November 22, 2009

• An episode in Retail Sales: From "Goin' Crazy"

  "Don't Ask Me, I only Work Here"

  An episode in retail sales.

  From "Goin' Crazy" my first autobiography written at age 25 in 1977. I posted the first chapter of my 1977 autobiography here on my blog in 2005. Links are below this entry and in the sidebar to the left of the main page of my blog. Chapter One was a recollection of the night after high school graduation, when my group of friends went "t-p ing" our favorite teachers' homes. The following is part of Chapter Two: September 1971. During the summer of 1977, I wrote a couple hundred hand lettered pages of my life from high school graduation through college in third person, as a roman a clef, with faked names, and the imagined thoughts of others in my life, including my parents, friends, and workmates. It was a pretty ambitious undertaking at the time, and was never finished. I frequently research the events, which I outlined prior to writing, in order to set straight my memory regarding the first 25 years of my life, since I was closer to the early events than I am now when I wrote about them in 1977. The following includes lots of dialogue, and recounts a typical episode in the worklife of "courtesy clerk" Michael Nichol Franklin in the year 1971. The city of Rosemont is Rosemead, Ca. "Rawlings Hardware" is really Ole's Home Centers, and of course Mike Franklin is me. (pictured in my Ole's vest, around 1971, when the first chapter of DrunkStory occurred as well.)

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  "Michael Franklin to Will Call. Michael Franklin to Will Call." The public address system crackled and snapped to life, resonating around the store. Mike heard the directive only faintly from the parking lot where he deftly finished tying a load of pipe to the top of a station wagon.

  "Thanks for the help." The old gentleman smiled.

  "Oh, that's okay. That's why I work here. Thank you!" he turned, half running back into the store. Before the call was repeated, he had trotted round to the back and asked the man for his pick up slip. "Hey, Slim," he called to an older boy just entering the warehouse, "You wanta help me with this sink delivery?"

  "Sure, Where is it?"

  Two months on the job and already MIke had learned most of the "ropes". He'd been hired in July as a "courtesy clerk" or box boy, although the joke amongst the boys who worked at Rawling's was that they were in fact, "slaves".

  Rawling's Hardware Center stood on Valley Blvd., another Rosemont business street, where it nearly occupied fully one half the block. A family owned establishment since the 30s, the building had consisted of three smaller companies at one time, each with their own building, each of which was later joined together to form the hardware center. The inside ceiling heights were even different for each of the three former buildings, so the experience of being in the store was sometimes akin to being inside a small city in itself. The building was quite large, and a joke circulated around that by the time an employee walked from the time clock to the lunch room, his lunch period was already over.

  The Rawlings family owned three other stores in Southern California, but to look at the interior of the Valley Blvd. store's interior, no one would have ever guessed the store was part of a chain. Aisles were always cluttered with merchandise, paint peeled from the walls, the upper parts of which were always grimy with soot. Rats sometimes patrolled the warehouse, and could be heard scuttling about on the tops of the visible water pipes coursing along the walls. Unlike most chain stores of the time, which were airy and clean, with big tan fixtures of identical shelving, Rawlings' shelves were sometimes made of wood, old and badly painted, and the merchandise displayed on them sometimes seemed to be as old as the building itself.

  Mike found the place fun to work for, however. The employees always found the time to smile and were a mix of the neighborhood's denizens, and most of the customers had lived in Rosemont for quite a while, and shopped there often. Mike knew many of the regular customers by name.

  "Hey, Mike." Slim whispered as they lugged the heavy porcelain sink back to the customer's car. "A few of the guys are goin' drinking after work. Wanna come along?"

  "Oh, I'd love to, " Mike lied. "But I'm not 21."

  "That's okay. Neither am I. You know Burt?"

  "Yeah."

  "Well, he buys."

  "Maybe next time, Slim. I really gotta do something else."

  "Okay."

