Day Fifteen: End of Factotum

Her discount card is over two years old and has been used once. The original corporation that it sold it to her is long bankrupt, a victim of the financial crisis. The name on the front of the store is the same, but the owners, products and policies are all different. I try to tell her that she has to use the $24.10 all in one purchase, and that I have to take it from her. But this woman demands that she be able to use it in pieces and keep her card. If this woman knew what her request meant: the months of data entry, system reconfiguration and retraining, she might relent. She could buy a decent picture frame for twenty dollars. She could keep the card for some other time when she wanted to spend twenty four dollars and ten cents. She could save her and I the trouble of what she’s about to do.

She sees me across the counter, an actual person. But I’m wearing a store nametag, representing the brand. Now for her, I am the brand. And because I can speak, listen and reason she sees me as capable of changing her situation.

            But I can’t. I’m a factotum. I can only serve the corporate policy. I can’t change it. I know the system’s wrong. But I’m here to implement the system.

I don’t see her situation as much different than those of the hundreds of other customers that have passed through our store throughout the month of December. For me she’s just another speed bump, albeit the largest of the day, to get through my shift. I want to solve her problem or tell her that I can’t and be done with her. I’ve got nothing to gain by her satisfaction. I have everything to gain by her leaving me in peace for the rest of my shift.

            In reality I’m not much different than the ms-dos point of sale system that we use: I take information in, such as you would like to make a poster. Then I process it, by using the register to tell you that this order will cost $7.99. Then I effect it by taking your money and giving your order to the lab. I can change your order, I can cancel your order, I can double your order but I don’t do anything besides taking the order. The corporation has decided everything about our business, those of us who work for them simply make the connection to the consumer.

            Somehow this woman never gets this. She sees her lost investment. She sees a disinterested employee patiently repeating himself. And she decides someone must suffer. And so I do, I suffer her. She insults my attitude, my appearance and my intelligence by endlessly connecting me and the outdated emasculated corporate artifact that is her discount card. She hisses. She raises her voice. She tries to turn employee on employee. She does this for fifteen minutes until she walks out.

            When she changes her mind and returns five minutes later to pay for her photos, without her discount card, she declares, “I just couldn’t leave these pictures of my boys with YOU PEOPLE!”

Day Fourteen

The day begins auspiciously. A wealthy customer is in the store and he wants a tripod. I tell him the only brand I would sell him in the whole store is M------- because the others are crap. He agrees having used some of our other brands previously. But he wants a deal on the M-------- tripod. I ask Tammy but she says I can't give him a discount. He looks at me, trying to size me up like a fellow salesmen. "I just can't take it at this price. If you can't knock off at least the tax I'm not buying it" he proclaims to the store. He waits in silence for ten minutes for me to go talk to Tammy again to lower the price. But I'm not interested in being a salesman so I don't ask Tammy again and I wait with him until he walks out the door.

Sarah comes in. She says something about working with me next week. I check the schedule. It says I'm working new years day. The thought of being sickeningly hungover and being accosted by crabby geriatrics is too much. I tell Tammy I'm through after tomorrow.

Beatrice is back. She tries to pick up her calendars early but they're not ready. She looks at the staff like they're rotting vegetables. When she comes back an hour later she's even angrier, but at least her calendars are done right. Then she tells me "there should be a discount for doing six, like I did". "Why isn't there a discount?"

"Beatrice", I say as I look her in the eyes, "I'm gonna make sure to bring up your concerns to someone who can do something about it at the next available opportunity".

The entire lab staff is in the weeds because of the Christmas print rush. I start to look for a customer's order. When I can't find it in the bin that holds the orders for last names starting in C. But it's missing. Assuming it's still being made, I start to search for it in the back. Soon Paula joins the hunt. We go from pile to pile together checking every order in progress eventually pulling Katie and Jane into our frenzied search. Now four people are scouring every bin, every drawer, every surface for this customers prints like fire ants raiding a honey jar. When I realize that someone has simply extended the C bin back one column because of the overflow of orders I announce "Here it is!". Then, I turn around avoiding the menacing stares of my co-workers who have all dropped what they're doing to help me. For a moment I'm the store leper. I don't make eye contact with Jane for the rest of the shift.

At the end of the night Tammy is still in the store, much past her scheduled out time. Some customers are in the far corner of the store looking at frames. The clock strikes nine pm and she gives me the nod. I begin to chase them out of the store using our nighttime cleaning as a weapon, getting closer and closer with every annoying loud pass of the vacuum. Eventually they decide on a frame "Not what we wanted, but I guess, we'll have to settle. Now do you have a AAA discount?"

