me from afar. Then we’re leaving at the same time, pulling out, she waves at me and I wave back. All of this without us exchanging a single word thus far.

November 18

Today we actually talk, however briefly – nothing more substantial than me saying, “hey, what’s up?” and her replying, “nothing much,” as she drifted past our counter. Part of my problem now without my regular glasses or any contact lenses at the moment are that I can’t see worth a damn and have to wait until someone’s right on top of me before I can even tell who it is. My goofy backup pair of glasses I wear to drive, but damned if I’m wearing them much anywhere else.

November 25

Napping in this cozy basement in between jobs, stretched out on the couch with one lamp on, hat pulled down over my eyes and shoes off. I hear Matt and Charlie coming down the stairs, they’re explaining to management their side of the story, in reference to some customer who called in a complaint about them.

                “That lady was off the hook!” I hear Charlie say and chuckle – it’s funny hearing this crazy old hillbilly breaking out some modern slang.  He repeats this phrase in talking it over with Matt as they walk back upstairs and I fall back asleep.

                At 3, I clock in and put in a hellish five hour shift. Vlad had been asked out by a chick that shops here last Sunday, and already gone out with her once; tonight, he’s renting a movie and going over to her house. He’s also  making up chocolate covered strawberries to take over there, the aphrodisiac that will hopefully seal the deal. For such an intense freak, I guess he does talk a good game, and therefore does well with a certain kind of lady.

                I clock out at 8, totally fucking exhausted. 

December 15

Another catnap in the parking lot here, after leaving Kroger. I see my keys dangling in the ignition at one point and think to myself I really should take them out, put them in my pocket. But I don’t, and so of course I wake up at 5 and exit the car, lock the keys inside. Immediately, I realize what I’ve done, but by now it’s too late.

                Charlie and I are working another rare shift together, but he’s about as subdued as I’ve ever seen him and he doesn’t contribute any new hilarities to the Charlie legend. Actually, there is exactly one new addition – he takes a coat hanger and bends it into a hook shape for me to try and pop the lock on my car door, says in handing the hanger to me, “pull around front, under the lights, so you can see better.”

                “Good idea,” I say, stifling a laugh before heading outside.

                But as I have power locks, the hook is of no avail and I call a company to come pop the lock for me. This I do at 7 and they promise to be here in an hour, but when we close at 9 those guys have still not arrived – I’d called a few times, to the extent they’d already agreed to come out anyway and drop the $45 fee they normally charged, it would be on the house for taking so long. 

                After Oats closes, I walk to Half Price Books and buy a Fleetwood Mac bio for $6, then a jumbo coffee at a gas station before returning to sit in front of the store until the guy shows. He finally materializes at 10 and pops the lock easily, at which point I gave the guy the only money I have on me – about two dollars and three bucks worth of change – and thank him before heading home. 

December 21

Well well well…how about a little Crown Royal on the job? Yes indeedee.

                Charlie’s off the next 2 days – plans to turn off phone and sit in his barn the whole time, he says, with the 8 cases of beer Mama Bear bought him.

December 28

Matt and I close, it’s a perfect, uneventful night shift. He went home on break to hit his bowl a couple times and was feeling pretty mellow.  

2001 Events Calendar

From January up through at least October 2001, events calendars list writing workshops being held here every Monday, from 6:30-8:30pm. But I certainly don’t remember this, and never attended. Also Meditation Group 6-7pm on Thursdays as of Jan ‘01 (they were advertising this is Short North Gazette bulletin board section, along with writing club).  

Jan 9 – Introduction to Vibrational Remedies. Focuses on homeopathy, gum elixirs, flower essences. $10, 7-9pm. 

Jan 10 – Homeopathy For Kids. $10, 7-9pm. 

Jan 13 – Renewable Energy Demonstration in the café area, 10-12pm 

Jan 20 – Complementary Health Professionals Fair featuring “alternative health practitioners.” In café area, free, from 12-3.  

Jan 24 – Vegetarian Cooking 101. $10 fee, 6:30-8:30pm 

Jan 27 – Homeopathic and Herbal Resource Table. In café area, 11am-1pm, free. 

Mar 5, 12, 19 – writers group with Shannon Jackson, 6:30-8pm 

Mar 1, 8, 15, 22 – meditation class with Veronica Stanford 

March 6 – Vegetarian finger foods and sampling with Master Chef Joseph of Serving America First 

March 7 – Vegetarian meals without cooking, offered by Anya Syrkin 

March 10 – spinal screening by chiropractic Dr. Maureen L. Passiflume, held in the café 

March 13 – raw juice & smoothies class with Wade 

March 14 – homeopathy & allergies with Meenal Raje 

March 15 – Mind, Body & Soul. Healing body through the mind with Dr. Marc Varckette, a free event 

March 16, 23, 30 – knitting for relaxation and spiritual health with Carrie Kuhn. Natural fibers with relaxation techniques. $35 for all 3 classes. 

March 17 – spinal screening with Dr. Marc Varckette, chiropractor. Free in the café area. 

March 20 – Voluntary Simplicity with Beth Rapach, $10 

March 21 – Medicinal herbs introduced by Anya Syrkin. Create your own first aid medical herbal kit, $10 

March 22 – Natural bread baking with Aditya of Serving America First, $10 

March 24 – Introduction to Aromatherapy with Sue Hall. 

March 26 – Composting 101 with Christopher Williams. $10, 6:30-8:30pm 

March 27 – Introduction to Vibrational Remedies, with Jo Nathens. $10 

March 28 – Homeopathy for Musculo-Skeletal System, with Jo Nathans. $10 

March 29 – Vegetarian Cooking for children, teens, entire family, with Anya Syrkin. $15 fee. Kids welcome! Prepare great vegetarian dishes. Support body and mind with nutritious food that tastes awesome. 

March 31 – Spinal screening with Maureen L. Passifume. Café area, free. 

October 25 – Dr. Passifume discusses Children and ADD from 7-8pm at Wild Oats. 

2006

In early January, two juicers, a bunch of CDs, and some other stuff is stolen from our store, by an employee, a haul valued at approximately $1500. Bob, oddly enough, refuses to watch surveillance tapes. Now, we obviously don’t suspect him in this matter, but it’s just another example of how peculiar he acts, overall, in pretty much any circumstance. There seem to be a couple overlapping phenomena in play here, with this episode: we suspect that he suspects one of his pet workers is responsible, which is why he doesn’t want to watch the video; but also, we hear whispers that he’s been hinting around that he “knows” someone in meat/seafood is responsible…though I would personally gauge the likelihood of that at pretty close to 0%. But again, that is another reason he doesn’t want to watch the video. This way he can go around with his smug insinuations about us, potentially spare one of his pets, and who cares if this thing is actually resolved. Some of the managers under him are talking about going over his head, but I’m not really sure what ever became of this. As far as I know they never got to the bottom of it.

Bob K. finally left the scene in March of this year. Much to my eternal regret, I just so happened to be out of town on vacation the week this all went down. The whole thing is really weird in that on his last day, he posts a note by the time clock saying this was all planned in advance, his exit, he just didn’t want to make a big deal about it and tell anyone; however, the available evidence appears to contradict that story, and make it look as though he was canned. Considering I long had major doubts that his arrival here (and exit from Meijer’s) happened in the manner he claimed, I tend to believe the latter.

What is known for sure is that on the day he left the Oats for good, some bigwig from Boulder was in the store. And that this upper management figure remarked to a handful of employees, not at all charitably, “it looks like a yard sale in here!” while shaking his head. Then the next thing you know, an hour or whatever later, Bob’s gone with just that note by the time clock hanging in his wake. Maybe it was standard practice for this guy to fly in from Colorado and shake hands with every leaving store director, I don’t know, but in my experience this doesn’t seem likely.

Following his departure, the other half of this two headed monster, Tom, was left running the store by default. This too seems to support the theory that Bob was unceremoniously dumped, and it was not at all a planned departure. Because they never officially give Tom the store director title. Instead, after about six months, they bring in this Shane guy from elsewhere, and hand the keys to him instead.

January 21

Kyle brings a flask of brandy into work. He and I try a slug each, then decide we’d rather mix it with something – he opts for coffee (which sounds horrible to me), I grab some o.j. This is only the second time in my life that I’ve ever had brandy.

March 24

-my shift starts off well: Elissa walks up from behind, without a word, and smacks me on the ass. I’m not sure what has inspired this today but suspect I will like it.

“I just bought a video camera!” she cheers, in walking past.

“Digital?”

“No, Hi-8!”

“Even better!” I call out.

Such an odd bird. I really dig her, though, let it be said. Not enough to go on to make her the next GREAT love interest, but getting there. Actually I would say right now (if only to myself), “I love this chick,” but by that I would mostly mean as a person, I think she’s awesome. Fucking hilarious, too. Here’s one hysterical study in contrasts with the Wild Oats women, which occurred to me at some point during this stretch:

Kim, who knows what year, probably 2-3 years ago, drifts back behind the meat counter and sees me cradling a Bukowski collection: “Ugh! Get that thing outta my face!” (Martin happened to be passing by the meat counter at that moment, cackled, said to me, “Bukowski’s not a big hit with the ladies.”)

Elissa, quite often nowadays: wears a freaking Bukowski tee shirt around herself, his ugly mug plastered largely upon the front, sometimes even under her Wild Oats shirt.

It’s hard to imagine ever getting serious about her, though, but eh, who knows. Ordinarily when a girl has slept with a bunch of dudes that I personally know, I always lose any and all interest in her; yet for some reason with Elissa it never bothered me in the slightest.

