From Desk Jockey:
I'm a desk jockey now (damn economy...), but I spent a few years working retail - first in a big box store, now famous for its cheap designer clothing (that vultures snap up and hawk on eBay), then in a Game Store that shared floor space with a Video Chain (now bankrupt, thank god). Honestly? I loved working retail. Maybe it was sheer luck, but I had tons of sweet customers and only a few bad bosses along the way. I ended being fired from my last stint with the game store, but through no fault of my own. If it paid living wages ($50 to $60k a year), I'd go back without a second thought, I really would.
Today's story is "Racist District Managers from Hell (And Chicago)"!
This story takes place during the middle of my tenure with the Game Store Chain, after I'd settled into a familiar groove of thirteen to fifteen hour shifts, six days a week (Also known as "Absentee coworker syndrome").
I'd also gotten a chance to get to know all the regular customers, which was important since this was the only game store in the absolute worst neighborhood in the city (the kind of place cops only show up to check out long-dead murder victims), and the difference between success and robbery was knowing the community.
Anyway, one of my regulars is in the store checking on the stock of our Nintendo Wii units, wanting to know when we'll get more, etc. The guy easily drops $300 a week in my store and has two adorable, well behaved kids, so we're on fantastic terms.
Unfortunately, our District Manager is visiting our store (she's just across the state border in Illinois), and brought her Chicago DM friend with her for advice on how to run our store.
It's worth noting one more fact. I am the sole white employee at this store. The neighborhood in question is predominantly filled with those of darker complexion than myself (African, Latino, etc). Both of the DMs in my store are, you guessed it, whiter than Jim Gaffigan.
Anyway, I'm chatting up my regular when I get pulled over by the District Managers to a corner out of earshot, where the following exchange takes place.
District Manager: What the hell do you think you're doing?!
Me: Uhm, my job? What do you mean, did I do something wrong? He already has the Premium Membership card...
Chicago DM: Not that. Why'd you tell him when you're getting more Wii consoles?
Me: Because he asked? I don't get it.
DM: We don't give that information out to people like that!
CDM: Exactly. When you give them that kind of information, you either get robbed, or you get more of them. That's not the image we're trying to culti
vate here.
DM: Yeah, we're trying to bring in more..."profitable" clientele.
Me: I don't...I don't understand. What do you mean, "them"?
DM, CDM in unison: Blacks.
CDM: We want bleach-white soccer moms, not a bunch of sooty street rats.
My eyes must've popped out of their sockets in horror at what they just said, because my DM immediately began trying to backpeddle.
DM: What he means, is that middle class people tend to spend more money...
The incredibly racist conversation continues for a few minutes, before I promptly excuse myself back to my store and help my customers. Still, that little bit pretty much eroded any respect I had for Senior Management. Luckily, the parent company (which controlled two video chains and my game chain) went belly-up post-Christmas, and both District Managers lost their jobs overnight.
Me? I went on to a Data Center Internship that paid more, and was a ton of fun.
I still miss my custy's, though
--Desk Jockey




















