I'm Dreaming of a New Job for Christmas

"Sir?"

"Excuse me I need help over here!"

"CAN ANYONE HELP MEEEE?"

If my life had a soundtrack right now it would be a chorus of chaos; crashing cymbals and screeching violins accompanying a tone-deaf choir.

Hi, my name is Dave and I work in retail.

Over the holidays.

Sacrificing my dignity and my sanity for $13 an hour.

In other words, welcome to my own personal Hell.

Today has been particularly crazy because the store I work at is having a "buy one toy get one 50% off", and customers, pardon me I forgot that we are supposed to refer to these miscreants as 'guests', are frantically clawing at toys in order to get the biggest bang for their tight-fisted buck.

Stuffed animals, dolls, plastic balls, are flying off the shelves. Literally flying due to panicked hands grabbing blindly at any toy they can.

I'm on high alert, deftly dodging carts coming at me full speed, these carts being pushed by pampered stay at home mothers with their Starbucks coffee cups and their privileged attitude. It's almost as if their cart is their prize-winning horse and I'm just a humble stable boy, around only to tidy up the barn.

And in a way that is a perfect description of my job.

I bend down to pick up fallen Barbies, strain my back to hoist up misplaced Lego boxes, and sweat over trash cluttering the aisles. When did Americans become so slovenly? Why do we have the instinct to destroy what is not ours?

You may wonder, wow this ordinary shop boy has quite the imagination. Do not be deceived by stigma. Just because I work retail does not mean that I am uneducated and unaware. In fact, I have my Bachelor's in Electrical Engineering. Yes, you read that correctly: I'm a freakin' engineer working in the wonderfully hectic world of Christmastime retail.

Working retail was not one of my dream jobs when I graduated, but hey it's a job. I'm currently waiting on a few other leads but needed something to pay the bills.

Which brings me back here, working during one of the craziest shifts I've ever had in my short career as a seasonal employee.

"Sir"? I turn around and look at a sour looking old woman, her hair cut close to her head and her lips drawn in a permanent frown. I put on my falsely bright face (retail workers should be nominated for Best Actor/Actress awards at the Oscars), and excitedly ask, "Hello ma'am! How can I help you?"

"Do you have any more of these Bunchie Scrunchie toys"? She holds up our printed ad and points to a hot selling plastic item marketed towards vulnerable 11-12-year-old girls. This item is tinier than your pinky finger and is sold at almost $30 a pop. Why? Because the toy company has the power to influence and sell whatever plastic, tiny garbage they want to the masses.

I look at the empty shelf where the tiny toys are usually contained. "Looks like we're sold out! I would be happy to assist you in placing an online order!" My voice is rising higher and higher; my theory is the higher I go, the more I can fake pleasantness.

"Can you look in the back?" She asks expectantly.

This is the moment where characters in a cartoon shake with rage and then their heads explode. Unfortunately, I'm not in a cartoon and am not allotted such an easy escape.

"Of course!! I'll be right back!!" Leaving the conversation sounding very much like a pubescent boy, I dart away quickly, hoping to avoid any other 'guests' and their demands.

Rushing into the back room, I am now faced with a different enemy; my fellow co-workers. Just as the customers out in the storefront are racing around like maniacs, the employees in the back are acting just as chaotic. Picture this: a small, elf-like girl is speed walking with a pile of clothes in her arms and a man on a ladder is zooming down the back stock aisles, as if he is an Olympic skier trying to shave off two seconds off his previous time. They don't see each other, so it's up to me to quickly shout, "WATCH OUT!" in order to avoid a traumatic scene. Both parties just blink awkwardly at me, the concept of an impending accident too much of a strain on their minds. I don’t expect a ‘thank you for saving my life’ from the girl, or a ‘wow, thank you for helping me be more careful’ from the man. Working in retail has taught me to give up on expecting basic etiquette from others. I’m not saying that all people I work with are total ignorant, idiots, but sadly most of them are. They have it set in their minds that this is all they can do with their lives, and they leave a feeling of suppressed ambition in their wake.

However, I digress. Snapping back to reality, I head towards the aisle where the Bunchie Scrunchie toys are kept. Just as I figured, we are sold out. Customers never realize that when they ask, ‘can you check if you have it in the back’, that 99 times out of 100 the item being sought is not there. The back of the store is not a magical place where millions of toys, clothes, shoes, electronics, etc. are just waiting to be plucked up by eager customers. The back of the store is a temporary home or dumping ground for items coming off a truck or for things that aren’t selling as well (like a hybrid walrus-man that people are reluctant to buy, in order to avoid scarring their children).