-BLAST FROM THE PAST: the guy we haven’t seen in 4-5 yrs, who used to come in leather jacket w/ Looney Tunes characters on back, put lotion on his boots, used to weigh up chocolate syrup bottles on our scale etc. Now he claims he’s had some near death experience and is in preaching to Mark in Nat’l Living, who hides, then 20 minutes following Erin around the store doing the same, she hides. In hallway, I’m telling Erin our back history w/ that cat.

-Norman tells me he was smoking weed in the cooler the other night and Hostetler came running back, told him to knock it off because at this moment someone else was just smoking weed on the back stairwell and now Berkley was going around telling everyone to go outside w/ it, he wasn’t tolerating this in the building. Hilarious.

-“time to pick out my daily wine,” I joke, as Kyle’s getting ready to leave at 5:30.

-I notice Jacqueline watching me to see if I’m looking over there at Elissa. She must suspect that something is up, or has even in fact been told such.

-Madelyn makes these kickass steaks w/ the red wine I select. Rubs them down w/ salt pepper garlic and this all purpose “chef’s shake.” Throws them in a bag w/ the red wine for a few minutes, as the skillet’s heating up. Tosses some olive oil in there, just enough to coat the pan, then sears the steaks. Has me take these over to the oven, for 8 minutes, and while those are cooking, she cooks more of the wine, along w/ blackberry preserves, balsamic vinegar, and butter in a pan, reducing this. Steaks are medium. Slices these, drizzles her glaze on top. Fucking incredible. I make an announcement “that’s right, ribeye steaks!” etc. Marsha comes back and says she thought it was a great announcement.

“I got mad skills on the mic,” I tell her.

-Ehren eats about an entire steak’s worth, compensates by bringing me this shockingly great smoothie: mango, pineapple, papaya, lemon, lime, lemonade, but then also “Blazin’ Saddle” hot sauce. It’s sweet as hell, perfectly so I should say, but also has this awesome spicy kick to it. I tell him he should patent it but he admits he could never duplicate.

-slow ass night; talking wine w/ Kristen; talking Bob’s departure w/ Roger; reading a book most of the time but no Elissa visit. Hear her laughing her head off much of the night over there in the deli, though.

---

Okay, but here’s how it all started with Elissa and the rest of that crew. These “cheese girls” show up as a pack of friends, all of which already know another, in quick succession, to rule that department like none who hath come before. There’s three of them who work back there, that’s it, except when one gets canned and a new fourth replacement friend is hired – so kind of like the cast of Charlie’s Angels, or something, except with drunken mayhem and sexual antics as their focus, rather than solving crimes. In due time they are of course all run out of here in relatively swift order, but what a glorious run ’tis, until that moment arrives!

They began infiltrating our scene in the final few months of ’05, if I recall correctly. But none of them are really on our radar until one day when Chris Hostetler returns from break, where he was talking to this Elissa chick. He is scooping his jaw up off the floor as he relates to us a conversation they just had, where she blurts out that she masturbates all the time, like, all the time. So we’re all looking around at each other, thinking, whoa! And then of course quite naturally I soon find reason to make Elissa’s acquaintance as well, as do the other guys.

One day Travis and I are standing behind the meat counter, hanging out and talking, and Elissa’s just showing up for work. She drifts past the counter and we’re asking her what’s up. She doesn’t pause, but simply shakes her head and announces, “Whew! I need to stop getting wasted and sleeping with so many guys!” as she continues onward to her department.

Travis looks over at me with his eyes wide open in disbelief, says, “where were the cheese girls when we were single?!”

No doubt, I agree with him. At the time I am still trying to make a serious relationship work with Jill, but let’s just say this will not be the case for much longer. It helps that the cheese department is this tiny little corner of the store, immediately next to us, technically connected to the deli way way down in the front but much more closer to our meat shop. Also that nobody else works with them, it’s always just some combination of those three, with Amy technically “in charge,” as much as anyone can regulate these hellcats.

What really kicks things off between Elissa and me is a night where I’m closing alone, have some whiskey and hot cider to commemorate the occasion. As you can tell, things are far less regimented than they ever used to be around here, and basically no one cares anymore. I dog whistle over to her, which she already knows means that I have some tasty treats for her. She drifts over from the cheese enclave and joins me. It seems obvious what direction things are headed, though I never actually expected anything to happen at work.

Except next thing you know, we’re in the back hallway for some reason, just hanging out and talking. With our little cups too, it goes without saying. Then she closes her eyes, puckers her lips, tilts her head and leans in for a kiss. The thing is, I would have already dove in there myself, initiated the action, but if you’re at work, then you pretty much need to be 100% about these matters. It’s much different on the job than out in the wild. So it’s nice to have this confirmation that we on the same page and simpatico.

So okay, other than that, Amy’s sleeping with Jim first, then later moves on to Kyle (or is the other way around?); it’s well known that Elissa is concurrently sleeping with multiple guys here, yet for some reason this bothers nobody, there’s no drama about it whatsoever; Jacqueline is easily the objective hottest girl of the bunch, with a pretty face and an amazing body, yet the most telling example I can give about her concerns a night where, unbidden, she email blasts just about every male in the store a topless selfie of herself, taken in some bathroom.

Unless maybe you’re talking about her call offs, which are also somewhat legendary. Truly. One day in mid June ’06 Jacqueline calls in sick, but then mysteriously appears in the store a couple hours later shopping at a leisurely pace for groceries. Tells everyone she’s leaving for Bonnaroo later that night. Then phones in both days of Bonnaroo, from Bonnaroo, to inform management she won’t be making it. Apparently acting store director Tom Rubright (alternately known in some circles as “Rubbydubby” and/or “Captain Denim”) considers this a valid excuse indeed.

Spain: “I can’t imagine what you’d have to do around here to get fired, if she didn’t”
me: “you can hear Dave Matthews in the background, she’s on the phone: um…yeah…I got a sore throat!…” Spain: (imitates crowd noise) “huh? What’s that? Oh no, that’s my TV, I have it up really loud! And everyone’s like, well she has a doctor’s note, and I’m thinking, so what!”
me: Please allow Jacqueline to attend Bonnaroo Festival this weekend…”

March 26

This time Kyle brings Everclear to work. Elissa and Donnie both get in the mix drinking with us. Elissa’s half drunk, hanging out talking to me for quite some time, it’s just the two of us back here. She’s heard that I’ve been written up seven times and is astounded by this factoid, asks me if this is true and what the deal is. My explanation is that the customers “didn’t appreciate my sarcasm,” which pretty much sums it up. For the most part, anyway. She says there’s no way she would ever think of me as an asshole though, that she actually considers me pretty funny. But I guess we shall see about that.

Later, a bunch of us are at Eric’s place for this year’s “tough guy film fest.”

April 8

Spain and I closing, for a change, and we’ve got this radio station in back cranking out 1980s cuts all night. Lately I’ve been thinking how inadequate I am at explaining things, even though I’m a so called writer. What is it about Spain that reminds me at times of Clif, just these stray handful of minor traits that crop up every now and then? The way they both wear skull caps in the winter so it’s flattened very low to the scalp, but then the rest of it flops at a comical length down the back of their heads, yes, but I was thinking more about these barely perceptible and only occasionally surfacing personality glimmers…..the way Spain goes on this animated tangent about the music we’re listening to reminds me of Clif – he too gets on these exceptionally rare tangents from out of nowhere every once in a blue moon. Both very conservative guys too, though, when you get down to it.

Berkley was the real hero tonight, however, or rather this afternoon: spotting a wealthy middle aged woman shoplifting, he follows her out into the parking lot, accosts her; she hightails it for her jeep, Berkley jumps in front of it; she continually eases forward in it, and gradually pushes him out of the way; he’s jabbing a finger at her driver’s side window and shouting at her, but she stares robotically forward, continues at the same leisurely speed right on out of the parking lot. The cops come, because he’s got her license plate, but there’s little they can do except advise him to bar her from shopping here again.

Spain splits at 7:30, and I’m out the door just after nine.

April 9

Kyle: Man, you’re hilarious today! You should come in on one hour of sleep more often!

(he and I are making tacos at 4:30pm; the first batch of shells are black, second ones turn out OK but I’ve just literally run into the meat department and set the pan on the floor because I didn’t have a good grip – we were cooking them in an oven over in the deli)

Kyle: so how do you know Clif?

me: we used to work together at Kroger. (I laugh) It was hilarious, he would always get in trouble for stuff I did.

Kyle: (cracks up) Hmm – that never happens here!

(later)

Kyle: Make sure you scrub & squeegee these floors tonight

Me: (grinning) I’m right on top of it

Kyle: Good. If I come in tomorrow & they say anything to me, I swear, I’m close to going off. I don’t know why Travis never says anything to you – I think he’s afraid to

April 15

“Yelling at you is like yelling at the wall,” Kyle tells me – somewhat kind of smirking, somewhat I think kind of impressed. What brings this about is that I talk him into us only covering the fish tonight. The rationale here is that, as I explain to him, I don’t even work again until Friday, he can just blame me and I will gladly take the heat. It will most likely blow over and be forgotten about anyway by the next time I show my head in this place.

April 22

I think it’s safe to say that Kyle is officially over this place. Today he flips out around 7:20 (10 minutes earlier than he was scheduled to leaves) and bolts out of here – our compactor is broke and both dumpsters are jammed outside, so he has to leave the trash accumulate in here. “I feel like I work down in some shithole in the Bronx!” he curses.

