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| ISBN-13: | 9781546251835 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | AuthorHouse |
| Publication date: | 08/30/2018 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 130 |
| File size: | 4 MB |
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CHAPTER 1
The scripture verses throughout are from The King James Version of the Bible in paraphrase and are used to show man's helplessness without God; no attempt at parody is intended.
"Whenever I take my journey ... I trust to see you ..." A journey of A 1,000 miles begins with the first step. "Go West, young man, go West ..."
When I entered the brightly lighted variety store that day and applied for a job, I didn't know that I was embarking on a career. I mean, after all, I was only a freshman and I wasn't supposed to know too much; was I? Anyway, I did embark upon a career I mean. A career which would lead, through a position as semi-carpenter, custodian, store clerk, and eventually to the executive management of a Five and Dime.
But, wait, I'm getting ahead of the story. To clue you all in, it started when I became bored with a factory job I had held for four years (a record for me) and got a brainstorm to go to college and finish my education. My wife and I sold all our goods, (I use the term loosely) pooled our resources, and sat down to think. After selling our belongings and pooling our loot, we had a little over $400 to gain a new foothold, and start all over in life. We remembered Jesus's advice: "... take nothing for your journey ..." (Paraphrase) Luke 9:3. And we were really counting on Him. In any event, we drove fifteen hundred miles, across two states, moved into a motel (I use the term loosely) and I enrolled in college.
We arrived in the little Southern California town at a very bad time. At least it was a very bad time for us; it was at the height of the tourist season. House and apartment rentals were at a premium and we had little "premium" to do any bargaining with. Notwithstanding our dwindling funds, we continued to stay on at the motel (costing $10 per day at the time) where we were getting far less than we were paying for. We knew (or at least I knew, even though I was only a college freshman) that we would have to make some other arrangements immediately, if not sooner. The next day being Sunday we (my wife and I, of course) put our heads together and decided to go the "sucker" route. That is, buy a repossessed mobile home with nothing down, and easy monthly payments. We soon learned, the only type mobile home we could afford this way was so small that you couldn't cuss out a cat, without getting hair in your mouth (not that we wanted to cuss out any cats; we didn't have any). We were desperate; we had to find something fast.
The salesman who waited on us looked like a left over character from Buffalo Bill's side show. He wore a dirty brown sombrero, and a pair of threadbare western pants (that barely came together six inches below his navel). His stomach resembled a giant anthill. How those pants ever stayed up is still a mystery to me (and to my wife too). To complete his attire he had fell into a pair of cowboy boots. If you could have seen those boots, Dear Reader, you would understand that the word "fell" is not a misnomer. They really looked like he fell into them. The seams were gaping open, the soles were worn thin, and the heels were run over so far, that it made his bowed legs look as though he had been hitching rides on gasoline tanker trucks. In any case, we wound up buying (or at least making payments) on a mobile home (I use the term loosely).
The night was uncomfortably cold. We (my wife and I, of course) snuggled closer together in the confines of the miniature bed, occupying the greater half of the midget sized bedroom in the 24 foot mobile home. Having taken inventory of our finances before going to bed we discovered we had little more than enough to buy food, make the mobile home payment, and pay rent for the trailer space, let alone the luxury of buying an extra tank of butane.
Don't think we (my wife and I, of course) are recounting all of this to get your sympathy, Dear Reader. We wouldn't have taken your money; let alone your sympathy! After all, we didn't blame anyone for our situation, it was strictly of our own doing. Didn't I just tell you I had quit a good paying job at a factory to pursue my education and broaden my education and intellect? It was just for the lack of a better place to live that we decided on a mobile home. This was a mistake. Not that there is anything wrong with a mobile home (for those who like this sort of thing) but a mobile home just 24 feet long doesn't give much room for living. Besides, since we had bought it on the E-Z payment plan we didn't have much choice but to live in it, did we? To make matters worse our diminishing finances were now almost nonexistent. If one of us didn't find a job soon we would have to even give up our mobile home. "But the Lord ... succeeded them, and dwelt in their stead; "If God be for you who can be against you?" Romans 8:31b (Paraphrase).
My wife had just graduated from Beauty College shortly before our marriage. She now daily trod the streets relentlessly seeking work in that field. She didn't stop there. She put her application in at restaurants, (for a waitress job, naturally) at department stores, at hardware stores, and variety stores (she later admitted to me that she even had put her application at a pool hall for the position of cue caddy). I just trod the streets looking for anything, (any kind of work suitable to my ability, I mean).
