You Can't Do Your Job Properly

I had to grit my teeth this morning over a package of Cool Mint Oreo cookies on my kitchen counter.  Not because of my post yesterday (although I probably should be gritting my teeth for that reason) but because of how they ended up there.

Tuesday night, after a trip to the hospital for routine testing on our soon-to-be born second child, we made a trip to the grocery store.  The time was around 8ish, and we had to get home and get our little guy bathed and to bed, so we rushed through the store, grabbing what we needed.  The place was relatively empty, and only two checkout lines were open, so we proceeded into one of them, unloaded our groceries onto the belt, and then waited for the cashier to scan them and the bagger to put them in bags and into our cart.

Except, perhaps because the store was empty, the bagger was chit-chatting with another cashier—probably the office cashier—who had come up and was also bagging our groceries.  You’d think with two of them bagging we’d have been out of there fast, but these two were chatting it up so much that neither of them was paying much attention to actually doing their jobs.  They were talking about hunting and eating deer meat and blah blah blah, and as my wife finished paying the cashier at the register, a good third of our items were still waiting to be bagged.  I then watched, a little annoyed, as the cashier began scanning the groceries of the person after us, sending them down the belt right into our pile of things.  And wouldn’t you know but the bagger—not paying any attention—picked up THEIR oranges and began to put them in our cart.

The cashier stopped him, luckily, and I thought a mistake had been averted and that all the groceries ended up in the proper places.  But apparently not.  This morning, as I was standing in the kitchen making my coffee, I looked over and saw those Oreos.  I asked my wife where they came from (knowing SHE wouldn’t put them in the cart), and she blamed them on me.  She was so insistent about it that, for a brief moment, I actually thought I had blacked out during our shopping trip and actually DID put them in the cart in some sort of drunken Oreo-craving stupor.  Then I thought maybe my 3-year-old might have snagged them off a shelf and tossed them in, but he hasn’t done anything like that (yet), and I knew that it had to be that inattentive bagger.

Ordinarily I probably would have shook my head or laughed this off, but what ticks me off about this is that the manager of this grocery store, a guy named Dave R., was my former boss.  You see, during my sophomore year of college, after having transferred from Pitt to PSU, I was living back home and looking for part-time work.  My girlfriend at the time had applied to the BiLo grocery store (a different store and chain than the one we go to now), and they called her about the job.  She didn’t have consistent transportation to work the hours they wanted, but she mentioned that I was looking for work, and so they called me and I went in and interviewed for a “carry-out clerk” position.

The store manager, Dave R., was in his late 30s at the time, and he conducted the interview, which was rather juvenile if I recall.  I sat in a room with another girl (who I discovered several years later was the then girlfriend of one of my best friends now), and he proceeded to ask us a bunch of silly questions loosely pertaining to morals and ethics.  One of them that I recall: if you found a $5 bill on the ground in the parking lot, what would you do with it?  I’m sure that lots of people would fail this interview, and I tried not to let it insult my intelligence as I responded that I’d turn it into the office.  He then actually had me take a math test where I had to solve about 10 addition and subtraction problems.  Mind you, I was taking a partial differentiation calculus course in college, which I explained to Mr. Dave R., but he told me this was standard procedure.  So a week later he calls and asks when I could start.  I remember we had planned a trip to the beach that week, so I started a week later than that girl who was also hired (and whose grandmother worked in the office there), so I ended up on the very bottom of the carry-out clerk totem pole.  I recall being annoyed about that, because we were both technically hired at the same time, and I thought she had been given preferential treatment because of her grandmother.

Anyhow, on my first day I was trained by this woman in her 30s who was incredibly shy and socially awkward.  She showed me the obvious ways to pack bags: meats stay together, doubled-bagged if they are bloody, refrigerated and frozen items stay together, cleaning products always separate, bags no heavier than 5 lbs., etc.  Common sense stuff, really, but with some of the jokers I ended up working with, I realized how important those trainings were.  But aside from bagging groceries, the carry-out clerk was also responsible for, you guessed it, carrying out the customer’s groceries to his/her car.  This, in my opinion, was one of the dumbest ideas ever thought up from a corporate mind.  With the exception of little old ladies, nobody wanted someone to push their cart out and pack it into their car for them.  Yet this was a requirement of the job, and for each customer’s groceries we bagged, we had to ask if they’d like us to carry them out to their car for them.