Near closing time, Elissa’s throwing green beans into my mouth. Or should we say trying to, because she keeps missing. She’s just hanging out over in meat with me, of course, although it doesn’t much matter considering cheese sales are not exactly robust at this hour and we can keep an eye on it from here anyway. Then again I guess it’s pretty hilarious to think that cheese sales were ever robust enough to warrant a dedicated department – another telltale sign of how far this place has fallen.

She says that she’s the best tambourine player in the world. I tell her tambourine sucks. In a huff she runs off to get the beloved Hi-8 camera, from her backpack with the Girl Scout-esque strap, because she’s determined to show me some footage. “Are you better than Stevie Nicks?” I ask. Somewhere along the line, our regular shopper Jason shows up to join the discussion, and is cracking up.

“Yeah!” Elissa scoffs, “Stevie Nicks has black magic helping her, and I’m still better!” Then adds, in an aside, “whiskey’s my black magic.”

As we’re checking out this video, Elissa wistfully notes, “my little brother has Farrah Fawcett hair.”

“I want Barry Gibb hair,” I declare, “that’d be sweet!”

“You know he’s actually half lion?” Jason jokes, “his dad was a lion…his mom worked at the zoo…”

April 26

Scheduled 7-12 after switching with Kyle – my first opening shift in over 6 months. Travis scheduled at 10 but calls off. And no Tom, which means I can set the seafood case in my preferred “old school” style with the crazy swirling angles and kale, et cetera.

I also make a point of counting tray papers in the meat case. This is a ritual of mine I’ve been doing for quite some time, if only for my own amusement, and potential ammunition if this subject ever comes up again. I’ve never mentioned this to anyone, and to my knowledge it’s never been discovered. But certain authority figures back here have been ranting and raving for eons about how they “always” change every single steak paper in the case, every morning they open meat, and bitching up a storm about other people not doing so (when they are not present to defend themselves, of course). Well, on nights where I work late, if he’s opening the next day, I like to take a black marker and mark the underside of the steak papers in my own special way. Then the next time I’m in, I can see if he actually changed them. This morning it’s 27 of 47 that still have my mark from two days ago, which means he didn’t change them yesterday. I would call this a fairly representative and standard score for this experiment.

Elissa is also opening today, still drunk from last night. In meat/seafood it’s just Spain and me this morning – dull day, but goes fast anyway. Even though I stay over to 3:30 – chickens now come on Thursday instead of Friday, and don’t arrive until 3.

April 28

Spain sweating it because Kasper’s first day back is tomorrow – an inventory Saturday, and Travis out of town. Leaves list to throw out (for me, tonight) of mahi, halibut, walleye, so Kasper doesn’t bitch.

me – “didn’t you have this theory worked out about the timing of his moods? Like he’s fine when he comes in but as soon as the first customer hits…”

Spain – (nods) “it plummets immediately. Yeah well now it all depends on how the Cavs and Indians do – if the Cavs and Indians both lose the night before, look out”

---

The funniest aspect about this, and my entire history here, really, is that over the years, I’ve had two separate front end people, with access to the records, tell me unprompted, independent of each other, and months apart, that Kevin Kasper has far and away gotten the most customer complaints in the entire history of this place. Yet Bob always refused to reprimand him in any manner for those, or even say anything to the guy. And I have to say, I don’t find any aspect of this equation the least bit unbelievable – this is exactly what I would expect to be the case, all around.

But then once every six months or so, I would get one complaint, and Bob would go absolutely apeshit. Acting like I was some egregious outlier with this stuff, and he was just about at the end of his rope with me. Well, I suppose it’s true my responses were maybe not helping matters much, only adding more gasoline to the fire. Even if I happen to believe the points I was making were correct: often some variation of a) sometimes these customers need to be put in their place, especially since it’s usually a notorious repeat offender, and/or b) when you really think about it, considering how horrible some of these people are, it’s remarkable we’re all not getting a bunch more complaints.

I think you can attribute some of that to the ridiculous dickheads mostly knowing that they are ridiculous dickheads, somewhere deep down inside. And so they don’t bother. The hypothetical math I commonly like to throw out kind of bolsters my case, too, if you ask me: on our busiest days, I would guarantee some of us are waiting on well over 100 people in an 8 hour shift. Would it really be all that remarkable for one person out of a 100+ to take issue with something we did? Not really. And yet we’re not even clocking those kind of numbers, nowhere near that. Nonetheless he was still flipping his lid – with some of us, that is, only some of us; others get a free pass – if some known unappeasable cunt complained about us every few weeks or whatever.

The reality is Bob was just an unrepentant, undeniable, corporate careerist. You get the feeling if these customers asked him to follow them into the restroom and wipe their asses, he would have gladly done so. And therefore he just couldn’t understand those of us who would maybe display a little bit of integrity and appear to have something else going on in life beyond this stupid job.

May 7

A Sunday and I’m in at 1. I bring burned CD copies of my J-Mac’s Spring Mix 2000 and 6, give one each to Kyle, Spain, Norman. Have a few more that I hope to foist on some other unsuspecting souls at a later date.

May 20

I’m here until 10:15 – it’s the first of the new, later, case cleaning nights.

But at least I brought a sixer of Shiner Bock with me! This is bound to enhance just about any shift. I end up drinking four here, Kyle one, Amy one. I offer a beer to Hostetler too but he never partakes.

“This is going to be an interesting day. It has been already,” Amy says.

“You’re right about that,” I agree.

“Way to go, getting your whole department fired!” Kyle tells her. Elissa was canned this week, & rumor has it Jacqueline might have been as well.

“It wasn’t my fault!” Amy says.

“That’s not what I heard,” I tell her.

-Kyle off at 8:30. Sheer madness & ½ ass clean just to get off when I did. Forgot to throw out empty Shiner Bock carton, still in our cooler.

May 25

Prearranged “call off” for Kyle, I cover his 2-9:30 shift. This is what we’ve been reduced to doing here for years. It’s a long story (which will make Bob look even worse) but suffice to say at one point years ago, he effectively told the entire store, sorry, I’m not approving any of your personal holidays, so forget about ever using them. Well, nice try, ass clown, but there are ways around this – which persist now into the Tom era. Our personal holidays are technically called Wellness Days here and we receive 5 of them a year. People typically don’t let these expire if they can help it. So instead of planning out an actual personal holiday, the standard method now is for people to randomly call off, then turn in these hours to cover their missed time. This is better? Makes a ton of sense, there, Bobbytomtom. On a practical level, even before you factor in the bad blood created by your idiotic stance.

Meat/seafood has been handling this a little differently, because we’re organized and more of a unified group than the other departments. Travis’s idea back when this all blew up for us to plan out the call-offs in advance, so we didn’t screw ourselves. One guy would tell him the day he wanted off, but we’d keep it under wraps. Meanwhile someone else who, according to the schedule, is supposed to be off, is told to plan on coming in during these hours.

The hilarious part is that sometimes you’re made out as some kind of hero, by the clueless management figures, for coming in on “short notice.” Like today, where they give me a $10 gift card for doing so. So I’m hooked up with this in addition to the dough this extra shift brings.

A great day all around, in fact. Going through Jessica’s checkout lane 2x (tall girl with chestnut eyes, think she digs me) and also new brunette, first time seeing her, with big breasts, flowing “prairie” skirt and glasses, seems to be checking me out as well – today accidentally timed great, I believe, in that I actually threw in my contact lenses and wore the shiny maroon button up shirt, am looking good for a change.

Kevin and Travis are also in good moods. Marsha says she’ll be on the news tonight for saving a cat. Ugur cooks up softshell crabs in egg batter – pull off a leg and eat, use knife on body. After cleaning out lungs and mustards, cutting off face of course which I well remember from my Kroger days. Not bad. “A little too crunchy,” Taylor jokes, however, “they could’ve used another molt.” Jim looks none too impressed. Says he has Amy related rugburns on his knees.

The meat truck doesn’t get here until 4:07, though, by which point it’s officially too late and therefore the delivery is refused. “I told those idiots this morning it’d never make it here in time,” the driver says, this tall black dude I’ve never never seen before. He doesn’t care and takes off without protest. I get what they’re going for here, and it’s possible I’m wrong, but I’m not 100% percent certain that refusing shipments for time infractions makes sense – if they’re outdated or over temp or damaged or something, then yes, but not simply for showing up too late.

Because to me, what’s the most likely scenario? I feel like he spent who knows how many hours riding around with this stuff in his truck, only to then drive around some more before returning to his warehouse, at which point, if you ask me, he unloads it and then…probably shows up tomorrow with the exact same stuff. Except a day older and having spent hours upon hours riding around in less than ideal conditions. You might as well just bite the bullet, put the stuff in your own cooler, scold them about showing up earlier next time. But I guess maybe you’ve got to draw the line somewhere.

Slow night – write, listen to radio, make pigs in a blanket, read Picasso bio. Maisie trying to tell me I can’t have a radio. “What are you gonna do about it?” I retort. “I’m not gonna do anything about it, I’m just saying!” she replies. Two lengthy discussions with Kristin about pretty much everything – Danya watches us from up front, good. It’s time to find the next Elissa. Who maybe works out a little better than the previous Elissa. Fun times, awesome chick, but yikes, ultimately a bit of a fiery, highway closing car crash, there. Not that you couldn’t predict this. Sushi to bring home for dinner. We pull fish starting at 9 o’clock now.