Day Thirteen

Her name was Beatrice. She appeared at the counter twitching. She wanted a calendar, but the calendar we had wasn’t right. Beatrice said it needed changing. I directed her to a kiosk where we both sat down. I knew this was going to be bad for me.
Beatrice wanted to do a very simple plain white calendar. We started to work through the program. But the machine was hiding her pictures from her. She blamed me. I showed her where they were. Then the color changed on her. She blamed the system, “It’s so complicated” she said as she jabbed at the touch screen with the pointy side of her pen. I looked back at the counter, searching for a staff member to feel my pain. Most of them tried to ignore my gaze. Then she cried out “Where’s page six? It’s disappeared!”

I explained attempting to maintain patience, “you’re on page six.”’

“No there’s page five and page seven…”

“Those are the buttons to go to pages five and seven. YOU are on page six.”

“But where is it?” she asked.

I stared off again desperately seeking eye contact from my co-workers. Paula gazed vacantly out in to the shop. Charlie hid behind the counter. I was the sacrificial lamb.

“Now it’s gone blue again, why is this thing trying to trick me?”

            She finished an hour later. I was spent. An entire hour spent attempting turn my brain off while I repeated the exact same instructions to her. But I had to ring her up. I waited the five minutes patiently behind the counter while she came up. “Thank you for being patient” she said. I said nothing.

Day Twelve

        

            When I came in today Tammy had the Christmas music on the stereo again. I changed the station but then she sent me to the bank to pick up pennies. At the bank I was able to take in a bit of the football game while the bank teller and I commiserated about our respective bureaucracies. When I returned, much later than I should have, she had changed it back to the Christmas music. But, eventually the store filled up with enough customers that I couldn’t hear it anymore.

In one particularly bitter rush, three out of four staff members were behind the sales counter while I faced the public alone from the prints area. Unable to leave behind a potential commission, Frank, Sarah and Tammy all lounged behind the sales counter while I float from the kiosks to the print bins to the registers, answering the phones while I find mislabeled orders. I use the strategy of staring vacantly into the computer monitor and walking slowly away from the counter whenever possible. If not for a practiced lackadaisical attitude, which is practiced by everyone at the store besides Katie, l would already have melted down at the keyboard.

            I walk in back and ask Sarah how she is doing. She has been attempting to sell a couple a small point and shoot camera. She makes the vomit sign. “Ohh you want to vomit?” I ask. She puts her finger down her throat.

This afternoon the customers came sporadically. In their absences I started to stare at the clock, willing it to be later. When I misread my lunch break I felt some of the vomit pre-ordained by Sarah slide up my throat. It happened again as I gave the thumbs up to a customer trying on a camera bag and hit big time when an older lady took a photo of me posing in front of the kiosk. 

One customer who had been making eyes at me earlier in the day, returned to pick the prints he had ordered for Christmas gifts. Then he sat at the counter and assembled tree ornaments with his own picture on them. He sent me the back twice to grab envelopes. One trip back had me encounter Jane, who shoved a cardboard box in my hands and puzzlingly yelped, “It’s not an emergency”.

When I returned he asked, “Are you Jewish or Italian?” I tried not to make eye contact with him after that.

At the end of the shift Frank, Sarah and I sat around with nothing to do. We ask Sarah what she’s going to do once she graduates and leaves the store. We tell her she’s going to find success as a college graduate, even though we both have degrees, and are still working with her. Then Frank decides to define, “My ten year old self’s ideal pastime was to ride around in my own car listening to the Toadies. Therefore in the mind of my ten year old self I am a success” he tells us. I start to talk about my ten year old self, but Frank plows through interrupting me. I’m starting to notice a pattern of this among the older employees.

Day Eleven

Note: This entry is not meant to be offensive. I apologize in advance to Christian readers. I do not hate Christians in any way. I do however hate Christmas, Christmas cards, Christmas lights, Christmas music, Christmas stories and Christmas cookies. Barring a Christmas Miracle I  will continue to hate it for as long as I live, except in South America where there’s a lot less Christmas trees and a lot more boogie.

The couple came in looking to make a Christmas card. I sat at a kiosk to help them. It was late and they were one of two groups in the store, so I was stuck with them. “Hon, Do you like this one?” asked the wife.

“Sure” the husband replied.

“What do you think…uuhhhh “ she finally found my nametag and read it.

“I dunno, I never celebrated Christmas.”

“Ohh I’m sorry”, the wife looked at me with pity.

“Yeah” I said. I wanted these people to know how much I hated making them Christmas cards. I wanted to tell them about how much Christmas envy I had as a child, constantly listening to Christmas music in December, having to hand my Teachers Christmas gifts from my parents, and on Christmas Day having to watch every Christmas special episode. Chanukah seemed like a cheap substitute. We eventually made it a tradition to turn to the Yule Log channel.

I wanted to tell her all these things and I could not. That would not be quality customer service.