  Mike didn't tell the guy he'd never had a drink in his life. He was happy. He certainly didn't need to get drunk in order to be happy. One thing he got used to quickly while working at Rawling's was how to handle the other young men who worked there. The adults were easy. They were easily impressed by a guy who was going to college, and who had earned A's in high school. But most of the younger guys would never even think of going to college, which wasn't an option for most of them anyway.

  In order to remain friendly with them, Mike had found he had to take somewhat risky chances to force them to "look up" to him. Mike took lots of chances, but tried to make sure none of them would get him in trouble. He was good at escaping "capture" from the roving managers within the long rambling walls of the building.  He considered himself a good worker, and gaining the positive attitudes of the senior staff was almost enough for him. Already, after only three months on the job, the boss always geve him the most responsibility, and he ate it up. But in between the hard work, which never seemed to really end when on shift, and which Mike really didn't mind, there was always time for fun and games.

  Mike liked to imitate managers on the interstore phone system.

  He also liked to kid the junior area mangagers by asking them inane questions as if he really didn't know the answers.

  He held the record for the longest break at two hours and ten minutes. It had been a slow night.

  He drew characitures of discernable employees on the chalkboard in the lunchroom when nobody was looking.

  One time he and Fred Passman, a former high school buddy, painted and put a price tag on a piece of deformed styrofoam packing material. Then he asked a junior area manager to which department it belonged, so it could be returned to stock. It was during this time working at Rawling's that Mike coined one of his numerous catchphrases for life, and one which he would use for years to come: "Life is a joke."

  "Courtesy clerk to the lumber area." the P.A. bristled with a bit of an echo.

  "You got that sink in, Slim?" Mike asked, "Sir," he addressed the customer without missing a beat, "Would you please sign this slip, thank you?" To Slim: "I'll get the lumber call."

  "Mike, slow down, you're going to have a heart attack."

  "Oh, yeah," Mike turned his head as he made his way out of the swinging warehouse door, "My dad's had ten and he's still kickin'"

  "Goddamn," Slim thought, "Someday he'll be president of this company. Somebody's got to notice him."

  Mike grabbed the 3/4" pipe railing used as a handrail and nearly jumped down the concrete ramp from the hardware department into the lumber department, a large nearly open space with a roof higher than the others in the building. He bounded over to the cashier.

  "Hello, Michael." Gloria, and attractive latina in her late thirties greeted him.

  "Hi, what's up?"

  "This lady would like you to bring in this panelling for her. She's returning it." The lady, a gray haired, dumpy woman of about sixty, stood outside with a permanent scowl on her face. MIke smiled widely and greeted her.

  "Well, ma'am. Would you like some help?"

  "Some help? This isn't the panelling I asked for, young man! Can't you people see?"

  "Well, we'll try our best to set you up with the right panelling."

  "See that you do!"

  Immediately MIke realized he was going to have some trouble with this witch. He wheeled the heavy cart over to the panelling section. He noticed Gloria smiling sympathetically.

  "Now, I'm not a salesman, but..."

  "What, every time I come in here..."

  "Hold on. I'm just a courtesy clerk. I don't really know the merchandise but I'll try to get you someone who does."

  "Don't keep me waiting, young man!"

  "Oh, I won't" Mike wished he could trip the load of panelling so it smothered the old lady. He walked briskly up to the lumber desk. "Jack, could you help..."

  "I've got a customer now, Mike. Get to 'em in a minute."

  Mike saw another salesman talking to someone on the phone, mounted on a pillar next to the panelling aisle. "Oh, Carl."

  Carl spoke into the mouthpiece. "Well, okay, honey. We'll go to the Blue Goose...hold on, what Mike?"

  "There's a lady over here who needs your help."

  "Tell her to wait. I'm on the phone."

  "Shit," Mike whistled through his teeth. Any other boxboy would have left the lady, especially this particular one, alone to her own devices. Mike figured he'd never make more than two bucks an hour if he didn't stand out as exceptional, so he returned to the woman, who was standing with her arms crossed tapping a foot on the floor.

  "What took you so long?"

  "Uh, ma'am, all the salesmen are busy right now."

  "Likely story."