May 27

Kyle grabs a double deuce of Shut Down Ale from shelf and cracks it open. “Come on!” he says and waves me into seafood cooler. We pass back and forth, although on my first swig, it foams up on me and I pull away, hand to Kyle, it foams over onto the floor.

“What the fuck?” he laughs.

“I see why they call it Shut Down Ale!” I joke, “abort mission!”

-I had it wrong last week: we’re doing half of the seafood case on Saturdays now, and the meat case on Sunday. This is an improvement, aside from the staying later part – seafood case easier, on the only day of the week where I work both jobs; Sundays slower and I get to sleep in, leave at 9, better to do meat case then.

-Kyle boils 8 ears of corn on the cob, I throw 2 racks of the precooked and bbq’d Montgomery Inn ribs into the oven.

-Jennifer shouting at Ugur in the back hallway: “I wanna transfer out of the kitchen, I wanna get as far away from you as possible!” They’re arguing about something, I’m not sure what, but she seems to mean business. In fact I’ve never seen her this worked up before. Mikal Peace of all people is mediating (aka Michael Cheeseman, aka The Angry Baker, aka Patomik).

May 28

Kombucha tea: from China. Extremely healthy. Doesn’t taste anything like tea, more like sparkling juice. Kyle steals a bottle for us to try. In all my time working here I haven’t taken anything off the shelves and cracked it open (or took it home) for my personal use – if people think back, there’s a reason they have no memories of me doing so. It never happened. However, if someone else takes something off the shelf and cracks it open…it’s a done deal at that point, and I’m not opposed to partaking.

Well in this instance the flavor he has chosen is raspberry, lemon, and ginger. We were both wondering what this junk might taste like. Definitely a sipping drink, I would say – tart – and better over ice.

June 1

-I get to work and Spain’s fairly pissed. Travis called him yesterday to see if he could come in at 7 instead of 10, because we’re getting a huge truck in and could use him at this hour. So Spain said sure, only to arrive today and see that Travis removed himself from the schedule today, because he and Kevin are heading up to Put-In-Bay for a long weekend. Not only that, but in addition to the huge truck, our regional manager is hanging out here all day.

“I don’t care if you’re leaving or not, that’s just raw,” Spain says. Travis and Kasper are up at Put-In-Bay together this weekend.

-in somewhat related news, you might say, I call the local UFCW office to see about unionizing. This is actually something I’ve been planning for awhile, though, as basically my second-to-last great stunt around this joint.

-the reason our truck is enormous is that it’s basically 3 trucks: refused last Thursday, remember, because it got here late, refused Tuesday because it showed up without any paperwork. But you try and have “standards” and all it does is fuck your own self, because the same product shuffles back and forth from Cleveland to here for a week, we receive the same stuff now anyway except it’s considerably more fatigued.

-“You guys should check out the dairy (wall) cooler,” Taylor says, “it sounds like Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.“

June 6

I call off today per the pre-arranged strategy, to use up a PTO as management has told us point blank years ago they’re not approving any. Tom for some reasons transfers my call to Kevin. “Why!? This has nothing to do with me!” Kasper marvels. Well, as it turns out, though I gave Travis plenty of notice, before the schedule was made out, he forgot to arrange anyone to cover for me. And is unable to get anyone in now on short notice. Thus, as mid-shift, is stuck hanging out to close by himself.

I will subsequently observe that he never schedules himself as mid-shift on any day that I’m closing, from here until the day he leaves. Apparently to prevent this scenario from occurring again.

June 12

I happen to notice that Steve Jost has a sports station playing back in their produce prep room, and ask him about this, with a grin. “I finally said fuck it, I’m playing the radio,” he tells me, “what are they gonna do, write me up? Whooooo! No! Not that!”

The reason this is hilarious to me is that Tom recently took our radio out of the meat department cutting room. He came in there and announced, “everyone’s getting written up if I see this back here again!” And now it’s bolted to this rack in the basement, in the floral department’s sad little area, with a note declaring if I find this in meat department or anywhere else upstairs it goes in trash.

Some of the counterarguments didn’t occur to me until a little bit later. For one, as soon as the store is closed and the last customer is gone, grocery cranks their own stereo. Second off, I was most recently doing so myself with that confiscated radio on a case cleaning night, i.e. after the store was closed. Plus, another consideration is, does Tom seriously believe none of us know how to use a Phillips head screwdriver?

“Grocery cranks their stereo after we close at ear shattering levels,” I say to Kasper, with a shake of the head, “I love the double standard around here.” Basically, as with many policies around this place, I interpret the official stance as one they’d never actually say out loud, which translates as, mmm, you can’t do it because we don’t like you.

So he asks Tom for clarification, and our de facto chief concludes, yes, we can play it after nine. So does that mean we are cool to unscrew it from the floral rack and bring it upstairs? I have a feeling someone is bound to conduct this little science experiment very soon indeed. It’s just more of Tom trying to be Bob Jr., and impress higher ups who aren’t even aware of anything he’s doing. Approach Ted Andrews about this nonsense and I’m sure he’d be saying, “huh?”

June 25

Hot on the heels of her Bonnaroo stunt, today – which just so happens, “coincidentally” enough, to be the Sunday of our local Comfest – Jacqueline calls off to attend a “funeral.”

July 21

-Ancie calls Charlie to come in for Travis’s going away fiesta here at work. Charlie swings in wearing this loud red Hawaiian shirt, tells Martin, “don’t let Travis know I’m here,” even though the entire store is instantly aware of his presence.

-he still believes he is coming back to work here at some point. According to him this will happen as soon as his “leg breaks loose.”

-only uses this saw handle cane he says on days it rains because then, he says, “I can barely walk.” But he’s tanned, has lost weight, looks well.

-always trying to flag down Kyle T. out there at the lake, to no avail

July 30

Spain: I should never have went to school. I was totally debt free until I went to school, now I owe on all these loans. Just so I could work here.

me: Just be glad you don’t have your Master’s degree & are still working here.

Norm: (cracking up) Why, do you know someone like that? (sarcastic)

me: Uh, yeah, I can think of at least one guy it applies to

Spain: no because then I’d be bitter & pissed off at the world & taking everything out on my coworkers & it would be their fault my life sucked. Oops, did I just say that? (grins) I swear, I don’t know how long I can take working with the guy (shakes head).

me: Eh (shrug; I certainly have my own opinion of these matters, but will keep them to myself)

Spain: yeah but he doesn’t get on you guys like he does me: you did this wrong…you did this wrong…you did this wrong… I’m about to tell him, dude, get outta my face! Yet when you guys do something, I gotta hear him cry about it all morning; the other day when you (Norm) ordered in all that stuff from Omega (soon to be discontinued frozen seafood line) all I heard all morning was him: Goddammit! Why did Norman order all that shit! He should’ve asked me first! This is bullshit!‘ But then when you come in it’s (nerdy voice) yeah, um, if you ever have any questions about the ordering let me know and I’m thinking, no! I had to hear about it all day, let him hear it! Seriously, I thought he would lay into you the way he was going on about it, when I saw you come in, I almost told you to run

Spain (continued): Then one other day you (me) did something & all morning it was why the hell did Jay do this! Wah wah wah wah wah… Then you get here & he’s like (nerd voice) hey, man…

me: how about those Indians?

Spain: Right! And it’s like, how would Norm know these Omega things were discontinued? Was there a memo? Did anyone tell us? That’s why I didn’t say anything to Norm was because I didn’t know! Yet it goes back to that Travis thing where they expect you to just know something without anyone actually telling you. Like’s it’s a huge chore to tell you anything.

Norm: I ordered them because we only had one box out there of each, I figured well, they must be selling.

Me: I agree. Even if it is discontinued: if it’s selling and we’re making a profit, why not get it in as long as we can?

Spain: Nobody told you anything, you had to put in an order, you made the call

me: (booming NFL-Films guy voice who used to do those commercials) You Make The Call: Mark Gastineau sacks Bernie Kosar on the 2 Yard Line. The ball pops loose!

Spain: Kosar pulls out scissors and…cuts his hair! Is it legal or illegal? You Make The Call. (back to normal voice now) That’s when we knew steroids were definitely out there – Mark Gastineau’s huge and he’s crazy….no, but seriously, if Kevin says one more thing to me I’m gonna snap. I really don’t know how much longer I can work with him. I did it this way because that’s the way I want it, get off my back!

Hostetler: (approaching with a smirk, rhetorical question) Who you talking about?

Spain: Who else! Kasper the Unfriendly Ghost!

(I’m laughing so hard I have to take off glasses, wipe my eyes)

Norm: (grinning) You okay

I close, Kyle’s working till 8 or so. Bust ass, off at 9:30.

August 30

Jim’s regional waits from noon to 2pm on him to show – he’s two hours late. Plus, Chris said he couldn’t work today (stiff knee & all) but Jim’s lateness makes Chris, officially, a no call/no show, since the only person he told was Jim, who is not here. “That guy who’s moving to California? Bye bye,” the regional says, of Hostetler.

September 7

Open at 7, take pictures of my “old school” style seafood set (kale, crooked lanes, etc). Kevin showed me where schematic was before vacation – I pretend I’ll actually use it. Opening w/ Spain. Kasper will flip out tomorrow when he returns: we’re on weekly inventory now. Sword ($21.99) & tuna ($26.99 last wk/$24.99 this) look worse & higher priced than at Bob The Fish Guy ($19.99)

September 8

Wild Oats just busted out these new “Way To Go” cards, which employees are supposed to use to give props to one another. Well, I suppose it’s better than the Wow! Committee, anyway. Kyle turned one in today singing Norman’s praises:

“Norman demonstrated what few customers expect: a clear understanding of their needs & knowledge. Way to go!”