She found the card she wanted on the kiosk

“What do you think?” she asked again about the size of the picture of her smiling children. I tried not to look too hard at the screen.

“Looks great,” I said, “how about the message. What would you like to write?” I wanted to scream “Fuck Christmas!” in these people’s faces.

“Good Man!” she said to me because she’s from New Zealand.  “Hon, what do you think, Merry Christmas from Jan, Jake, Jim, John and Joe?” She typed it out.

“No, I think it should be with a Happy New Year”, said her husband. She erased it and typed it again with “Happy New Year”.

“Now its too long”, she erased it again and retyped it. I switched the font for her.

“Do you like black?” she asked her husband.

“No, I like red.”

“But don’t you have Chanukah?” he asked.

“It’s not the same.” I admitted.

“I like black”. He was losing most of the option war. I was trying very hard to be somewhere else. In my mind I felt chased them out the door and beat my chest like a Gorilla.

“How many should we get?” she asked.

“There’s a price break at fifty” I said, “You save ten cents”.

“Good Man!” She was cheering me on again.

“Just enter in your personal information here.” I turned away from the screen. “And I'll meet you at the counter when you’re done.”

I rang them up and attempted not to hate them. When I got them the envelopes early so they could make sure and get their Christmas cards there on time for all the other lucky boys and girls out there, the wife told me “Good Man!” and I hated them all over again.

Day Ten

Yesterday I let a lady use our store phone, unsafely dragging the phone line across the counters, to talk to her credit card company. Today she is back and brings me deserts in a freezer bag that she tells me she’s defrosted. I only try one, which was good but soppy. Frank swipes them and puts them in the back where he devours all of the rest before I can get to them.

Today the Sixty-year-old Swedish lady who has lost her mother is also back. She has been back multiple times for the funeral notices, trying to get a specific red from the printer. She has enraged the entire staff to the point where only Paula will talk to her, and she sits on a stool by the wall waiting for her.

One customer comes in with an antique photo album, which looks like it has seen some rot. “Is Tammy in?” he asks. We tell him no, that it’s her day off. “I want to get this scanned. Do YOU think you can do that?” he asks as he cradles it.

“Sure” I say as I open my hands to receive the album, “We can scan it here, or I can show you how to scan it.”

“Can Tammy scan it?” he pleaded.

“No, Tammy’s not here” I remind him.

“I’d really prefer Tammy to scan it.” he looks as me suspiciously.

“You could leave it here. And Tammy can scan it tomorrow” I suggest.
“I’ll come back when Tammy’s in”, he says as he starts to back away.

“Great!” I shout as he scurries to the exit.

In the afternoon, a customer at one of the kiosks motioned for assistance. She looks like a professional.

“What I’m gonna ask you, isn’t about the store” she said softly.

“Sure, OK”.
“I know I shouldn’t be asking for dating advice.”

“Right”

“Should I not be asking you for dating advice?” she asked.

            I looked around the store, it was full of customers, but this could make an impact on the monotony. “Shoot”, I shrugged.

“What if someone called you just because they were happy, would you think that was weird?” she looks at me pleadingly.

I look at her like she had stepped out of a seventh grade classroom. “The first rule of relationships is to respect yourself. Now, can I help you with something photo related?”

            Tonight a customer asks me to “discontinue” his order. I ask if he’s sure. He nods. I restart the order, losing the twenty minutes of work he’s been doing. Then he realizes he wanted me to place his order. He becomes visibly upset. I apologize but mention the word “discontinue” to him repeatedly until he calms down and proceeds to spend twenty minutes to redo his order. This time he finishes it himself.           

At the end of the shift Paula and Frank and I gather to talk trash about John. I have decided to let John take all my sales work. I maintain that my conscience benefits from not being a salesman, but Frank is against it because he thinks this will only inflate John’s ego more. Then Paula decides to vent about the Swedish lady for the next twenty minutes and we suffer the Swedish lady through her.

Tonight after work I tell my sister on the phone “to have a good one”, which is my line for departing customers.

Day Nine

            It’s starts raining. Then John asks me to take out the trash. I try to let him know that this bothers me by being short and rough with my answers. He seems like he doesn’t care.

            This morning there is an irate customer in the store. John had sold this woman a phone sometime before and it had been stolen. At first he tries to refer her to a V-------- store, but failing to get her to leave, he dials V------- customer service putting himself on the phone navigating their automated system, waiting twenty minutes till he connect with representative.

“Hello, Yes this is John S., Store number 4334, I have a customer here who purchased a warranty on a M----- R------ phone and it was lost…”

“STOLEN” screams the woman from the top of her lungs. The rest of the staff fail to let on that they’ve noticed.