After scrolling on my phone for three minutes to buy me some more time of appearing busy in my search for the old lady’s desired toy, I walk back to be the bearer of bad news. “Hi Ma’am! Unfortunately, we do not have that item in stock! Would you like to place an online order?”

Her frown etches deeper into her face. “No.” And she walks away, throwing her printed ad on the floor behind her. Nice talking with you, I almost blurt out, but I decide I keep my mouth shut. Pick your battles wisely Dave, I tell myself.

“Dave!” My boss Mark barks. When he found out that I have a Bachelor’s in Electrical Engineering, he seemed to relish bossing me around. If we were in an alternate universe, he would definitely be an evil sorcerer.

“Yes Mark?”

“Dave, can you clean up a mess in the back? Looks like we have a broken light bulb. And since you’re an electrical guy, I figured you would be the best man for the job.” Mark flashes me a slight smile, a glint of satanic glee in his eye.

“Of course, Mark. I’m on it,” I conspiratorially say out loud (however, what I am thinking of saying is far too vulgar to repeat).

The mess that awaits me in the backroom takes me away from the customers in the store scrambling to snap up any available toy left, but it does lead to a large circle of dust, glass, and debris being guarded by a sullen and cigarette smelling teenage. He hands me a broom and tells me what happened. Apparently, some kid was running around restocking shelves and decided it would be funny to throw a purse in the air, which incidentally hit an enormous ceiling light that crashed down on the floor. Luckily the store has a trusty electrical engineer to clean up the mess! Maybe I should change my degree to read “sanitary engineer” instead.

I sweep up the glass and wreckage, trying not to think about the fact that the light probably contained mercury and that I may or may not be breathing in harmful particles. But hey, my shift is almost over! One more hour left.

During the last hour of my shift, I witness a fistfight brawl in the middle of the Power Rangers and Transformers aisle, which lead to one bloody nose, and one very happy customer with their cart full of the toy that they were fighting over. The hot commodity in question is an action figure, which has a feature that emits a sound reminiscent of a person passing gas when you squeeze their stomach. This toy is probably not worth punching someone over, but to this classy individual I guess anything goes.

After the fight ended, Mark takes me to a family of deaf people to help them with their toy purchase. I don’t know a lick of sign language except for the letter ‘A’, so I think Mark had an ulterior motive for me helping them; he is probably just testing my limits to see how far I will go to keep this meager paying job. The family and I mime back and forth for a good ten minutes until I realize that they aren’t looking for a toy at all and lead them to the bathrooms. The grateful look on their faces speaks a thousand words.

Glancing at my watch, I notice that I have a few minutes left on my shift and I make my way slowly back to the break room. On my journey, I encounter a woman using her small child to grab an enormous play castle off a top shelf. It doesn’t take a bachelor’s degree to figure out that this will not end well. Before I can intercede, the child cries out in pain as the behemoth of a box falls off and bumps into them on its way down. The castle’s box has a small, yet noticeable dent from the fall and the child is screaming at the top of her lungs. Luckily, the enormous box barely touched them and they are both not hurt.

Unluckily, the embarrassed mother takes out her rage on me.

“Why didn’t you get here faster? This is YOUR fault! I want to see a manager!”

Mark suddenly appears, as if out of thin air. “Yes? How can I assist you ma’am?” He oily asks the red-faced woman.

“This employee of yours wasn’t around to help me and my daughter, so I was FORCED to try to get down Gigi’s Dream Castle by ourselves! And now the box has a HUGE dent in it. This is the last one you have out here, so I HAVE to buy it, but I am NOT paying full price!” She announces, glowering at me and wiping tears away from her now calm toddler.

Mark looks at me pointedly, “I apologize that Dave did not assist you sooner. I will personally accompany you to the registers at the front and provide a reasonable discount for your trouble”. And with that the three of them scamper off towards the front of the store, leaving me with my mouth open. What just happened? Am I supposed to be able to read customers minds now for when they need help?

But you know what? My shift is over. Time to clock out, go home, and disconnect myself from this insane day.

Too bad that I have to come back tomorrow.

In my mind I am drafting an email that I wish I could send to my potential employers:

Dear Engineering firms,

Please call me back soon with an offer.

PLEASE.

Sincerely,

Desperate Dave