tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29331492502920594292024-03-08T04:34:30.585-08:00b__!b__!http://www.blogger.com/profile/07629686017240462347noreply@blogger.comBlogger1125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2933149250292059429.post-12448806376889124832008-06-10T14:31:00.000-07:002008-06-10T14:36:52.255-07:00How to Destroy...<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: left;">For several months my shifts at Trader Joe’s would begin at five in the morning and end at 12:30 in the afternoon.<span style=""> </span>Five is really early.<span style=""> </span>Getting to work at five means you have to get up at 4:45 AM or earlier.<span style=""> </span>It means being exhausted all day and ending any night life that you may have.<span style=""> </span>On the bright side, going to work at that hour gives you a wonderful feeling of self-righteousness.<span style=""> </span>“I am up and going to work,” you think, driving past houses full of happy sleeping people, “and these lazy slobs are still in bed. I am so much better than them.” <span style=""> </span>You feel as if the world is against you.<span style=""> </span>Furthermore, in the early hours, the solidarity between you and your coworkers becomes very strong.<span style=""> </span>You are all working hard for each other, and against your very nature, which cries to go back to bed.</p><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: left;"> Very frequently on my five AM shifts, I would be given the task of the stocking the juice and soymilk aisle.<span style=""> </span>I suppose that it is just as bad a place to stock as any other.<span style=""> </span>On the general grocery aisle, the different shaped boxes can be a nightmare to fit, and the glass jars always seem to be tempting the fates.<span style=""> </span>I, personally, have broken a jar of roasted bell peppers, a jar of pineapple salsa, and a bottle of olive oil during different periods stocking the grocery aisle.<span style=""> </span>When I do the snack aisle, I am always wracked with guilt because I know I am crushing all of the chips.<span style=""> </span>I hate it when I buy a bag of chips and there is only dust in the bottom of the bag.<span style=""> </span>On the other hand, bags of chips frequently open “by accident,” providing you with an excellent snack.<span style=""> </span>Juice and soy is special in its own ways.<span style=""> </span>By its very nature, the boxes are all very heavy and unwieldy.<span style=""> </span>It is also a long aisle, and takes quite a bit of time, usually at least three and a half hours.<span style=""> </span>We are asked to have all of our stocking finished by eight AM.<span style=""> </span>I have never finished by the designated time, nor have I witnessed accomplish this feat.<span style=""> </span>Usually, we are pushing nine (opening time) when we finish. </p><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: left;"><span style=""> </span> One morning, I was doing pretty well.<span style=""> </span>I was in the last section of the soy milk, about fifteen minutes from being finished.<span style=""> </span>As I put the boxes of Soyum chocolate soymilk on the shelf, Jerry rounded the corner looking rushed.<span style=""> </span>Jerry was one of the managers (“full timers” in Trader Joe’s lingo).<span style=""> </span>He was always really nice.<span style=""> </span>Sometimes he would talk at me about football in the break room.<span style=""> </span>Apparently, when he was younger he was a competing body builder.<span style=""> </span>Looking at his middle-aged and cuddly form and asking him what happened, he said “I got married and had kids.”<span style=""> </span>He was a good talker and one of the more relaxed full timers.<span style=""> </span>It was always surprising to see Jerry looking flustered like he did this morning.<span style=""> </span>It was obvious that we were really behind.</p><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: left;"><span style=""> </span> “Look, Ben. I need you to stop what you are doing and help us finish clearing the floor.<span style=""> </span>You can finish that later,” he said referring to the remaining unopened cases of soymilk.</p><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: left;"><span style=""> </span> Though it upsets the obsessive part of my personality not to complete my stocking, I was a little sick of it after doing it since five, and welcomed the change.<span style=""> </span>I put the rest of the case that I had been working on up on the shelf, and began walking around the store looking for things to be cleared.<span style=""> </span>“Clearing the floor” basically entails getting all of the milk crates, bread stacks, trash and flats (a table with wheels) off the store floor.<span style=""> </span>Also, all the cardboard from the boxes must be taken to the backroom to be put into the baler.<span style=""> </span>This is a machine that crushes the cardboard into a bale, a two and a half foot tall, four foot wide, and five foot long mass of compressed cardboard.<span style=""> </span>The bale is tied together with strong metal wire, and weighs several hundred pounds.<span style=""> </span>The size and weight of the bale make it impossible to move without the aid of a small manual forklift.