September 9

Norm got head seafood (he was the only applicant); Kyle T. walked out in the middle of his shift; it’s Steve Jost’s last day – he’s one of those jumping ship over to the newly opened Sunflower Market instead. But Steve’s popular and well liked enough so some of us cobble together a going away party for him anyway, down in the Community Room. Ancie pays for the pizza & ice cream cake out of her own pocket. A handful of us are down there hanging out and chatting. One memorable soundbite:

Smitty: “when I was 4, man, my one cousin, she was 16, she knew one of Aerosmith’s roadies. When Aerosmith came to Cleveland she took me up there to see them, before the show. I got to hang out, I got to talk on one of their microphones…”

September 10

Semi-infuriating day so far. Alone since 2:45 & there’s nobody in goddamn store except perfectly badly timed one after another after another person moseying up to meat counter, w/o interruption, for 1 ½ hrs now – never a line, & they never buy much, but no pause. I just want to chill & listen to my Indians game! This is so annoying.

September 13

Setting seafood in my own particular kickass style – Norm setting meat for some reason even though he’s now the seafood manager, bumped up to $14/hr. I’ve noted for years his hilariously deceptive speaking style, where you’ll ask him a question, & because he’s grinning the whole time & talking in a chipper tone of voice, you’re inclined to believe he’s saying something, but then when you analyze it you realize he actually said absolutely nothing. Today I got a dose of it, telling him, “you might want to order rainbow trout & cod, but that’s about it.”

“Yeah, well, with inventory coming up, do we really – I wouldn’t worry about the cod. Wait, how much trout do we have left?’

“Two. And we’re out of cod, I don’t know if you care about that.”

“Yeah but see with this inventory – don’t worry about the cod. I’d say just forget it. Because now that we’re on weekly inventory, I’m just not gonna order anything. So I wouldn’t worry about the cod.”

“You’re not gonna order anything?”

“Damn this weekly inventory.”

I never mentioned this curious phenomenon to anyone, first observed it years ago. But recently Spain was cracking up, telling me about a phone call he overheard Norm making to his new landlord recently, explaining that as they were moving in they noticed one of the windows was broken. Except that Norm got off the phone bummed out, because the way he explained, “the landlord thinks we broke it.”

“Listening to the way you explained it to him I think you broke it!” Spain replies, “why did you explain it to him that way?” (something like “yeah, um, we were moving in, & we noticed this window broke, I’m not sure what happened, but yeah, we were carrying stuff in, then all of the sudden we noticed this window, but it was broke.”)

Spain mentioned this to his brother later. “Oh yeah,” Keith nodded, “we call that flogic. Flores logic.”

Anyway…my methods are constantly under attack. The funny thing is I often do things better than these other guys, but it isn’t the “right” kind of better, thus I am considered hopeless, or hapless, or difficult, a lost cause.

“Oh yeah, um, I meant to tell you: you don’t have to use kale,” Norm says, “but you’re allowed to use lemons or limes.”

And I know this is his “nice” way of telling me, roundabout, that we’re not supposed to be using kale. And as long as someone’s being pleasant to me, I always respond in like fashion – playing dumb occasionally one of these ploys. After awhile, some management figures get “not so nice,” and I respond in more pointed style. But whatever tack they try (not Norman, I’m not talking about him)(can’t help but always be nice) they eventually give up. Because when I know I’m right, I’m doing things my way – and whether using humor, or playing stupid, or the classic “oh, okay,” eternal blowoff to the “next time,” or as a last resort listing sharply my reasons, that’s pretty much the end of the story.

“Yeah I just think kale looks better,” I reply, the equivalent of “oh, okay.” Anyway, I’m ¾ done.

Tom comes by at 9:30, says, “you’re just now finishing the case?”

“What time is it supposed to be finished?” I ask.

He extracts watch from under his long green sleeve, notes time, says, “oh, I thought it was later than that, never mind. My bad. Hmm…don’t get me wrong, now, I think the case looks great, but – are we supposed to be doing it like this? I thought they’d been using those trays (new silver metal trays; and he says nothing about my swirling lines, densely packed, instead of the spaced out straight boxes & lines)

“Oh – are they using exclusively those trays? I thought it was more half & half.”

“You might wanna get with Norman just to double check, okay?” he suggests.

“Okay,” I nod (let it be said case is maybe 85% set & the only things I have trayed are salads, scallops, calamari, & cajun catfish).

“Yeah, so just get with Norman…(walks to meat case, shouts into cutting room) hey Norman! Aren’t we supposed to be using those trays to set this case?”

(Norman comes out) “well only if the fish has no skin…if it has skin, then we don’t.”

“Okay I just wanted to double check. That’s fine. Leave it. It looks great,” Tom says & walks away.

Norm’s turning a piece of flounder over in his hands that I’ve got sitting on paper, on the ice.

“You heard the man, he said leave it,” I note.

“Yeah screw it, it’s just one day. But for the most part…we should try & follow the schematic,” Norm says.

“But it looks like shit,” I protest.

Maisie walks up & points to the only two sale signs in the seafood case, one on the wild American gulf shrimp, & one on scallop & bacon kabobs. “These aren’t on sale anymore, you need to pull them. These were on sale last week (our sales begin on Wed, run thru Tues).”

“Well!” I laugh – total smartass, “it’s nice to know you’re on top of things. But if you’ll notice (I rub scallop sign) this is a nice new shiny sign, because it’s staying on sale this week, too. But thanks! Good lookin out!”

“Yeah, yeah. I just noticed it.”

“So…are you opening one day a week now?” Norm wonders, after Maisie walks away.

“Yeah, it’s sweet. I’m lovin this shift! Hey…does that mean the wild American shrimp are still on sale this week, since we didn’t get a new sign?”

“Which ones? (I point them out) No, we got a new sign last night, I put it away (digs thru file box).”

• a cup of coffee, do my dishes, & out the door at 10:25, off to Bob the Fish Guy

September 20

in at 7:04 to open, Smitty at time clock with me “I hope they don’t shitcan us!” I joke, considering we are a whopping four minutes late. Molnar shaved, I thought new employee. Spain with me in meat today. He & Ancie cracking up about Kasper’s bad mood Monday (had weekend off). My own theory is that (like an old boss I had at Kroger) certain people who feel they “do everything” and have this whole shtick revolving around such, bellyaching to other people about such, they have to come back in an uproar because it disturbs them to see the operation misses them basically not at all. But of course I keep this to myself, only laugh at what these two are saying. It’s considered common knowledge anyway that I’m a crackpot and couldn’t possibly know what I am talking about.

I make bacon pancakes, Spain cranks classic rock. Smitty cranks old Journey disc.

September 24

I get here at about 7:40, goof around setting case. Norm in at 8. “Here Jay, I printed off a copy of the schematic for you,” he says, “we’re supposed to get some people from the home office in this week, so…..” Which I know is totally bogus.

“Today?”

“I don’t know, but….yeah, so just try and follow the schematic.”

I get cracking on this idiotic chart – to a tee. In for a penny, in for a pound, right? And if we’re out of something, huge gaping hole there, accentuated w/ a lime or a lemon for comedy and to show I didn’t forget, that it’s intentional. And where it shows two of these goddamn metal trays back to back in the fresh fish section, I comply, even as it doesn’t quite fit, shoves the back metal try in fact almost against the sliding windows. I think it’s hilarious.

“It doesn’t have to perfectly match,” Norm advises with a murmur, leaning over the counter as I’m about halfway finished.

“Oh no, it will perfectly match.” We have no whole salmon, salmon steaks, whole halibut, halibut steaks (never do), one variety of raw shrimp that takes up a gigantic triangle, no king crab legs: all massive holes. There you go, fuckers, now leave me alone about this stupid schematic.

Later, he gets mildly shitty w/ me for not wearing a hat!

September 30

Woman complaining to management because I won’t give her 4 bags of ice. 7lb bags of ice cost a whopping $1.29 if she would just break down and buy one. We’ve been told to not give away free bags of ice but then we’ve also been told not to argue with people who demand free bags of ice. More of the Wild Oats management “logic.”

Anyway I steer the woman over to the 7lb bags of ice, she takes one up to the register. Next thing you know though for some reason one of the cashiers is walking back here with the woman and the ice, then the lady approaches me again about this topic, then marches up front to complain.

Berkley comes back here and tells me, ” at that point we should have done all we could to pacify her, you should’ve went back and got her the ice.”

Okay, so why are we even selling these bags of ice at all? Why not just give them away? And anyway, she bought nothing here from our department: came over from the deli specifically just to harass me about this topic.

Then there’s this douchebag at closing time who asks for 1lb of salmon. It’s only after I’ve already cut, weighed, and wrapped the thing that he thinks to protest-ask, “that’s not farm raised, is it?” I just look at him, don’t even reply, he walks off. I really needed to split at 9 but now it’s 9:15 before I get out.

October 4

Open w/ Spain, in at 7:22. Hear Tom’s voice on intercom 1^st thing paging someone. “Ohp, no eggs this morning,” I note. “That’s what that translates as,” Spain jokes, sorting out sale signs, “no eggs this morning, no eggs this morning.”

-Tom hovering all morn. “Is he always like this!?” I groan.