“Right, her customer number is 7722999343. I have her agreement right here. Yes it was lost…..”

“STOLEN!, the phone was STOLEN!”

Again, more out of spite for John than fear of the customer none of the other staff even came close. He had sold this lady the warranty and it was now his problem. And as the most-senior salesman in the store he was on his own as far as the rest of the staff was concerned.

John covered the mouthpiece and glared at the customer, “Maam, please let me handle this, OK, I’m trying to contact your warranty company. He uncovered the mouthpiece. “Hello, yes I’m back….that’s right the phone was lost last week….”

“It was STOLEN, STOLEN I told you STOLEN!?”

The corner of the store where this exchange is occurring is now vacant, the customers having taken the hint to leave these two alone.  I watch as John turns away from the woman and stares at the wall probably listening to muzac piped in from Mumbai. Eventually the woman leaves, exhausted, and without a phone.

After lunch we are hit with a serious Christmas rush. I teach three customers our kiosks, ring up six customers and deliver twelve sets of prints in twenty minutes. I am reminded of my days as a waiter, where one trip around the store has me interacting with six customers. I try to triage my work, putting quick questions and ring ups first and leaving the slow and incapable customers to suffer through the kiosk until I can clear out the store.

One of the customers is definitely hitting on me. Today she asks about my past. I tell her that I worked in “movies”. But, because of my current factotum status, she mis-understood and thinks that I had worked at a movie theater. She asks me if I’m in school, if I graduated with a degree in law. I tell her no, and “that’s why I work at a camera store”. After that I try to avoid her because I can’t stop staring at her hairlip. But she’s a regular, twice already in the last five days, so I’ll have to continue the small talk until I can quit the store.

At the end of the shift John wants me to learn how to input inventory into the store’s database. I tell him I’ll only be around for ten more days, and he decides it’s not worth it to teach me. He seems put off by this, but I try not to let on that I notice. I cannot bear the thought of being here, late into the evening, watching the fluorescents burn out.

Before I go I notice two large trash bags behind the counter. I leave them for John to take himself and clock out.

Day Eight

            Early this morning I got a call. “Do you have the Sony brrraaawwwggggieee?”
“Umm, Sony What?”

“Brrrrrawwggieee! One hundred dollars!”

“Right, on sale, let me look, what was the model again?”

“Brrrraaggeeeddd. Sony. One hundred dollars!”

“Yes” I lied, having no idea which product this man was referring to.

“What Color?!?”

“Damn” I muttered. I took a quick look around at our camera stock I noticed most of our cameras were silver.

“Silver, what was the model number again?”

“Brrrraaaawwwgiie. Do you have it in black?”

I looked around again. Black seemed to be the second most popular color. “Yes”

“I’ll be there in a half hour”

“Damn” I muttered again as I hung up.

Half and hour later he was there. He pointed at the Sony B-----, “Brrraagggie, Sony.” I grabbed him the last model in the box besides the display model. He questioned me, “It comes with a memory card?”

“Yeah, but you’re gonna want a larger one anyway. Here let me show you…”

“Where’s the memory card?”

“It doesn’t come with one, sir” I fought to be courteous.

 “No memory card? Look in the other box, find me the memory card!”

I opened the other box. “Sir, it doesn’t come with one.”

“It says right here Memory Card!”

He was becoming irate. I brought him over to Tammy.
“Tammy, this gentlemen can’t seem to find the memory card in the box of his new B------” Tammy got up.

“There’s no memory card included with the B------. I’m sorry sir”, she apologized.

“Ok, then, where’s the memory cards?!” he was back in form.

“I’ve got a special on memory cards here” I pointed to our flyer.

“Ten dollars is too much. I’ll get it cheaper somewhere else. How about tripods?”

Sensing where this was going, I whipped out the flyer to the on-sale items. “We’ve got this mini tripod on sale for 19.99”. Instantly he was back from our tripod sales area with one in his hand.

“19.99 is a firm price?” he asked.

 “Yes, how about a warranty?” I asked, knowing he’d never buy it.

An hour later he was back. I had switched out the instruction booklet and he had received two warranties. He had no idea how to charge the battery. I fear the customers will only become more desperate, aggressive and confused as Christmas looms closer. We have also sold out of the B------- as of today.

Day Seven

            This morning was a flurry of activity. It’s a blur of photos going over counters, credit card slips and ms-dos debacles. I catch myself humming along to the Christmas carols, which makes me hate myself. It seems I can find a new exception to our sales procedure every twenty minutes, as expired discount cards enter us into 5-minute Internet searches and we have to shout codes across the store. I try not to look at the customers as they wait. Employing the same technique with Jane today proved fruitful, and she didn’t yell at me when I misprocessed the paperwork on a special roll of Black and White film.