<span style=""> </span>“Big Joe” are the words emblazoned on the forklift that I have always used.<span style=""> </span>It is a simple machine that helps to lift heavy objects, but does not help to move them.<span style=""> </span>It has no motor apart from the person pulling it. </p><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: left;"><span style=""> </span> As I was clearing milk crates, I noticed that Todd was making a bale.<span style=""> </span>I asked him if anyone had gone to get a forklift to take out the bale.<span style=""> </span>He said no, and I took it upon myself to accomplish the task. </p><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: left;"><span style=""> </span> The design of Trader Joe’s Santa Barbara is not ideal.<span style=""> </span>From the backroom, the bale must travel through the store, outside, and down the sidewalk to reach the back.<span style=""> </span>There is no direct route from the back room to the back of the store.<span style=""> </span>The dangers inherent in guiding a large, heavy, unwieldy bale through a grocery store with its tall stacks of salsas, precarious displays of wine and piles of berries are numerous.<span style=""> </span>It is very important, then, that the path of the bale be cleared carefully before attempting the journey.<span style=""> </span>The bale is always taken down the frozen food aisle, because it is the widest and doesn’t present the dangers that the wine and liquor aisle does. </p><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%; text-align: left;"><span style=""> </span> I went to the front of the store to get the forklift and brought it to the back where Todd was finishing with the bale.<span style=""> </span>As I had gone through the store I had cleared my path: pushing boxes to the side here, moving a flat of cherries out of the way there.<span style=""> </span>I pushed a cart filled with cardboard boxes down an aisle so that it would not be in my way when I rounded a corner. I did all that you are meant to do so that you and your bale will have a nice smooth trip through Trader Joe’s.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%; text-align: left;"> I thought that I was doing so well.<span style=""> </span>I thought that I was being so helpful.<span style=""> </span>I had only been working at Trader Joe’s about three months and was just beginning to feel more confident with my job and my coworkers.<span style=""> </span>I was in an awkward period.<span style=""> </span>I was not exactly new, but I did not quite feel like I was part of the team. </p><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%; text-align: left;">Leaving the backroom with the bale sitting comfortably on the “Big Joe,” I felt confident.<span style=""> </span>If there was one thing I could do it was take out a bale.<span style=""> </span>I had done it my very first real day on the job.<span style=""> </span>The first right turn out of the backroom went beautifully.<span style=""> </span>Trader Joe’s had never seen such a lovely right turn.<span style=""> </span>My left onto the frozen food aisle was also well-received.<span style=""> </span>As I progressed down the aisle everything seemed to be going smoothly.<span style=""> </span>I did not know that soon I would set into motion events that would demonstrate the validity of chaos theory and the glory of a set of well-placed dominos.</p><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%; text-align: left;">My first problem was a cardboard box that would turn out to be my equivalent of the pebble that, when kicked, starts an avalanche or the butterfly who causes a hurricane by the fluttering of its wings.<span style=""> </span>The box lay on the floor three quarters of the way down the aisle.<span style=""> </span>When the bale knocked into the box, I did not think much of it.<span style=""> </span>It was a small box and I was pulling a huge bale.<span style=""> </span>Surely the bale would just plow over it.<span style=""> </span>Even if I had wanted to avoid the box, it would have been difficult.<span style=""> </span>Its weight gives the bale a great deal of inertia.<span style=""> </span>It is hard to get it moving and once it has some momentum it is even more difficult to stop.<span style=""> </span>I did not, therefore, avoid the box, but knocked it with the bale. </p><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%; text-align: left;">The sequence of events that followed was slow enough for me to perceive every step, but quick enough to make it impossible for me to stop it.<span style=""> </span>It was a bit like watching a car accident or your mother get run over by a train: you would really like to stop it, but realizing you cannot, you try to take in every horrible second before the terrible finish.<span style=""> </span>After being hit by the bale, the box was pulled along with it.<span style=""> </span>Soon it came into contact with a flat whose top was covered in a pile of boxes of cherries.<span style=""> </span>The flat moved much more quickly and freely than either the bale or the box.<span style=""> </span>At this moment, my main concern was that I might knock some of the cherries off the flat.