I think maybe 1 out of 10 people actually wanted (or didn’t object to) this service.  We were told by Dave R. himself that we had to be stern with them, that we should start pushing the cart out for them as soon as they had finished paying.  Most people would say, “No thanks, I’ve got it,” and they’d take the cart themselves and go.  Some would wait until we got outside and then say they could handle it from there, knowing we were required to take it outside and not wanting to get us in trouble.  For the one in ten that actually let us take their groceries out, we’d pack them into their cars, and then we were required to round up any carts in the vicinity of the person’s car—thereby making sure that all of the carts were back inside on a consistent basis.  That, of course, never worked well because most of the carry-out clerks were lazy and would ignore the other carts, and there were so few people that actually wanted this service that we’d still have to send out a cart person every hour or so.

Anyway, after working there for a few months, we were told by Dave R. that one of the regional supervisors had been sitting out in the parking lot for the past few weeks monitoring the frequency of carry-out clerks carrying out groceries, and he was “extremely disappointed” in how few of us he saw outside.  Dave then called several of us into his office one by one, me included, to chastise us for our ineffective work.

I remember him coming off as angry and upset, and I told him that I was doing exactly what the customer wanted each and every time.  I told him that many of the customers would decline the service and take the cart from me, and he stated that I shouldn’t be letting that happen.  In other words, go against the customers’ wishes and take them out anyway.  He even told me that I should tell the customers that this was my job, and that if I didn’t do it, I could get fired.  And then he said, “I’m not kidding.  If you can’t do your job properly, you won’t be here much longer.”  Seriously.

So I took his advice and was a bit more aggressive.  I probably started taking out groceries for 2 out of every 10 customers.  By the way, we were not permitted to accept tips for this service, and if we were caught doing so, we would be fired on the spot.  I actually had an old lady once go so far as to chase me down and stuff cash in my front pocket—seriously, what was I going to do?  Knock her to the ground?  Luckily I wasn’t caught.  But anyway, I worked there for about 8 months before another BiLo in Bedford, PA closed, and because we were all part of a union, those employees with seniority wishing to retain their jobs were offered the chance to work at my store.  One by one the carry out clerks on the bottom of the totem pole were laid off.  They had hired two or three after me, so they all lost their jobs, and then finally they called me on a Sunday morning and told me not to report that day as I had been laid off as well.

I don’t think I’d ever been so happy.

A month later I got a part-time job doing some computer work at a mail processing plant.    The management at that place wasn’t all that much better, but at least I was doing something I enjoyed.  About four months in, I got a call from BiLo asking me to come back to work, and I declined.  No way was I going to do that crap again—making minimum wage and being yelled at by my boss for “not being aggressive enough toward the customers.”  And a few years later, BiLo closed all of its stores in the Blair County, Pennsylvania area, probably because of all the dumb ideas and misplaced priorities of the regional management.

So you can see why this pack of Oreos on my counter had me gritting my teeth this morning.  Apparently Dave R. has become extremely lax in what he demands of his employees, as they can’t apparently do their job properly either.  And I see him at the store all the time, and he either has no clue who I am or just chooses not to acknowledge me.  And I’ve literally stood right next to him once or twice as he’s stocked shelves or talked to employees of the store.  Sure, I look a lot different than I did back then, but I’ve had people that barely know me recognize me after having not seen me for 15 or 20 years.  And I’m not easy to miss being the big guy that I am.  Perhaps he’s ashamed of how he treated me, but I doubt it.  I think he’s just completely oblivious.

At times I’d like to tell him to do his job “properly”.  You know, simple thinks like making sure the baggers don’t give the wrong bags to the wrong people.  Or telling the stockers not to put their stock carts in the MIDDLE OF THE AISLE where nobody can get their carts past.  Or properly training his cashiers on how to ring up 5 gallon water jugs (I swear I know how to do this better than 80% of them).  Or even ordering enough groceries that the shelves are consistently stocked.  Seriously, if this wasn’t the closest and most convenient and cost-saving store near us, we’d go somewhere else, because running out of things like orange juice and iced tea and diapers shows a serious lack of properly managing a grocery store.

I’m sure everyone has had a horrible boss at one time or another, and this one is probably pretty minor on the “horrible boss scale”, but man did those Oreos bother me.  I know, I know, I should learn to let things go.  And hey, at least they were free, right?

What Happened to You, New York?