Soon a prospect came up for me. A pot and pan representative approached me on the campus one day and told me of a college student plan his company had for selling cookware. He assured me that for only $15 I could buy a demonstrator set and be in business at once selling the "finest cookware on the market and be making more money than I could spend." I agreed to the business venture. A week later, and $15 poorer; (when neither the representative nor the demo set showed up, (as promised) I knew I had been "taken".
Things were not working out so badly for my wife. As luck would have it, (when we were down to our last $25) she received a call (on the mobile home park community phone) to come to work for a variety store; a "Five and Dime", or just plain "Dime Store" as many people still prefer to call them. In any case, it was a job.
In the course of her (my wife, of course) employment, while I continued to look for a part-time position suitable to my abilities, she (my wife again; I don't want anyone to become confused because I am not an honest-to-goodness, paid professional writer, and I do want everyone to know exactly who I am talking about) anyway, my wife (although not always taken up with eaves-dropping) heard the manager and assistant manager talking about converting a portion of the basement stockroom into an auxiliary sales floor, and of their need for someone with carpenter experience. Naturally she (my wife) knew I had carpenter experience. I had served an apprenticeship with a contractor while in high school working summers and part-time, and had become a pretty good carpenter, even if I do say so myself. So she (my wife) put a bug in my ear to apply for the job. This I did, and like the Ozark lad calling his mother from the draft board, "I got the job." A career, I mean, which I said before, when I was getting ahead of the story. I mean, I was only applying for a part-time job, so naturally I couldn't have known then that I was pursuing a career which would lead through a succession of jobs as semi-carpenter, custodian, stock clerk, assistant manager, and eventually the executive manager of a "Dime Store." All of this was to take place within the course of five and a half years, and I was able to diligently pursue my quest for higher education and, at the same time, earn a 4 year college degree to boot; a Bachelor of science degree in Human Behavior with a Major in Human Behavior and a Minor in Business Management.
When I received appointment as the executive manager of a "Five and Dime," I felt I had reached the epitome of my career; at least temporarily. Because, following through with the usage of the word epitome, I believed I had just been singled out to make a brilliant start with the company who employed me, and that, in no time at all I would be an executive in the regional office. It didn't quite work out that way, but I still had hope.
"Let us search and try our ways ...
These are the times that try men's souls.
Everything yields to diligence."
The hour was early and the town was just beginning to awaken. I stood in front of the store I had been assigned to; I was not evenly impressed. I knew, of course, that I wouldn't be getting a new, never been used store. I knew that I wouldn't even be getting a slightly used one; I had never expected anything like this. I don't really know what I had expected, but never anything like this ... Oh, I already said that; didn't I?
While awaiting arrival of the assistant manager, bookkeeper, cashier, or somebody with a key (they didn't expect me to be in town; this was a Friday, and I wasn't expected until Saturday) I couldn't help reflecting on how I become associated with this major variety chain with which I now enjoyed an executive position of employment. I shaded my eyes and looked into the store through the plate glass window. I could tell that, I had my work cut out for me. I was following a manager whose services had been severed; what I saw did not even resemble anything I had ever observed in the company's other operations. It most assuredly fell far short of the high standard level of displays and merchandising prevalent in the majority of stores throughout the chain I was now representing.
I noticed some activity in the store and one bank of neon lights came on where two young men started working on a counter. I rattled the door, was admitted and introduced myself as the "new" executive manager.
Both young men were assistants. Two assistants, mind you! Of course, I had expected one, but two, this was really a stroke of good fortune. All those counter boards I had been lifting, and all the display work I had been accustomed to could now be done by the assistants; or so I thought. I came to find out later that one of the young assistants, a Mr. Fike, was borrowed from another store to help my assistant in making the store presentable for my arrival. This appeared to be an impossible task; of making the store presentable, I mean.
After the usual round of introductions to employees, I was on my own. It seemed like time for opening the store and settling down to business as usual would never arrive. Inevitably the time did come for "opening" and the business day was under way.
Friday is usually the second busiest day of the week, with Saturday being the busiest. However, I was beginning to doubt if it held true in this store by the time twelve o'clock arrived, a strong business had not come. Wanting to tell the assistants I was leaving for lunch (and to tell them to come out on the sales floor to watch service, in case business did get better). I walked back to the sign room where they were busily making a sign for the merchandise they had relocated the day before. As I neared their work area (unseen to them) I discovered them engaged in conversation. Hoping to learn something (although I am not normally prone to eavesdropping) I stopped to listen. I would like to share with you, Dear Reader, their discourse:
"Boy, did you see the look on his face when he came in this morning?" asked Mr. Fike.
"Yeah, he acted like he was walking into a pig pen" replied Mr. Bain (who later became my one and only assistant).
"You really can't blame him. This store is rougher than a cob" continued Mr. Fike.