Some guy passed through the employee gateway today to look at lens caps. I didn’t say anything to him but I darted up to him with a sense of urgency and glared at him like a protective mother. To any employee with a bar, desk or counter, this boundary is sacred, accessible only to invited guests, employees or emergency personnel. After a decent one-minute standoff punctuated by us having a non-confrontational discussion about the lens caps we didn’t have in stock, he instinctively backed off hovering just in front of the entrance.

            Sal is back today. He is talking to another seasonal employee, like myself. Her name is Sarah. He is trying to discern her background, looking for some Asian roots but she keeps telling him that she’s an American. Today I start to think that Sal has a better job than I do, because he gets to sit around in the store while I do work, and he probably gets paid more than me. But Sal is enormous and so I resign myself to having the job of an average sized man.

            One customer came in today with an early nineties plastic electric motor powered film camera. After some debate, because he didn’t know how it worked either, I put the film in for him, closed the door and heard the motor go. I don’t know if the film was wound properly, but I told him not to open the door because it might expose the film. I wish him luck.

            I’m finding that Paula is more personable than Marta. But, when she went to lunch I turned her Christmas music down to almost nothing.

In the waning hours of the shift I watch Sarah muddle her way through the sale of a small point and shoot camera. Like myself, she too is a misinformed salesperson. Mid-way through John comes through and takes over, dominating the conversation. I see Sarah looking relieved than ashamed, but I know she got the commission because I saw her doing paperwork for the next half-hour.

I take a late lunch and sit at the patio furniture of the Juice Shack next door to our store. Then I go to the adjoining supermarket, where one of the employees recognizes that I’m an employee of the camera store. Factotum recognizes factotum. Quoting the film “Supertroopers”, we both realize our “relationship based on professional courtesy and mutual boredom”.

Day Six

            Today I broke down for a good two minutes. The staff had me selling cameras again. One lady came into the store with her daughter. By this point I have decided to admit to customers that I am new, simply to dispel rumors that I am a competent salesman. After motioning me around using only her finger for thirty minutes she decided on a camera. Then we had to find her batteries, memory cards and a tripod. At that point I half-heartedly suggested she purchase the warranty because John was forcibly gesturing and mouthing the word “warranty” at me. When she declined it I was relieved. But she had been drawn in by the lower sticker price associated with our in store monthly print special.

            Immediately I was plunged into the camera paperwork pit. This time Tammy tried to let me do it by myself, which was a mistake because ten minutes of paperwork turned into thirty when I messed up sending the data to the corporate website. The daughter/mother pair was visibly upset by the wait, but when the mother’s credit card was declined at the very end of the process I lost it.

            I stepped into the back and closed the door for a meltdown. Paula was there looking at the stock. I cursed to her in fragmented sentences, “…fucking bullshit…” , “…no training…”, “…how the fuck do you expect me…” “…all this fucking paperwork…”.

Paula gave me a knowing look, “Maybe you should stay away from the sales desk”.

I replied “Yes, yes that’s a great idea, I’ll go tell Tammy”.

I went and found Tammy. I told her, “I’m gonna go stay by the kiosks, I’m not going to try and sell cameras anymore.” Tammy looked disappointed.

During and after work hours, I have been acting more courteous to people outside of work, because I’ve been conditioned by the store environment. I am constantly asking my roommates “Can I help you?” and I tell homeless people “Have a great day!”. Two nights I almost told my mother “Thanks for coming in”.

At the end of the shift there were no customers in the store, so I decided to construct a paper airplane. Instantly Frank, and Jim, who is an outgoing employee followed suit, and we all experimented with all the different airplane making materials available to us. Frank had a warranty plane that went the farthest. Even Sal the security guard joined in making one out of one of catalogues. It was probably the most exciting experience I’ve had so far at the store.

Weekend One Musings

Tomorrow I’m going back for a full week of work. I don’t know what’s going to happen, whether I’ll be fired for insubordination or the ms-dos system will take me as a host body and make a pod person out of me. I do know that I am going to be bored to tears for 40 hours of the next week, and that I am going to engage in more pointless paperwork than is tolerable. I know that I’m going to be stuck in a small space filled with products I don’t want people to buy. I know at least one of my co-workers doesn’t like me, and there is also one I that despise, but at least they’re not the same person.

            Will come out of this time with my senses deadened, my faith in humanity lost and my ability to interact normally? Should my analysis of the situation deteriorate or my text falter, the mundane world of the factotum is surely the culprit. It is now a question of my personal strength and knowing my limits to escape from this with my sanity and my ego intact.

Day Five

The lady who was here the entire shift last time is back. I figure she knows the kiosk better than anyone alive now. Some of the staff have offered to get her coffee.