“What, on your nuts? Pretty much. Well, on the days Kevin’s here he is, but if he’s not then Tom is. I swear, there’s something going on between those two. This is all Kevin has now! This job is all he ever talks about! He’s obsessed. Well I’m glad we tried this & this it looks like we’ll hit our profit margin for the quarter. Of course, year to date our inventory and shrink…Most of the time I don’t even know what the fuck he’s talking about, I just, uh huh, uh huh, ooh that’s bad – no that’s good – that’s what I meant! That’s great!”

“Say interesting,” I advise, “that works for almost anything.”

“But I’m like, remember, we used to talk about the Browns, the Cavs, the Indians, music, whatever, whatever happened to that? Now I come in – whew, how about that game Charlie Frye had & it’s hey I think I’m gonna try this, it should really help out sales. At 7:15 in the morning he’s talking about this! Okay, 1^st off, at 7:15 in the morning I probably don’t feel like talking about anything, but if I do it definitely isn’t about meat.”

more Spain: (1) “trust me, you don’t wanna be here any more than you are.”

(2) “Kyle reads back here – he’s always got comic books, magazines…oh and here’s the kicker – Kevin closed last Thursday (by himself, ^{a first}) & he hated it. He said it was unbelievably boring & I’m like well, now you know why Kyle & Jay do what they do. Because there’s nothing to do!”

me – “there’s nothing to do, but at the same time you can’t leave sight of this case…”

Spain – “that’s true, yet, you can’t take a break, they won’t let you have a radio…”

me – “can’t read”

Spain – “all there is to do is stand here, but you can’t let em see you stand here, it sucks! Who wants to do that? He’s like, well, I was able to scrounge around & find enough projects to stay busy but I’m like, yeah, but that was only one night – try doing it 4 or 5 nights in a row, you’ll be ready to kill yourself!”

me – “some things you can’t do every night – you could, but it’d be retarded, because you don’t need to.”

(3) “He tells me now I know you weren’t here last week so I’m not gonna fire you, but everybody else I’m getting rid of. I’m the only one around here who does everything right. I’ve had it, I’m cleaning house.

me – “right!” (laugh) “Travis has been gone, what, 4 months now & we haven’t been able to find one guy to pick up one shift a week!”

(4) “it never fails. Monday he starts off in a great mood because inventory came back good, but that only lasts 5 minutes, what was it…oh yeah, he sees the case & says I cut too many short ribs & it ruins his whole day. I’m like, there was literally nothing else back there, I had to find something to fill this case. He says, that’s exactly what I’m talking about – over cutting!”

me – “short ribs don’t cost anything, though, if you have to throw them out.”

Spain – “exactly! That’s why I put them in there! I asked him, what, would you rather I had a whole tray of tenderloin instead?”

(5) “Now explain to me why it is organic chicken legs are on sale but we don’t have any, yet we got 4 cases of the natural ones in? That sounds like Flogic to me.”

October 7

Jeremy in orientation here. I see him in Community Room w/ Berkley & Maisie & know this is my chance to sneak into offices. Unfortunately, cabinets are locked – I’d hoped to swipe my file, Charlie’s, any other hilarious ones. Will need to pick at a later date, I guess. Grab a 25.4oz Old Numbskull barley wine ale & marinade shrimp in some, later cook up that w/ salmon & stir fry veggies in wasabi teriyaki – a big hit. Gold raves. Jeremy up after orientation I joke that now Simmers is the last Mansfield cat left who hasn’t worked here.

October 8

I’m an hour late because on foot but all I tell Kyle is “that way I don’t have to take a lunch.” (2-8 shift now)

“You could give us a head’s up, though, is all,” he says grumpily – but it turns out he was one hour late this morning! Norman had to call to wake him up. So it would appear he’s in somewhat of a grumbly mood today as a result.

-Tony Allman has only been working 10-4 shifts, with not weekends, for the past year, after threatening to quit. We’re discussing his situation today.

me: sometimes you gotta throw your weight around.

Tony: I’ve done that a few times but I don’t think I could do it again & get away with it

me: Yeah, you gotta pick your battles. You can’t go around popping off all the time.

Tony: That’s true…and there are new regimes around, come to think of it, I might not be done after all…

October 11

-in at 7:22am, me & Spain again.

-set seafood with a fury, spend last 2 hrs standing/shooting breeze

-don’t put out 16-20 count cooked shrimp because not on schematic! Instead leave in cooler with smartass note: NOT ON SCHEMATIC – UNSURE HOW TO PROCEED – PLEASE ADVISE

-case looks hilarious in spots because I’m following directions (one day last week Spain jumped on for having 2 trays in meat case reversed)

-Kasper calls (day off; 10am) Spain to make sure he saw new laminated chart in cutting room to write chicken orders upon

“weird…,” Spain says to me after hanging up, “….I tell ya, I’m really starting to wonder about the guy.”

——“You should work a Monday sometime to see what I go through. I told him – it’s enough to make me not wanna work Mondays,” Spain also says.

-Kasper apparently vented 3 hrs Monday (“I’m the only one who can do anything right around here;” says writeups if late; backstock not worked), much of it about Kyle – “oh trust me, he’s gonna get an earful” but then Kyle in & it’s “hey, did you catch Lost?”

-Matt Miner drifts back to our department with lentils from deli for his breakfast: “you guys got hot sauce…aw yeah there’s the Texas Champagne (brand name)!”

October 14

Decide to call Damon during a lull in business. Catch him at home, cleaning the house of all things. “I took a look around and said Jesus we are living in squalor!” His trip to South Dakota with Andy was a bust – rain constantly, he accidentally shot a buck in the head, but that was it. Last year Damon kept journal, this year had nothing to write about. Speaking of writing, of course, Maryland called me while he was away – she wants to give him my new novel as an Xmas present.

I wanted to thank him for his two recent phone calls, & also to let him know Josh, Zaun, & Laura’s band (Angel & the Panda) is playing here the 28^th, with the Handshake. He already knew, as I figured he would, because I called Andy last week to tell him.

I cooked up some of these new Rocky Jr brand chicken patties before hopping on the phone, & now they’re done – muenster cheese slices on top. Jennifer walks in front of me on other side of case (looks hotter with hair down, now, since she’s in produce and doesn’t have to wear a hat) & asks, “what is it?”

“Come and get it woman!” I hoot.

“Is that Jill?” Damon questions.

“No…I’m at work actually, it’s this chick I work with.”

“You’re mean,” Jen says, coming back for one – and then half of another. But she doesn’t really mean “mean” mean – if a girl genuinely believes you mean, she stays away. She means playful mean, or whatever you want to call it. I have this theory she eats that kind of behavior up from a guy, & I think I’m right.

October 15

My first review in 18 months. This is supposed to happen every 6 months, according to the employee handbook, but of course that too has been hilariously inconsistent around here. Instead I just notice some paltry little insult raise on my paychecks, about twice a year, but no review is forthcoming. One time I did ask about that but the response was basically, “oh yeah, I just went ahead and filled one out and put it in your file.” I think certain management figures knew I’d hit the roof and attack their shitty job, as well as their assessment of mine, if presented with the bogus negative “facts.”

Kevin’s mostly running a great ship, I have to admit, his alleged Monday morning freakouts aside. Today I get 20 cents an hour, which he had to fight for because Tom wanted to give me nothing. “Mmm, he stands around and reads all the time,” is Tom’s big complaint.

“Yeah but he also cleans our cases every week and doesn’t complain about it, and he works a 3 ½ hour opening shift every week and doesn’t complain about it,” Kevin told him. He also pointed out inflation, et cetera, cost of living.

“Weren’t these raises supposed to be figured by some formula now anyway?” I question, dimly recalling this supposed new review strategy, from my last, in April ’05.

“And you try to get an MOD to cover breaks at night, it’s like pulling teeth,” I add.

“I know,” Kevin says.

I still maintain I’ve never even gotten a remotely fair shake in this place; and the more people single me out unfairly, the huffier I get, and will actually call management on it if provoked. I don’t really go around popping off at them, but if they start it, then look out. And the situations escalate. Whereas some of these other guys know management is in the wrong, and they are right, yet they try to smooth things out by kissing up to the management guys anyway. Let’s just say this is not my style.

It’s well known that Tom is no big fan of mine, though all he’s really done is “copy and pasted” Bob’s opinions and stances on everything. He has no original thoughts of his own. This past spring was pretty comical, though, when Tom had to physically hand me my 5 year anniversary pin (attached to a $5 gift card! A whole five dollars!) – he seriously looked like he wanted to vomit.

I know Bandman always maintained I brought this on myself, but my response is, I feel like I’m acting the way people are supposed to act. It’s just that nobody else wants to do it. And management around here has done themselves no favors – when you point out that what they’re telling you now makes no sense, is provably wrong, and/or contradicts 100% what they recently told you on this very topic, instead of admitting it or trying to downplay the situation, they lean into it, they double down on insisting they are right, and try to come up with even more ridiculous scenarios to establish that you are wrong. It’s the most bizarre thing ever.

As far as these little raises go, eh, they look pretty silly and inconsequential on paper. I don’t really care much, but you try to picture this as maybe like one of those big coin hoppers at some toll booths, where it’s just more coinage pouring into the funnel. It helps, big picture, you want more coinage pouring into the funnel, but it doesn’t change anything day to day.

October 25

Our seafood department only does $225 in sales for the day – which is actually a non-holiday, non-catastrophe all-time low, in the entire history of this store.

November 2

Our new store director, Shane, is in to introduce himself. Which means that after almost 7 months as being “interim” head honcho, on a trial basis, they have given Tom a vote of no confidence. Thank ye kindly, sir, but your services will not be required in that capacity.