With the exceptions of Boston and Baltimore, I’ve made numerous trips to some of the major cities along the east coast over the years.  It comes with the territory of having Vietnamese immigrants for in-laws.  They are always flying back and forth to Vietnam, going back to see their parents and siblings and other family.  And plane tickets are far cheaper when leaving from international airports like JFK and PHL, and somehow I always seem to get suckered into dropping them off or picking them up.  Well, not really suckered, but I have to complain a little, right?

This weekend was no different, and we made the 2.5 hour trip to Harrisburg and then the 3 hour trip to JFK to wish my brother-in-law farewell as he and his wife and daughter will be visiting for about a month or so.  We arrived in Manhattan at around 9 AM, ate dim sum at Grand Harmony in Chinatown, then met up with my in-laws at Pho Bang and had some goi cuon.  Yum yum!  From there it was off to JFK.

We parked behind my mother-in-law’s car to help unload, and I have to say that the TSA peons were complete a-holes Saturday morning.  Pardon my French…er, English.  My brother-in-law, who had polio when he was younger and is slightly hobbled, was struggling with their bags, and my wife’s parents aren’t very spry.  My brother-in-law’s wife was holding their 16 month old, and so it only made sense that I stopped there to help.  Yet those TSA nincompoops would not leave us alone, repeatedly telling us to move.  It didn’t matter that we were unloading from both cars either.  And it wasn’t even busy.  I understand that these guys have a job to do, but we were literally parked there for less than 3 minutes, and at least 3 times the one elderly, grumpy guy came past and told us to move.  I don’t think he quite realized that I was with them (because why would a big white guy be with a bunch of little Asian people outside of the Korean Airways terminal), but that didn’t matter.  Three minutes, buddy.  And we were literally parked there to unload, exactly as the sign stated.

We then drove around and parked and went inside to see my brother-in-law off, and luckily none of the TSA staff harassed us while in the terminal.  When we left, we took the Verrazano Bridge from Brooklyn to Staten Island and then made our way back through Jersey and into PA.  My wife’s parents, though, decided to stop back in Chinatown to do a little shopping.  We would have joined them, but we were tired after having gotten up at 5 AM for this little trip, and we’d already spent half of the morning there waiting for them to meet us.

One amusing thing to note—my son had fallen asleep just before entering the Holland Tunnel, and we woke him up in Chinatown, where he was extremely confused.  He’s accustomed to being around people who don’t speak English, and yet Chinatown is just so wildly different from anything he’s ever experienced.  I had him up on my shoulders as we walked past the fishmongers and little shops.  Considering I stand an entire head above most of the people  on the streets there, he had prime view of the wonders of Chinatown.  I must have heard him ask me, “Daddy, what’s that?” about a hundred times in the half hour or so we were walking around.  I can’t wait until WE make that trip to Vietnam!

Anyway, when my in-laws stopped in Chinatown on the way back through, my mother-in-law apparently jumped out of the car, intending to then have my father-in-law find a place to park (or just drive around the block over and over) while she shopped.  My father-in-law has lived and worked in NYC since he came to the US when he was 17, and so he is by no means a tourist.  However, as my mother-in-law got out, a parking cop spotting them and the PA license plate of their car, ran over, and issued him a ticket for “standing” in a “No Standing” zone.  He explained that he was just dropping his wife off, didn’t even have the car in Park, and was driving off, and yet the guy didn’t care.  He even mentioned something about them being from Pennsylvania.  And the ticket was $115.  Can you believe that?!?

That's the first time I've been to NYC and have witnessed jerks with badges.  I'm sure it happens a hundred times an hour, but I've never actually seen it.  And I mean, we went to Philly one time for my brother-in-law to resolve an issue with his green card, and after getting all the way down there (this was maybe a year or two after September 11, 2001), we discovered that they had implemented a policy where everyone needed an appointment—no walk-ins.  The guard at the door, Chazz, was a complete jerk to us, and after yelling at us that we should have checked it online (they’d just done this a year or so before WITHOUT needing an appointment), I asked for his name.  He kept asking “Why?  Why?” and when I began to write down the info on his badge, he got right up in my face until I asked for the name of his supervisor.  I called a little later and issued a complaint, and of course I was told they’d “speak with him” and basically blew me off, but that’s the kind of behavior I expect out of Philly.  My brother went to UPenn, I’ve been there enough, and there’s a reason they call it the “City of Brotherly Love.”  People are rude there.  It’s normal and expected.