John is also back today. I’m thankful that I work on his two days off. Most of the staff seems more relaxed that he’s not around. Today he’s pretty mellow . He’s almost personable as he and Charlie and I assemble a Telescope and try it out in front of the store. I find out later that his girlfriend has moved out on him the night before for New York. I expect him to return to his douchebag self by the time I get back to work on Friday.

Everyone in the store seems comfortable ordering Charlie around. I hear John ask him to get a screwdriver as we assemble a telescope. I hear Jane ask him to get her a pen. As much as it pains me to watch him be subservient I am grateful it’s not me they’re ordering around.

Katie and Marta are both in the store today. It’s like watching mother become daughter with the two. I feel bad for Katie and hope this place goes under before she becomes Marta.

Jane works the lab today after Marta leaves. I give her ample rooms using the dividing spaces demarcated by the prints racks and the back break room door. She’s been in back all morning doing paperwork and I’ve been giving her space all day as a way to reduce conflict, but I fear that bottling up my anxiety about a confrontation with her could cause the situation to explode.
           When I leave the lady is still at her kiosk. I wonder,  “Will she will outlast me at the store?”

Day Four

            Today we start to decorate the store for the holiday season. As a Jew I have always hated Christmas, and Jane picks up on this and it adds to her reasons to disrespect me. When Tammy asks me to help her pin up a streamer to the ceiling, Jane takes over as head decorator. When I try to help her wrap a streamer around the main kiosk station in an attempt to get on her good side she scolds me, “don’t pre-empt me!” I attempt to turn the other cheek by thinking “maybe Jews just don’t know how to hang Christmas decorations.”

On one ring-up Charlie teaches me how to do a “blitz”. It seems to be a free for all discount function. Like the safe haven of a cave in the formidable mountain range of our computer system, I take comfort in the fact that in the event of an emergency I can “blitz” the system.

I watch as Charlie and Jane make Cat noises and gestures at each other. Frank tells me Jane eventually accepted Charlie when he was the newbie, so I hope that before my month is up I can learn the entire store, so I can have a chance at Jane’s acceptance.

Printmaking is getting mundane, but it is still the best part of my day. The worst part of my day is selling people the pricy electronics we stock in our store. Today I muddle through the sale of a durable point and shoot camera for a couple buying their daughter a Christmas present. It takes forty five minutes and consists of me being very nice and guessing wrong about most of their questions, which they discover as they actually use the cameras and read the sides of the boxes.

I sell them a store discount, which knocks the price of the camera in half and entitles them to a number of free prints every month. This ensures they will walk through our door every month for the next twelve, or end up paying even more than the original price for the camera.

Because of the store “discount” and the fact that the color of the camera that the couple want is not in our store, Tammy and I embark upon a half-hour of triplicate paperwork, online registration, credit card carbon pressing and a five minute jaunt through the ms-dos system. During this process I try to be absent as much as possible, sneaking off to help urgent looking customers. But, Tammy keeps on pulling me back to watch over her shoulder. The customers, who were at first excited to make the purchase have had to wait patiently through all of this and are now disgusted.

A sneaking suspicion dawns on me that the couple will be back, and I will have to fill out even more paperwork. Anytime I bring up a minor change that could improve productivity Frank mentions something about a massive re-organization. I suspect he has a complex plan to revamp the place, drawn out over the four long years of working at the store.  But he resigns himself to in-action because he knows he will never get the chance to make actual changes before the business goes under.

Day Three

Today Tammy presented me with my nametag. It’s gold and shiny and it makes me feel official. Katie was the lab tech when I came in today. She is seems like is growing into a Marta or a Paula. She shared the lab with Jane and was pretty pleasant throughout the day. In the afternoon she dedicated herself to cleaning the glass case and re-arranging the picture frames.

             Also new to me today was Ahmed, who stuck himself behind the camera counter and stayed there, unless he was in the back on the phone. He was pleasant but I’m watching out for him because his demeanor smells of upper management.

Jane seems hostile. It’s like she’s expecting me to know the store top to bottom already. Her indigence seems like standard passive aggressive behavior towards the new guy. Everyone else seems ok with her, so I figure she may accept me into the clan at some point. Today she tells me how to tape the sales slips asks me “Do you want me to write this down. I did it for Charlie.” I feel slightly insulted be compared with Charlie, but that’s only because she’s naming me the new rookie, so I tell her no.

Today I hear Frank totally bullshitting a couple of customers. He tells them that our cameras have “more technology built in.” Lately I have been reading up on lens construction so I will not have to bullshit the customers as well. At one point he whips out an Ipad like device and spends about an hour watching YouTube videos of flash mobs off the Starbucks Internet connection with a customer.

One customer spent my entire shift designing one calendar. Everyone at the store must’ve sat down with her at one point. She spent 7 hours working at the kiosk. I wanted to give her an honorary nametag at the end of the day.

