A 40-something year old man reeking of cigarettes and dog urine wished to return two boxes of faux-wood, laminate flooring from his kitchen project. After processing the transaction, cash to cash, he asked me to remove the two boxes from his cart so he would not have to use another.
"Sir, I cannot lift them, but I will be more than happy call our lot associate to help you."
"Why can't you do it?" My protruding figure remained oblivious to him.
"Sir, I'm nine months pregnant-"
"I see that. And your point?" richocheted the man, burning his words into my emotional state.
"I can't lift anything more than ten pounds.If you give me just a moment, I can call-"
"You mean to tell me, that they hire people who can't do any physical work around here?" That hurt. Working an average of forty hours a week as a part timer while nine months pregnant didn't click for most people, I guess.
"Sir-"
"Let me speak to your manager." As my MOD reached the counter, the sting from the man's words read on my face. Her 80s-ified hair and bright pink lipstick smacked the man across the face as he began to complain about how she needed to hire people who can actually do some work on the clock. When she informed him that my son's conception took place while I was an employee there, he simply said that I should have been fired.
"Sir, I don't need to do anything. However, you need to either get some Jesus in your life or go to Hell."
"Sir, I cannot lift them, but I will be more than happy call our lot associate to help you."
"Why can't you do it?" My protruding figure remained oblivious to him.
"Sir, I'm nine months pregnant-"
"I see that. And your point?" richocheted the man, burning his words into my emotional state.
"I can't lift anything more than ten pounds.If you give me just a moment, I can call-"
"You mean to tell me, that they hire people who can't do any physical work around here?" That hurt. Working an average of forty hours a week as a part timer while nine months pregnant didn't click for most people, I guess.
"Sir-"
"Let me speak to your manager." As my MOD reached the counter, the sting from the man's words read on my face. Her 80s-ified hair and bright pink lipstick smacked the man across the face as he began to complain about how she needed to hire people who can actually do some work on the clock. When she informed him that my son's conception took place while I was an employee there, he simply said that I should have been fired.
"Sir, I don't need to do anything. However, you need to either get some Jesus in your life or go to Hell."
I definitely think you could do a longer piece about a pregnant college student working at Home Depot. Not exactly your traditional mix, ya know? This would obviously be part of that.
ReplyDeleteAs for this segment itself, it doesn't pop for me yet. You explain why in your second sentence: " The daily grind of customer complaints, returns, and processing customer orders consumes all energy of retail employees." If it's that way for all retail employees, why do I want to read YOUR essay specifically, ya know?
Like I said, it's that exotic mix of heightened femininity (via the pregnancy) and the stereotypically masculine place that Home Depot is (I feel lost just walking in the building. The concrete, the smell, the horrendous grey/orange combo--it's the polar opposite of a place like, say, Victoria's Secret or, more aptly Pier One).
Can you throw that more into contrast in the opening?
Give us more than the dialogue, too. What were you thinking, specifically, when this guy was talking to you “MOD”? Maybe throw some Home Depot lingo in there. What else could you have been doing while he was complaining? (My most annoying customers tend to corner me when I have a bleeding birthday child, dropped cake, missing deposit, etc.)
This is an obviously potent avenue for you. Take hold of it!