<span style=""> </span>The flat, after being set in motion, hit a shopping cart.<span style=""> </span>The force of the impact caused several boxes of cherries to hit the floor, but by the time they did I had much bigger things to worry about.<span style=""> </span>The cart took the momentum of the flat and rolled down the aisle for about a foot until it hit another cardboard box. </p><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%; text-align: left;"><i>Tinkle, tinkle.</i></p><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%; text-align: left;">My eyes traveled up from the recently hit box, which was pressing into a tower of boxes.</p><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%; text-align: left;"><i>Tinkle, tinkle.</i></p><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%; text-align: left;">I looked in front of me to see Roxanne with her arms outstretched.<span style=""> </span>Something fell from above her head through her arms.</p><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%; text-align: left;"><i>Smash!</i></p><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%; text-align: left;">Roxanne danced backward as more of the same things fell from on high.</p><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%; text-align: left;"><i>Smash! Smash!</i> <i>Smash! Smash! Smash! Smash! Smash! Smash! Smash! Smash!<o:p></o:p></i></p><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%; text-align: left;">For ten seconds the sound of breaking glass filled my ears.<span style=""> </span>I watched as one side of the wine display, which was at the end of the frozen food aisle, disintegrated before my eyes.<span style=""> </span>I felt small pieces of glass fly toward me and a lake of Chardonnay dotted with glass and cherries formed at my feet.</p><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%; text-align: left;">When it was all over, I looked back to see Jerry coming towards me.</p><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%; text-align: left;">“Ben?!?!” he said.</p><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%; text-align: left;">“I’ll get a broom,” I replied.<span style=""> </span>Jerry bent over and began to laugh.</p><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%; text-align: left;">As I ran to the back, I realized that I had just destroyed several hundreds of dollars worth of merchandise.<span style=""> </span>I wondered in what seemed to me an objective way if they would fire me.<span style=""> </span>I envisioned the preceding moments of chaos as the beginning of a movie.<span style=""> </span>As the opening credits rolled, there I would be stocking, then pulling the bale, then smashing a tower of wine.<span style=""> </span>When the credits end and the movie really started,<span style=""> </span>I would be sitting on the sidewalk looking longingly at my name badge.<span style=""> </span>In the following scenes, you would see my girlfriend breaking up with me after hearing that I had lost my job.<span style=""> </span>Perhaps then I would be carjacked at gun point.<span style=""> </span>All of my records would be scratched by my bitter cat who missed my former girlfriend.<span style=""> </span>Eventually, my cat, records, instruments, and all of my worldly possessions would be destroyed in an apartment fire that I had started by causing a pot of cooking oil to overflow onto the burner.<span style=""> </span>I would see my girlfriend arm in arm with a tall handsome man.<span style=""> </span>Her beaming face would show a joy that I could never give her.<span style=""> </span>Perhaps I would then start to bald or maybe some fingers or toes would fall off.<span style=""> </span>The end of the movie would see my continued decline into oblivion.<span style=""> </span>There would be no happy ending or justice.<span style=""> </span>Just the ruin of one small life.<span style=""> </span>Me, pathetic.</p><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%; text-align: left;">With these happy thoughts dancing merrily through my head, I returned to “the spill” with a broom and a container of X-orb, a magic powder that soaks up any and all liquids allowing one to sweep up, rather than mop up, a spill.<span style=""> </span>I was vaguely worried that I might have to clean the spill all by my lonesome, but as I rounded the corner heading down the frozen food aisle, I saw a small group of wonderful, industrious people already cleaning away.<span style=""> </span>Most of them frantically poured bottle after bottle of X-orb onto the floor.<span style=""> </span>Others picked up the larger pieces of broken glass and tried to salvage what they could. </p><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%; text-align: left;">In my adrenaline-filled daze, I cleaned in a state of extreme anxiety because of the anger that I had no doubt caused in my good co-workers.<span style=""> </span>However, as the group cleaned, I came to realize that people were actually enjoying themselves.<span style=""> </span>It was that weird sort of fun that you only experience in a group as you battle against a comical type of catastrophe like the one I had created.<span style=""> </span>I remember the same feeling when I was working at a coffee shop and one of the coffee makers decided to overflow spilling gallons of very hot coffee everywhere.