But not New York.  In all the times I’ve been there in the past decade, I’ve never experienced traffic cops and TSA people acting like that.  Again, perhaps we were targeted for our PA plates, and if that was indeed the case, that’s really not cool.  Shame on you New York!

One more side note about our crazy weekend:

Yesterday was another brother-in-law's (my wife has 4 brothers) wife's bridal shower, and afterwards we met my wife at my brother-in-law's new house in Mechanicsburg.  Nice little row house with three bedrooms, a beautiful kitchen, two and a half baths, a garage, and an office.  We then left from there, got on the turnpike, and about halfway home we stopped at the Blue Mountain rest stop where I took my son in to use the restroom.  As we were sitting in the car waiting for my wife to finish up a call with Sirius XM, she looked up and said, "Look, James Franco!"  I turned, expecting to see the famous Spider-man actor, and instead I saw this hulking man with a beard--Franco Harris.  Still pretty cool to see him, but we laughed as I pointed out the folly of her observation.  Coincidentally, after taking my son in to pee, we were washing our hands right next to him, and when none of the towel dispensers worked and I told my 3-year-old to dry his hands on his pants, Franco Harris looked over at us, shook his head, and smiled.  I did NOT tell him I'm a big fan, but I think he knew by how often I kept looking at him.

I'd Like to Introduce You to Cole Pierce

Who is Cole Pierce?  Well, he’s the protagonist in my new novel, Terminal Restraint.  I think you’ll like him.  He’s you.  He’s me (not really me, although there are a few small similarities).  He’s your average, everyday, normal, working-class guy, trying to excel at his job and plan for his future with his girlfriend.  He has a great group of friends—although they are a little eccentric—and he’s quite content with his life.

What’s so special about him?

He dies.

Yep, there you go.  Major spoiler.  My protagonist dies in my new novel.  But that’s half the fun, as he doesn’t just die.  He becomes something far worse.  Not a zombie, which are a bit over-played in the entertainment industry right now.  Not a vampire, which are REALLY overplayed (sorry, Bill Compton and Eric Northman).  Cole doesn’t even become a ghost.  He transforms into an undead creature who survives by draining the life of the living.  Sentient, yes.  Able-bodied, certainly.  Filled with revenge, you bet!

Intrigued?  Well, let me tell you a little more.  Before this all happens, Cole’s thinking of proposing to his theater actress girlfriend, Malaya, and his life couldn’t be happier.  But life takes a turn for the worse, unfortunately for him, and he finds himself in some hot water with an executive at the company that employs him.  This executive, Roland LaDuc, is an uptight prude with a home life that is beginning to fray—a wife that won’t speak to him and teenage boys that despise him.  A client complains about work that Cole performed—although the complaint is really unfounded—and as a few other incidents occur, Roland unfairly takes his frustrations out on Cole.

Cole’s upset, for sure, because he’s always trying to do his best and please everyone, and he’s incredibly upset by Roland’s harsh criticism.  And who wouldn’t be?

Cole’s best friend, Trev, would never take that kind of abuse from a superior, although he doesn’t have to because he owns his own tattoo shop.  Trev’s wife, Jillian, is a forensic pathologist who performs autopsies.  Oh, and did I mention they are members of Anton LaVey’s Church of Satan?  Wait, what?!?

An eccentric group, yes, but along with their friends Becca and Scott, they are all a tight-knit little family.  And they look out for one another, which is why Jillian decides to cast a black magic protection spell on her friends, including a very hesitant Cole.  Only the spell she casts isn’t quite what she thinks it to be, and that’s not good news for our protagonist.  You see, aside from Cole and Roland’s little spat, there are some much darker bad guys on the horizon, and one of them gets the best of poor Cole, killing him in his own basement.

But as I said, Cole is not dead.  Death doesn’t come for everyone, apparently.

What will happen to Cole?  Will he take out his revenge on Roland?  Will he discover the identity of his killer?  Is he really an undead creature?  Are his days on Earth, alive or dead, numbered?

Check out Terminal Restraint here https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/233534.  I’ll soon have it available elsewhere.  Smashwords is currently out of ISBNs, so as soon as they get them in, I’ll get one assigned so that it can be purchased through Barnes & Noble, Apple, Kobo, and Sony.  I also plan to have it available on the Kindle within a week or two after I have the ISBN.

And if you want a coupon to get it for free on Smashwords, just ask!

And if you like my books, tell your friends!

And if you like Terminal Restraint, check out my other books!