Sal, the afternoon security guy, seems to be a constant fixture at the store. He is portly and I fear for our stools as when he pulls one up and sits at the counter like it’s a bar. It’s a very South American approach to security guarding, thinking that your very presence will discourage thieves, instead of standing vigilant near the entrance like most American guards. Also, I think he may be after Tammy, if they don’t already have some sort of romantic relationship.

Frank sat down with a customer at the photo kiosk who had pictures of a safari. At first I was wary of this older couple, but then I realized Frank’s brilliant strategy. By tying himself with these customers, he could take a picture tour of Africa and waste about twenty five minutes of time not paying attention to other customers, not doing work at the lab and not dealing with the arcane computer system.

Day Two: My First Full Day

            Today was my first full day at work. Tammy and John opened up the store again at ten am. Almost immediately John was behind me as I rang up a customer, telling me that “anything you need to know about the store, just come to me”. He is confirming my suspicion that he is a serial liar and a prick. I am going to attempt to avoid talking with him unless it involves work.

            Most of the customers at the store are there to use the video kiosks. Here they can download digital media and make prints, calendars, personalized greeting cards and invitations. You could eliminate half of the staff if the video kiosks accepted money. Instead the kiosks spit out a piece of paper with an order number that must be entered into the cash register along with the customer’s name, order and phone number. It’s a retarded redundant archaic system, which I know I will soon hate and struggle with, and eventually master and accept with a Zen-like peace if I work here long enough.

Marta wasn’t in the lab today, instead it was Paula, who without looking anything like Marta seemed to be a carbon copy of weight size and attitude as her. I tried not interact with Paula too much either.

One of the customers walked in around noon and sat at one of the kiosks. Anyone over 50 who scowls at you, because you are interrupting them as they patiently make their way through their printing, is going to be fine. Anyone over 50 who smiles sweetly to you is going to have a problem interfacing with the computer. This lady was smiling hard. She had a memory card with 2,000 images on it, and was planning to make a calendar, which is one of the most in depth projects on the kiosk. But I was stuck with her, as Tammy watched on from behind the counter. Quickly I searched for a way out, volunteering to ring up any customer I was close enough to make eye contact with. But I kept getting drawn back with more inane questions. When her memory card overloaded the system, I quickly called to John, and made an escape by taking my lunch break. When I came back a half hour later she was still there talking with Frank, but seemed to be plugging along by herself quite well.

Around one I notice Tammy is in back. Eyeing alarge container of them, I asked Frank, "When do the rubber band wars start?"
"Whenever the first one strikes", he replied, and was instantly struck with a rubber band, fired one handed pistol style, but that was the end of hostilities for the day.
Most of the customers were patient with me as I fuddled my way through the archaic computer system, where one false keystroke can land you in 01010 purgatory. Here, until I can decipher the system, I wait for someone with more experience who can F12 me back to a home screen where I have to re-enter all of their coded information.  This is embarrassing when it happens twice with one customer but I try to be as quick as possible until my last ring up of the day.

Today I meet Charlie who I immediately like and realize is type B and homosexual. He seems like a decent guy who will quit this job in a couple of months when he graduates college, or gets a better job. Later I learn that Charlie is the former “rookie” of the store, having been replaced by me. When I flounder in front of the register Charlie attempts to teach me to navigate the system by calling out keystrokes as he effortless backstrokes his way through the ancient computer system. He dresses better than most of the employees at the store.  At the other end of the fashion spectrum is Frank whose clothes look like they have been put through some archeological digs, washed and left to wrinkle in the sun. Right now I’m in slightly well dressed but I’m hoping to come in a close second to Frank by most last day.

In the afternoon John asks me about my past, and I mention my work in the film industry. John tells me about his past experience, boasting of working for ESPN and CNN. Somehow I doubt he has had a solid resume with either, but he speaks with a salesman’s authority and I do not want to be caught in a game of one-upmanship with him. Then he shows me how to close out the deposits for the store, something I would never be trusted to do without months of experience. He shows me simply because he has the authority to do so and wants to demonstrate that authority.

My last customer was old, crusty and wealthy and used to being waited upon. First she balked at the price of the double exposures, then when I couldn’t find her name in the discount card system she silently motioned, beckoning my manager Tammy to my computer station. By the time she left, I think I must’ve wasted about twenty minutes of her time mostly out of a sub-conscious spite.HoJHJJoiJJ

It got slow at the end of the shift and I decided to instigate some gossip by trash talking about John. I mentioned to Tammy, who’s worked here for twenty years that John walks around the place like he owns it. Tammy agrees that John is a challenge for her to get through her day. Charlie shows her a technique he uses to tolerate John by placing his hands over his ears.