<span style=""> </span>My co-worker and I had to stem the boiling black tide while politely making espresso drinks.<span style=""> </span>Todd, for whom I had thought I was doing a favor by taking out the bale, had a huge grin plastered on his big face.<span style=""> </span>It was his last day at work (he was moving to Colorado to start graduate school) and he seemed to be enjoying all of the chaos.<span style=""> </span>I took solace in the fact that I had at least made his last day memorable.<span style=""> </span>Our soundtrack to this disaster was Bob Marley intoning “Don’t worry, be happy.”<span style=""> </span>Sean, who kept saying, “This is kind of fun” in a giddy sort of way, pointed his head upward in the direction of the nearest speaker and growled, “Shut up, Bob!”<span style=""> </span></p><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%; text-align: left;">My female co-workers reacted in a way distinct from the grins and the jokes of my male compadres.<span style=""> </span>One of the full-timers, Amy, kept telling me that everything was okay and that no one was mad.<span style=""> </span>I did not really need to hear this, though I am sure that my face said the opposite.<span style=""> </span>As Melissa picked up shards of glass, she leaned toward me and asked who had created the massive spill.</p><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%; text-align: left;">“Me,” I said.</p><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%; text-align: left;">“Ohh… Ben…” she said. She said it in a way that reminded me of a girl that I had asked out in sixth grade.<span style=""> </span>That girl had said no to my awkward request, but I remember her saying it in a very kind and sad way.<span style=""> </span>Kindness is a quality that does not define many people, but Melissa is a very kind person.<span style=""> </span>She is fun, too. </p><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%; text-align: left;">As we cleaned, the minutes ticked past opening time.<span style=""> </span>At ten minutes past nine, we opened the doors to the hordes that had gathered on the other side.<span style=""> </span>I am sure that one or two saw the creation of the spill and others were at least enjoying the scene of us cleaning.<span style=""> </span>As customers are wont to do, most seemed annoyed that we dare keep the doors closed a minute past opening time whatever the reason.<span style=""> </span>I swear that if a swarm of killer bees or an airborne flesh-eating bacteria were in the store and could not be removed until 9:05, people would be angry that the doors were closed until 9:06.<span style=""> </span>We blocked off the vicinity of the spill and continued to clean as customers shopped around us.<span style=""> </span>Some would ask us to hand them frozen items from within the area of the spill.<span style=""> </span>“No, not <i>that</i> marinated Atlantic salmon the one two above it on the left.”<span style=""> </span>The remaining cleaners looked at each other and wished for bad things to happen to our admirable customers. </p><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%; text-align: left;">Eventually, the cleaning was finished.<span style=""> </span>I put away the last of the mops and buckets, and headed toward the front desk.<span style=""> </span>I was trying to think of what to say to the full-timers.<span style=""> </span>I thought of an essay by David Sedaris.<span style=""> </span>He had been stripping paint off of a window frame with a heat gun when he blew a fuse.<span style=""> </span>He left the apartment to fix the fuse.<span style=""> </span>On the way back to the apartment he got distracted by a friend who was watching Oprah.<span style=""> </span>He watched with her for several minutes until he heard a high-pitched screech coming from the apartment where he had been working.<span style=""> </span>He found the area on which he had been working ablaze, the fire started by the heat gun that had been switched on when he fixed the fuse.<span style=""> </span>He subdued the fire, and as he attempted to cover his tracks, he wondered what he might say to someone whose apartment he had burned down.<span style=""> </span>“I’m really sorry.<span style=""> </span>I mean it, and to prove it I won’t charge you for today’s work.<span style=""> </span>It’s on me.<span style=""> </span>My treat.”<span style=""> </span>With this in mind, I went to the desk and looking at the full-timers said “I’m really sorry.”</p><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%; text-align: left;">They sent me on an hour-long lunch, which I was glad to have.<span style=""> </span>When I got home still stinking of wine, I woke Eszter.<span style=""> </span>“I just caused the biggest spill in the history of Trader Joe’s,” I said, not without a hint of pride.<span style=""> </span></p><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 200%; text-align: left;">I was later to discover that the sum total of my spill was over 120 bottles of wine at a value of over $400.00.<span style=""> </span>At least it was cheap wine.</p>b__!http://www.blogger.com/profile/07629686017240462347noreply@blogger.com1