No. 13: Clopen
At UPI, the term was “short turnaround,” but for the Nametag Brigade that keeps three quarters of the economy on the march, it’s “clopen” – close the store at 9 p.m. open it at 7 a.m. I have explained to Amanda my love of regular sleeping patterns, and she has been sensitive when drafting the schedule. But some weeks, as when we are training a replacement for Jessica, clopen happens.
Last night, Irina, in a deluxe leather coat, came to the counter with three dozen roses. Her husband then approached and addressed her in Russian, which launched a vigorous discussion that Irina finally ended with a wave-off that I conjugated as I love you, you lunkhead. “Is my birthday tomorrow, big party,” she said to me. “This is his gift. He wanted to buy more.”
Somehow this morning, I got to work and I commiserated with Assistant Manager C.J., who clopened with the bonus of a 45-minute commute. It’s hard to recruit workers in wealthy Mason, where you go to Kroger to buy goat brie, not to punch in by fingerprint time clock. Then again, an iron policy on costs may have had something to do with Kroger reporting 2012 revenues of $1.5 billion.
A woman wanted a balloon for her son’s 27th birthday. I said you don’t look old enough, making her cry. He was a suicide at 22, six weeks past his father’s death, “my fifth year without him.” I fumbled around, OK then, let’s pick a balloon. Did he like Elmo? Scooby Doo? Hello Kitty? She wiped her eyes, sighed then picked a pink heart that said, “Much love on your birthday.”
A nice young man cornered me with his basket. “The alstroemeria,” he said. “Yes,” I replied. “Only $1.99?” “This week’s special,” and I turned to show him the back of my SO GLAD YOU're HERE T-shirt where it says, “Great People Low Prices.” When I spun to face him again, he was grinning. “Yeah, I get it,” he said. “You’ve drunk the Kool-Ade.”
Causes Anne Saker Supports
Freedom of thought.