November 3

every seafood department in the eastern region is told to take inventory “sometime this weekend.” Even though we’ve hit our margin the past 2 months, we’re included.

November 4

Jen tells me, “you’re a good cook.”

“I take care of ya,” I agree, in response.

-convincing Marsha pre-made roast is my doing, with chief ingredient of “paprika.”

-Marsha pages grocery because there’s a phone call for organic turkey meat. Isiah is completely incredulous. “And she’s a manager?” he says to me, thoroughly baffled.

November 5

Kyle: “you’re lucky I got here before Kevin did this morning – you forgot to throw away your Haagen-Dasz lid (ice cream I paid for; around here, though, it’s hilarious how everyone automatically just assumes you stole something) & you left your coffee (free sample; bag of beans) sitting out.”

“That’s funny. Good lookin out. It’s not like anything would’ve happened anyway, though,” I semi play along.

“Yeah. I overheard Ned & Kevin talking this morning about you, though. Something about you taking stuff off the shelves.”

November 9

Upon clocking in, my first move is to stroll on back to the dairy cooler and take a look at the options available to me this fine morning, on their outdates rack. From this overflowing bounty I select some eggs, tortilla shells, and smoothies. Norman is already here, so I just assumed he’d be opening with me – but no, as soon as I step into the meat department, I immediately encounter Kasper.

“Not today, dude,” he shakes his head, observing my contraband, putting the kibosh on my cooking up breakfast. “Scott Reed’s here. Seriously. They’ll fire you, they just fired a guy in Connecticut for that.” I start to just stash the stuff in our cooler, then, for the time being, but he says, “I wouldn’t even keep it back here,” and I have no choice but to get rid of the stuff.

-a little later, attempting to lighten the mood with some comedy, I point to this placard on our meat counter and question, “why are we promoting Chief-Boss’s turkey dinners?” (Chief-Boss is our nickname for Chef Ugur, primarily because this is how he typically adresses most of us, instead of using our names).

“I’m gonna take that down,” Kasper replies, then rethinks matters and tells me, “take that down.” So I do.

-As for who this Scott Reed character might be, he is apparently the guy replacing Todd Andrews (in dire health) as regional manager. He tells me my seafood case set “looks good.”

-I nominate Riley as Oatie of the Month for always spotting my bike light – still on – and shutting it off every morning that I work.

-1/2 of our Thanksgiving turkeys are supposed to be here today. But I’m off at 10:45 and they’ve still not arrived.

2006 Events Calendar

July 26 – Wild Chef Competition featuring our very own Ugur Gulcur (deli) versus Madelyn Turner (demos) squaring off mano a mano from 6-8pm. Proceeds benefit families of Farm Aid.

September 14 – Vanessa Abel is quoted in an ad in Alive! I’m not sure if this was a regularly running advertisement or not, but don’t recall seeing it before.

September 21 – Homemade Pizza Party hosted by Chris Sardo. For $15, attendees get to experience this hands on class, on the finer art of building pizzas with unusual toppings.

September 26 – Del’s Art of Tofu class hosted by local chef Del Sroufe. Among the more intriguing sounding concoctions is a lemon Napoleon with raspberry sauce for dessert. A mere $15 per attendee.

September 28 – Squishy Dishes class hosted by our very own Vanessa Abel. Formerly known as Adventures in Squash, this popular course returns and explores “the limitless possibilities of this versatile veggie.” Also a real steal at just $15.

The Customers

We had a huge cast of frequent shoppers we knew so well that we developed nicknames for many of them – most of the time we didn’t know their real names, but even if learning such, this didn’t stop us. At some point, those of us in the meat department started compiling a list, and even got on this kick checkmarking boxes beside the names if they came in on such and such day. Much to our surprise, we soon learned that the produce department was doing the same thing; then, much to our even greater surprise, we soon learned that the mostly stuffier crew in Natural Living was also doing the exact same thing. Except none of the nicknames matched, of course. So I’m going with ours, which I still believe were mostly funnier.

Tool With Headdog

Well, we had to start with either this guy or the next one. I’m going with ol’ Headdog here (which we soon mostly shortened his name to) because he compiled the most extensive dossier of offenses. He was this middle aged guy, with crescent shaped balding pattern, wire rim glasses, and beady eyes, somewhat of a dick but mostly just excessively smug. None of us liked the guy, but he didn’t have an official name until one day when I was standing behind the counter with Matt Montanya, and we saw him roll into sight from the corner over by bulk/wine/produce. It was a winter’s day and he was wearing this stupid bright red “headdog” type toboggan, the kind with two pointy ears up top.

The instant we saw him, Matt chuckled and muttered, “Tool With Headdog,” as he was headed our way. And the name immediately stuck.

However many days later, Kevin Spain was stuck waiting on the guy, and after that miserable exchange was over, I was cracking up, needling him that he had the great misfortune of dealing with Headdog.

“Headdog. That’s a good one,” Spain drolly intoned, having not yet heard this moniker, “kind of rhymes with asshole.”

Another day, months and months down the road, he was at the seafood counter hassling Travis over why our yellowfin tuna looked so brown. Travis nimbly pivoted and explained that the sign was actually wrong, that this was bluefin tuna, and thus the darker color. Headdog immediately snapped some up. Then returned the next time raving about how good it was.

And his atrocities don’t end here! One other afternoon, I think around 2005-06ish, Dan Bandman called me at work, from his new job down at North Market Poultry. “Tool With Headdog is here right now,” he calmly informs me, with the muted seriousness of an FBI informant.

So yeah, he was a regular at both places. On a future visit down there, Headdog was at their counter, and Dan was waiting on him, while another customer was ordering mallard from someone else. Our boy TWH pipes up and proudly boasts that he is the entire reason North Market Poultry carries mallard, because he originally requested it. Only problem is, the owner, Jerry, happens to be within earshot, and issues a wild cackle, unable to believe what he just heard.

“No you’re not!” he tells Headdog, “I’ve been carrying mallard for years!”

Shades McTwohats

Probably my proudest creation on the naming front. It was attached to this silver haired guy, looked to be in his early 40s maybe, who would rock sunglasses in conjunction with this bizarre combo of a baseball hat and then a toboggan atop that. He was a strange character, but not at all in the manner that he was shooting for – sometimes you have this inkling that somebody is pointedly trying to be zanier than they actually are, and so it was with him.

Oddly enough, my somewhat fringe theory is that I think he might have been an undercover cop. But if so, just about the worst actor employed by any police force, ever. This because he became the rare example of someone whose “official” nickname changed over time, and he was mostly known as Seed Bank Updates instead. Some preferred his legacy handle, which was funnier, but he actually stopped wearing the outfit that made him famous when entering phase two of his Project: Wild Oats operation.

This is the point where he kept talking very loudly at the counter, every single visit, asking us if we smoked pot and raving about this website, the Seed Bank Updates one. Telling us we should go there and purchase some. He would often claim “I’m high right now!” but I would look in his eyes, and he didn’t appear the least bit messed up, instead looked to me like he was cagily attempting to assess our reaction. I feel like he was acting on some tip he heard that The Kids in the Wild Oats meat department liked to “smoke dope” and was trying to make a bust.

Either way, it was just the weirdest thing ever. One day Berkley and Tom were even strolling past the meat department, he was in the middle of his SBU spiel yet again with me, when he jogged over to those two, asked them if they liked to smoke pot, then asked them why not when they said no and told them they should try this website. Then jogged back and continued bending my ear about this matter. But basically nobody in the history of the universe was ever this over the top about pot, not even a fourteen year old kid, so I seriously doubt he drummed up much business for whatever he was attempting here. One day, I was even driving through Victorian Village and spotted him doing yardwork in front of a very nice house. And though technically proving nothing, it made me think, yeah, my assessment of this guy is probably spot on. He’s not this zany hippie living out of a van or whatever like he’s trying to paint himself.

Super Maryland Man

A Travis concoction, pertaining to this tall older dweeb, nice enough chap and all, who nonethless took great pride in constantly pointing at our crab cakes and declaring, “those aren’t Maryland crab cakes!”

Kevin Kasper, who ran the seafood department, would actually get extremely agitated over this dude’s antics. “That’s why it says Maryland style crab cakes! Maryland style!” he would usually reply, or some variation thereof. To which the gent just stood there with his goofy grin. I think he was just proud of his little seafood trivia tidbit there and couldn’t resist showcasing it. Calling something a “Maryland crab cake,” like how they used to insist you had to spell imitation crabmeat with a K (krab) (though in more recent times it seems nobody follows this any longer) I think is actually a legal issue, or at least it used to be, and you couldn’t do so if they didn’t come from Maryland. Which this fellow knew.

His nickname originated from a day where Travis’s girlfriend, Martha, had the great misfortune to show up at the same time SMM was here. He had just spouted off with his Maryland crab cake tidbit, yet again. Travis and I were standing over on the meat side, watching this exchange, with Kasper I think the one stuck waiting on him. As our customer here began to explain at great length to Martha why we couldn’t call these Maryland crab cakes. She’d only arrived on the scene, apparently, to scoop Travis up, hadn’t planned on receiving a lecture.

“You taking off soon?” I asked Travis.

“Yeah, as soon as Super Maryland Man over there stops talking to my girlfriend,” he said.

This guy had a wife who also besieged our counter quite often. Naturally, we referred to her as Mrs. Super Maryland. On still another occasion, Matt had to deal with him, then was shaking his head and ruing the experience.

