Mischief Managed: The Forbidden Fruit


Jason winkFrom vehkandvehkTalesFromRetail

This morning I had the pleasure of working with one of my favorite coworkers. I'll call him "R." R is a dashing elderly gentleman that lives in a renovated victorian home and owns a yacht, something he's managed to do working 40 years in a grocery store. I don't know how, but he's pretty damn awesome. He's also close to retirement so management lets him get away with anything.

We work in produce, and one of the jobs in produce is making sure the fruits and vegetables get rotated so that the newer stuff is on the bottom and the older stuff on top. He's pulling the older oranges off the sales table so he can put the newer ones down and a middle-aged woman comes up to him and asks if they're sweet.

He tells her they are, but she asks again, "Are you sure?"

Being second guessed is one of R's pet peeves and he's got a mischievous streak, so when she asks why he's pulling them off the table he lowers his voice, leans in to her and whispers, "Ah, I made a mistake. I wasn't supposed to put these out. See, these are the super sweet oranges. I've got to take these back and put the regular ones out."

Her eyes get big and she raises her hand out as he's taking them away. She is in obvious distress. "But I want the sweet ones!" she pleads.

R looks over his shoulder, as if to make sure no one's watching, kind of frowns. Looking hesitant, he whispers, "Well... I can give you some just this one time, but I can't do it again, okay?"

The woman nods and says something else I don't hear, probably swearing herself to secrecy. At that point I have to go the back room anyway and laugh my ass off.

I love R. I'm gonna miss him.

(Edit: I just want to add that R told me that once he informed a customer that the best way to tell if a cantaloupe is ripe is to put it on its side and spin it. Ripe cantaloupes spin faster. [Note: This is not how cantaloupes work at all.]

He left for a few minutes and when he came back he saw a number of customers that had overheard spinning their cantaloupes.)



Meanwhile At The Thrift Store: Zippered, Studded, Platform, Heels


So my Assistant manager came to the registers the other day to share a photo of some fabulous shoes that came in the door while she was on duty. Apparently the elderly lady (the imagery is hilarious IMO) who donated them hadn't worn them much, so they were essentially brand new.

I soon found them in my In-Bin.



Also, posted with her permission: my coworker having fun. :D We spent about 10 minutes or so laughing and being silly with them. These shoes basically boosted us up by 5 inches or so. I'll eventually have to price them and sell them, but I kind of want to memorialize them here first.

--Puppies In Prada


Tales From The Mechanic Shop: Laughing at Myself



Hey guys, CarHop here. It’s been awhile. I briefly escaped Retail Hell for Corporate Hell, but after a year realized I’d rather deal with crusties I can put a face to (and imagine punching) than faceless voices and emails from three states away. I’ve got a story or two I might share from there, but in general, the less said about it, the better. I lived, I learned, I moved on.

Luckily, my old boss needed me back and offered me a substantial raise to return. So I’m back in my little mechanic shop, and aside from sweltering in the heat and my sore feet, I’m happy as a clam. However, after being gone a year, I haven’t slipped back into my old role as gracefully as I thought. I had a little hiccup yesterday. One of the mechanics asked me to pull a car out of the bay, which is something I do often when I’m caught up on the front end or if the car is kinda small, seeing as I’m only 5’2 and two of my guys are over 6’. So I hop in this little 2010 Elantra, turn the key…nothing. Not a click, not a sound, nothing. Ok…push the brake pedal down because some cars require that and try again. Nada. At this point, I’m a bit befuddled because it had just been in for an oil change, the lights hadn’t been left on, and it had started just fine to pull it into the bay.

So I get the mechanic’s attention. Let’s call him TallBoy. I show TallBoy that the car won’t start. And he just looks at me, as Weird Al once said, the way a cow looks at an oncoming train. Now, I should preface this by explaining, this mechanic shop is tiny. Its present owner bought it from his father, who opened the place a gajillion years ago. There are a grand total of nine employees, counting myself and the owner. The head mechanic and our odd jobs guy have literally been working there longer than I’ve been alive. TallBoy has been working there in one capacity or another since he was 15. Aside from this past year, I’ve been there since 2013, so we’re basically all family. Without a word, he turns around, grabs his flashlight from his toolbox, and shines it in the car down at the floorboards at my feet.

Right by my left foot, in fact.

Right on the clutch pedal.

In my defense, it was a black pedal on a black interior in a dark blue car, our shop lights are shit, and since Mr six and a half foot TallBoy had been the one to pull the car in, I'd had so much leg room when I got in, I couldn't even reach the pedals. Of course, I have no defense for the fact the gearshift lever was CLEARLY marked like a standard.

Ah well, it's good to be home.