Later as my shift ended, Tammy showed me the book of commissions, whereby I can earn extra token amounts of money by selling overpriced camera products at the store. I realized that I have already made 2 extra dollars for myself today by selling a UV filter today. She encouraged me to sell the Sony products she has in stock and as I pulled one of the cameras out of the glass case I notices that the display models are collecting a lot of dust.

Day One

I get to the store on my bicycle, 2 minutes early. They are just opening the front gates. I had dressed like one of them, in brown slacks and a synthetic black polo shirt. This was an attempt to make my new co-workers acceptance of the fact that I was a factotum like them easier.  

Upon entrance I was instantly vexed by the appearance of John. I knew he would be extremely talkative and probably devious, and that he had worked at this location for a long time and this was a place he considered his territory.

Tammy, who had hired me over the phone hands me a large stack of paperwork. I sign away all sorts of rights, jot down names and addresses. I must sign my name at least thirty times. I remember the application was equally long and contained many of the same forms.

My first act of training is to watch Tammy ring up a customer. Then we scan my social security card in.  Then it starts to get busy and I am able to ring up a customer on my own, stumbling through the ancient number coded ms-dos cash register system. John is off prowling the store for customers attempting to sell the sparse amount of digital cameras and lenses we have available.

Around 11:00 am Marta walks in. She’s forty maybe 43 and she probably has kids. She works in the back making the prints. She’s also doing some in depth retouching. I can tell she knows what she’s doing and that she handles the print station well. I can also tell she might go a little bonkers if we get too many of the holiday season orders in at once, or I if I start touching stuff. I decide to steer clear of her until I can make sure she’s relaxed around me. Just like an angry cook at a kitchen can make a waiter’s day hell, this woman can probably cause a serious chain reaction of shit rolling downhill at this store.

Later I complete much of the same information as my application and my new hire form on into an old ms-dos computer. And now even Tammy, leader of the store, the ultimate pinnacle of day-to-day authority is beholden to the system. My manager has to enter 15 minutes worth of codes and protocols to enter me into their ms dos dated databases.

Around twelve thirty five Frank walks in. He’s husky, early thirties. He’s got a decent 6-day stubble going. When I applied for the job I spoke with him. I asked him, “Do you think I should work here? he said  “Definitely not”. So I made sure there was at least one other sarcastic self-deprecating person that works there. Earlier I had glanced at the schedule, Frank works the late shifts, so I think I’ll try to get the later shifts at the store. Frank right now seems to be my only candidate for a steady friend on this job, He has the same sort of slacker impulses I do, but also a deep appreciation for good conversation. If he’s not crazy he could be the steady ally I need to get through this factotum time without going crazy myself. I’ll confide in him my serious questions about actual vs. corporate protocol, and hopefully learn how to cheat the system. If anyone will punch me in when I’m late back from lunch it’ll be him.

Also on the late shift is Jane. She’s in her twenties and has died hair and some sort of Goth thing going. I don’t know if I can trust her so I put her in the maybe category purely based on her youth.

As I finish my registration Tammy tells me about the commission system at the store, she also assigns me my number 47304.  It will come to define my every transaction with the computerized bureaucracy of the store. Tammy tells me to watch out for John, as he is known for snaking customers by substituting his number 23557.

At one thirty I leave, relieved. I had a doctor’s appointment scheduled for the day. Tomorrow I pull a full shift, 10-6, hopefully with some sort of lunch break scheduled in.

Pre factotum 11/30

Bukowski named the factotum and yet he was one of them. He spent his twenties passing from menial job to menial job until he had a big enough stake for the horse races that he could quit them. Then he would get drunk for days, weeks or months until that luck ran out, and the whiskey and the women ran out and he was forced to once again find work as a factotum.

On Thursday I take a job as a factotum: an individual who performs repeated actions for a nominal wage, devoid of any chance to make a decision that has not already made by the corporation. For someone of average intelligence this job has a shelf life of about two and a half weeks.

Then, the experience begins to mold into a monotony of repeated tasks with minor variations. Your relations with your co-workers, who like you, are factotums, begin to begin to take on a similar monotony. Until the day when, figuring out a new function on a copier, you realize this, the crowning achievement of your day, your minor victory, is only making you more productive, the company more money, and ultimately raising the bar for every other factotum in the industry’s expected productivity level.

            My job description will probably consist of helping customers on the image making machines, running the cash register and making color prints for the holiday season. The last time I had this job, at a kinko’s (ironically there is a kinko’s just across the street), I quit the job by standing on the counter and reading a fiery speech I had prepared.

But, since this job will only consist of four weeks of work, and I wish to continue on my unemployment claim, I have decided to document my experience, in writing, delving back into the world of the factotum.