"Aw, I don't know. He seems like a cocky cuss and a knit picker; maybe he'll get the store into shape" countered Mr. Bain, (I had already made up in my mind to do just that. Get the store into shape, I mean). I didn't particularly care for the reference to me as "cocky" but maybe that was the way I appeared to him; I would have to watch that.
"He sure does dress well" said Mr. Fike, (I had blown a hundred bucks on a new suit for the occasion).
"Yeah? Well, he makes a lot more money than we do" Mr. Bain replied enviously.
"How much do you suppose he gets?" Mr. Fike inquired.
"I suppose about 40 or 50 G's" Mr. Bain surmised,
(This was considerably more than my contract called for so far as my potential earning salary was concerned).
"That much? Boy! I can hardly wait 'til I'm a manager" Mr. Fike enviously retorted.
From this point on their conversation turned to their aspirations to store management and how they intended to operate their stores for maximum sales and profits. I was tired of listening. I was also hungry. After all, I had been in the store for four and a half hours, and I had worked up an appetite just walking around the sales floor noting things to be done. Asking both young men to come to the sales floor during my absence to watch sales and service, I planed to go to lunch.
"... every man is a friend to him that gives gifts. Friendship is the bond of reason. The noblest motive is the public good."
I made my exit through the rear of the store intending to walk to my car, and to a cold lunch (which my wife would have waiting for me) in the mobile home where we were living. I had no sooner walked through the door when a new Chevrolet screeched to a halt in front of me and an attractive, very irate lady literally jumped from behind the wheel. As my eyes came into focus, she (the lady) was standing in front of me demanding to know if I "worked here" gesturing toward the store.
Sometimes one doesn't always know whether to admit that he does "work there" or not, since the resulting consequences are unpredictable. In any case, I acknowledged I did. She then wanted to know if I was "the manager", I kept her in suspense for about ten seconds because, here again, one doesn't always know if "yes" is the right answer until given an opportunity to analyze the situation. Finally, I thought I had the situation analyzed, dredged up my courage, and said "Yes Ma'm, I am the Manager; May I help you? "She (the lady) extended a can of white spray paint at me and said "I only used a little bit of this paint and it fizzled out on me. What are you going to do about it?"
I replied in my best managerial voice "There's no problem; if the paint is defective, we'll replace it." She was completely unprepared for this. The fact that I had indicated we would replace it, if it was defective, astounded her. Upon examining the paint, I discovered it was obviously defective. I walked back into the store (with her in tow) and obligingly handed her another can from the shelf. The customer was so taken aback by this type of treatment that she wrote a letter to the Personnel Director in the Regional office (I still don't know where she obtained his name) explaining her dilemma, and how the young manager (me) willingly solved her problem.
To show that all who are exasperated by some faulty or defective piece of merchandise they purchased, and (are not trying to "get something for nothing" by returning it, and feel justified in taking it back), I want to share with you, Dear Reader, the profound sentiments of thanksgiving which this young, attractive lady complimented me for my act of fair play and kindness. The only way I know how to do this is to reproduce the letter she wrote, to the Director of Personnel in Regional office. I share the customer's letter. It read like this:
"Dear Mr. Manley:
"Yesterday, one of your employees turned what could have been a distasteful situation into a pleasant experience for me. A can of spray paint had run out of "steam' leaving quite a bit of paint unusable, my job unfinished, and my temper frayed. I returned the remainder to the store determined to have the injustice rectified, also expecting to go through a rigmarole of explanation, demonstration, questions and wasted time while someone wrote up papers and filled in forms.
"I encountered the store Manager on the street, on his way to lunch, (I never did get around to eating lunch), and upon hearing of my dissatisfaction he returned to the store with me personally and selected a generous exchange willingly and smilingly. The two cashiers were pleasant, and the whole thing didn't take more than 10 minutes.
"I am particularly in admiration of the Manager, for it was he who established the tone of friendliness and dispatch to the transaction.
"Would you please let them know from me, that their kindness does not go unnoticed by their customers, and that we are appreciative of their efforts to please us?"
Sincerely, (Signed) Mrs. Bonnie Truesdale
Needless to say (but I'll say it anyway) this was a great boon to me (especially since I was a new, never been used store manager) in knowing that I had made a "wise" and "right" decision as indicated by a copy of the letter (from the Regional Director of Personnel) which he sent to Mrs. Truesdale. His reply (in part) read as follows:
"Dear Mrs. Truesdale:
"We appreciate your kind letter regarding the exchange of an unsatisfactory can of spray paint at our store.
(Continues…)
Excerpted from ""Do You Work Here?""
by .
Copyright © 2018 Curtis Smith.
Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse.
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