  "But I'll do my best to find you the panelling you want. Now do you see it here in the aisle?" The aisle was about 15 feet deep, sectioned with four foot by eight foot panels stacked along it's length. Little wisps of sawdust made small tornadoes along the aisle.

  "My eyesight isn't so good. I'm getting along in years, and my husband died two years ago. I have to do everything myself."

  "I understand," Mike lied, attempting to picture the old witch hammering the large sheets of panelling to the sheetboard walls of her house."Now let's see. This style here is called..."

  A voice interrupted. "Sir, could you tell us where the plumbing department is?"

  "...Almond grain. Uh, it's up the ramp there, through hardware and garden supplies, and then left around the corner."

  "Thank you."

  "Thank you. And this one is Light Oak."

  "That's a nice one. It's lighter than that one over there, isn't it?"

  "Sir, could you help me?"

  "Yes, I think it is."

  "I'll take the..."

  "The Light Oak?"

  "Sir, excuse me. Do you have number 4 pine in 7 foot lengths?"

  "Sorry, I don't work in this department, but I'm sure..."

  "Young man, are you helping me or not?"

  "Yes, ma'am. Hold on."

  "Mike," Carl called. "I'm going on a break. Tell Sam or Jack to cover, okay?"

  "Carl, could you...."

  "Sir..."

  "Uh, wait everybody. I'm a boxboy. That guy over there will help you with questions. Jack could you..."

  "I'm busy."

  "Young man?"

  "Yes, let me get this piece of..."

  "That has a blemish. So's the next one. And that one has a crack."

  Mike thought about her failing eyesight. Now miraculously she seemed to have regained 20/20 vision. Mike wasn't finding it an easy task to try and balance each piece of 4x8 panelling as he flipped through them like a giant deck of cards. As he put the three damaged pieces aside, Slim dashed by.

  "Mike, taking a break. Cover for me."

  "Slim, could you..."

  "Sir, do you know where the sale tar paper is?"

  Mike removerd the returned panelling from the pushcart and noticed rolls of tar paper immediately behind the man who had levied the question. Above the rolls was a large sign reading "Sale Today".

  "Turn around, sir."

  "Wha...?"

  "Turn around, and you'll find the sale paper."

  "Why gosh. If it had of been a snake it would have bit me."

  "Darn near would have killed you." Mike muttered under his breath.

  "Young man, I have a doctor's appointment in seventeen minutes. Could you hurry up please?"

  Mike hoped  that the old woman would suffer a stroke and die. "Just a couple of minutes more, there, we got it. Now let's get you out of here." He tried to hide the sarcasm edging into his voice.

  "Excuse me, sir..." the new voice belonged to an attractive blonde. Mike looked up, but as soon as she spoke Carl was by her side. "Anything I can do for you, miss?" he smiled over at Mike.

  "Fuck you Charley" Mike thought.

  He maneuvered the heavy cart out into the parking lot. "Now could you tell me where you parked your car?"

  "Let's see. I think it's over here."

  After what seemed like hours, going up one row of cars then down another, she stopped short. MIke almost wished he had let the cart run her over completely. "Rawlings Customer Killed By Cart of Sale Panelling."

  "Oh, no. I remember. It's at the other end of the lot."

  After he loaded everything onto the top of her car, which of course was almost too small for the load, she offered him a tip.

  "Oh, no ma'am. We aren't allowed to accept tips.'

  "No, I insist." she countered.

  "Okay, I guess it would be alright." Mike bravely smiled. She dropped a dime in his palm. On his way back into the store, he inserted the dime in a gumball machine, and then threw the candy at the cashier.

   "What did you do that for?" she asked.

  The P.A. again cracked to life. "Attention Rawlings shoppers. It is now six p.m. and the store is closed. Our business hours...."

  Mike pulled off his striped vest and dashed over to the time clock. After saying goodbye to the dozen gathered there, he rushed out to the car. Another day had passed in the retail industry, and after the past few hours, he sure was glad he was going home at last.

  ---

  "Goin' Crazy" Chapter One: 1, 2, 3, 4.

  • 12:20 pm
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