“Eh, he’s alright,” I told Matt, “he’s just a little dry.”

“Yeah,” Matt replied, “he’s so dry my ass is chafing!“

Monsieur Dudley Hoffman

This character extended so far into smug jackass territory that it become more of a comedy than anything else. Though only haunting our premises relatively late into my run here, about halfway through the tenure, he nonetheless made up for lost time in short order. He was this older guy with long, stringy-curly salt n’ pepper hair, talked with some unknown but possibly British accent, and made no bones whatsoever about plainly considering himself way better than the rest of us.

One day he asked for a recommendation on a cut of beef, something to slow cook, and when someone suggested chuck roast, he scoffed and replied, “that’s what we used to feed our servants (pronounced suh-vantz)” with his face drawn up in distaste. Befitting a total caricature such as this, of course he paraded around the trophy girlfriend who looked to be appromixately 30 years his junior – one day they started making out in front of our meat case. She had her back to us, which meant we could plainly see he was groping her ass while doing so, giving it a healthy squeeze with both hands. Worse still, as we found ourselves unable to look away from this grisly train wreck, he spotted us, over her shoulder, and gave us a wink.

Still, settling upon a nickname for him didn’t happen right away. It took maybe a few visits before the afternoon where Dan Bandman and I were watching him in action, down some nearby grocery aisle, and were debating which celebrity he most closely resembled. Dan was arguing a passionate case for Dustin Hoffman, but I had other ideas about that.

“See now, I think he looks a lot like Dudley Moore.”

“Mmm…I guess you’re right,” Bandman finally concedes, “but he’s definitely got the Dustin Hoffman mullet.”

Monsieur Dudley Hoffman it is, then! Never mind that the title “monsieur” technically doesn’t match his British accent – it just seems to fit. So much so that it leads to this hilarious exchange a few days later: Dan and I, at a point where we hadn’t really shared his nickname with anybody else, discussing in low voices some of his more recent antics. Norman is standing nearby, sipping on a drink, and overhears one of us say the word “monsieur.” Hearing this, he explodes with laughter, so much so that he spews out his mouthful of beverage.

“Dude! I know EXACTLY who you’re talking about!” he howls.

A little bit down the road, another group of us are behind the counter, having fun fleshing out the theoretical life of this clown. We’re trying to come up with a good answer for what kind of car we think he drives. Someone, possibly Kevin Kasper, suggests it’s an Alfa Romeo, and we all immediately agree: yes, this is exactly what he must drive, that’s it.

“Alfa Romeos are terrible cars,” some random old lady tells us, walking up to our counter to place an order. When we all laugh, she insists, “I’m serious, they really are.”

Miserable Peeps

In this instance, I actually know their names, but will be nice for basically no reason whatsoever and spare them. Instead we’ll stick to what they were commonly referred to as, this older married couple with almost perfectly matching, curly, grey, steel wool haircuts. He wore glasses and she did not, but this was just about the only visible difference, even temperament-wise, as they would often turn to one another and share horrified expressions over something or other you just did, lips peeled back and eyes wide. Yet never actually say anything to you about it.

One day Kasper and I were behind the meat counter, enjoying a brief lull during an otherwise busy afternoon. It seems like it must have been a weekend day, though this doesn’t really matter. At any rate, during this stretch, grocery employee and all around good guy Ned Hodge unexpectedly barges through the swinging doors to our department, with unmistakeable urgency. I feel like he was even panting a little bit. He’d just rounded the corner into sight from over by bulk and produce.

“I need to hide. My least favorite customers are here,” he tells us, “they’re always trying to get me fired.”

We don’t know who he’s talking about until they too round the corner, a minute or so behind him: the Miserable Peeps. Kevin and I both bust out laughing, and even Ned does as well, in spite of the situation.

“They’re always trying to get Jay fired, too!” Kasper crows, meaning me of course.

But Ned is basically the nicest, most unimposing guy I feel like I’ve ever met. If you’re taking issue with him, I feel confident in saying, then it’s you who has the attitude problem. So I really take this to heart, and treasure this encounter, because it lets me by and large off the hook – not that I have many doubts.

As far as some of the occasions Kevin was alluding to, I remember one distinctly. They were asking me to weigh up some beef item one day, I forget exactly what. But the way we always did this was to lay some wax paper down first, of course, so as to not dirty up the scale. The way our scales were designed, though, they had these flat edges extending outward, just underneath the metal tray, part of the plastic case supporting those things. And occasionally, if the chunk of meat was too big or else you didn’t throw it up there just right, it would extend off the scale and onto one side, the plastic edge running parallel to but slightly lower than the metal scale part. But it was still on the wax paper, so no harm no foul, you just had to readjust the item to sit correctly on the scale.

Well, this happened one day with them, and they turned to one another, exchanged the familiar horrified, lips-peeled-back grimaces, though of course not actually saying anything to me about it. I wrapped up the meat and handed it to them, they moseyed off toward the front end with their purchases. Then the next thing I know, Tom’ s back here, behind the counter grilling me about it, in his Flanders’-twin-brother-from-hell nasaloid drawl:

“Mmm, the C_______s are complaining that you dropped their piece of meat on the floor but wrapped it up and gave it to them anyway…”

“No, I didn’t drop their meat on the floor and give it to them anyway! Come on!” I shoot back at him, unable to fathom he would even believe such a wild tale.

“Mmm, I don’t know, that’s what they’re sayin…” he replies, unconvinced even when I demonstrate exactly what happened.

We heard rumors throughout that the wife had some health scares a few years earlier, which is why they acted the way they did. And I don’t mean to downplay anyone’s health situations, particularly as I personally for the most part cannot relate. But I’m sorry – I often think of my mom, who actually did suffer through some horrific health problems, and would have never used that as an excuse to go around acting like a miserable cuntwagon to everyone all the time. So they don’t get to do so, either.

Choad

This guy was by no means notorious, in fact he flew under the radar so much that I doubt most of my coworkers even remember him. But that’s the basic essence of what makes him so hilarious, in particular the instance where he was named.

Okay, so Bandman had this stock reaction that always cracked me up, whereby he would turn and face you, then slowly shake his head, wordlessly, whenever a dreadful customer was in sight and about to approach our counter. With his deli apron on atop the heavy white butcher coat, the black Wild Oats ballcap which he’d cut the bill off of to where it resembled a yarmulke. Priceless hilarity.

Well, so anyway, this guy wasn’t necessarily a jerk or anything. He was just extreeeeeeeeeeeeeeemely dry, so dry he probably would consider Super Maryland Man an unhinged maniac. The correct term might be “stuffy,” but there wasn’t any classism here, necessarily, not like we experience with the grand Monsieur. It’s more accurate to say among people who know him, I’m guessing phrases like “wet blanket” and “boring as fuck” come up quite a bit.

To describe him, he’s a white male, always wearing a long sleeved button up dress shirt, of which this thinly, vertically striped blue and white one appeared to be his personal favorite. Sometimes tucked into jeans, sometimes not. Inky black hair parted down the middle, slightly shaggier than you would expect from a guy like this, therefore possibly what he considered his “edgy” side. But then sometimes he would show up wearing a ballcap, in what I gather were more his casual moments – or should we say business casual, because he would still have the long sleeved dress shirt on anyway.

But to my knowledge, none of us ever discussed the guy. I know I never mentioned him to anyone up to this point, because he was for the most part so unremarkable. Which is what made waiting on him complete torture. Him declaring in crisp, inflection-free sentences exactly what he wanted, following by these long, dreadful silences, as you attempted to blaze through this transaction as swiftly as possible.

So we arrive at this one afternoon, where we’re busy, and have tons of people behind the counter. I see him approach, and with so many employees on hand, I know I can disappear. I’m basically thinking to myself, you know what, I’m really not in the mood for this fucking guy today, and decide to bail out to the lunchmeat case, see if I can straighten it up or fill in some holes or something.

Except I arrive out there, only to encounter Bandman already out here, because he’s beaten me to the punch! He spotted the dude seconds before I did, and had the exact same thought. Just looks at me with a slight smirk, and does the slow headshake thing which never fails to crack me up. Nope. Not today.

Predictably enough, I explode with laughter, as a thought then occurs to me. “We don’t have a name for that guy – what should we call him?”

“Choad,” Dan says, without hesitation.

The Artifacts

Up above is what our wrapping paper looked like, at least in the meat department, when I initially started. Good color scheme, a pleasing design, overall I prefer the look of this one – however, it wasn’t nearly as good for writing upon. An important consideration, as we shall we.

This is the second type of wrapping paper, introduced in maybe late 2001 or early 2002, and in use clear up until this place was bought out. In case you’re wondering, that’s a little speech I jotted down to recite over the intercom. Aesthetically speaking, this design was not nearly as attractive, but made for more legible notes.

Up next we have an example of what our company ballcaps looked like, when I first started here. I’m not a big fan of purple in general and am happy we changed these. But the front logo is okay, the dancing people on the back do look pretty cool:

These black ones came along later, and were easily our most successful color scheme. I think these puppies really pop. As you can see, I’ve ended up with (at least) two to this day, which respectively belonged at one point to Kevin Spain and, um, Jen in cheese.

Then there’s this leather, Outback-worthy beaut, a true classic I won due to this company-wide Australian beef promo they were running one year. It was a prize, and I think the top store in every district got one: whoever sold the most of that product during the contest period, that meat shop won this hat. We took down the honors, and everyone pretty much unanimously agreed that I should have the hat. Which I wore on the job for as long as they would let me: