Last week was the one-year anniversary of my departure from retail, and I though it would be fun to regale a few tales of my time at Best Buy.  For old-time’s sake.

I started with Best Buy because of a girl.  I was in the store in Trotwood, Ohio one day, just browsing around looking at cool stuff, when I spied a pretty girl working at the customer service desk.  Now normally I’m a shy guy, but for whatever reason that day I got it into my head that I wanted to talk to this girl.  I approached the counter, but the only thing that I could think to say (that didn’t sound stupid) was, “hi!  Can I have an application?”  She smiled at me, a very pretty smile, and handed me a card with a phone number on it.  Of course, it was the call-in application thing, but hey, she gave me a number right?  I chickened out then of course, took the card with a smile, and went on my way.

I already had a great job as a fitness instructor at a local gym.  Part of the greatness of this job was that I worked full-time Monday through Thursday, so I figured why not get a part-time job at Best Buy, maybe selling computers on the weekend, and earn some extra cash?  Sounded good to me anyway, so I called the number and applied.

My first interview was great.  The sales manager and I hit it off great, and I got my second interview with the store manager soon after.  As I sat down with her, she looked at me appraisingly, and then told me that things had changed since my first interview.  A senior (assistant to the supervisor) position had opened up in customer service, and because of my previous management experience with other companies, would I be interested?

Long story short, I was actually promoted twice before I even started.  My first day at Best Buy I walked in as a department supervisor, in charge of tens of thousands of dollars in retail electronics and a few young employees named Brandon, Amanda, Dan, Other Amanda, and a couple more I can’t remember, and had no idea what to do.  Good times.  I remember I was with the company for the better part of a year before I really got a good grasp on what I was doing.  Trial by fire.

Oh, the girl you ask?  Her name was Sally.  Very cute blonde… worked part-time at customer service.  We never hooked up, but we were friendly with each other and chatted a few times.  I still remember her pretty smile.

That first year was tough.  I never got any real training, other than the “manual” for my department, known as the “purple book.”  I didn’t have a senior position for my area, so the whole leadership structure consisted of me.  My department was also a new thing, something that Best Buy was really counting on being the “next big thing.”  I sold cell phones, satellite TV, Web TV, and giant-ass digital cameras that you put floppy disks into.  This whole mess was termed “Cellular and Satellite Systems”, or CSS, and here I was running it with no clue.  Digital cameras I could handle, Web TV was a joke but easy, but cell phones freaked me out.  Remember, this was in 1998-99, when cell phones were all analog and about the size of a box of Kleenex.  Plus, the activation procedure was a nightmare, and the credit check and deposit was always seemingly too much for most people.

Actually, thinking back on that, I remember one time Roger Troutman came into my department.  He and his brother Larry came in sometimes, always dressed to the hilt in loud, stylish suits and throwing cash around like it was nothing.  I mean, Roger was a Funk and Hip-Hop legend, so money should be no object to him, right?  He curiously eyed some of my new Nokia 6162 cell phones –cool new styles with a “flip” cover– and asked if he could buy a few.  “Sure, no problem” I said.  I had him fill out the form and told him to hold on for a minute while I did the credit check and activation.  He said, “no way man.  I got stuff to do, places to go.  I’m a busy cat, you dig?”  He gave me his personal cell number (apparently he already had at least one cell phone) and told me to call him when the phones were ready.  Well, Roger Troutman, Hip-Hop legend, inspiration to a generation of Rap artists, and singer of “I Wanna Be your Man” and “California Love” (with Dr. Dre, no less) failed the credit check just like everyone else.  No new “flip” phone for Roger.

Not long after that, brother Larry shot Roger several times in an alley near his recording studio, and then shot himself.  Roger died in the hospital.   I don’t know if he ever got to own a “flip” phone.

I have so many memories of the last ten years.  It was my initial intention to share a few of them here, but I’m coming to realize already that my post is getting too long.  I’m wordy like that.  All I’ve written so far happened in like the first four months.  I have TEN YEARS of Best Buy memories clogging up my brain.

Would you guys actually like to hear more?  Maybe I could do a little series or something.  I surely don’t wanna annoy people with my reflections.  Still, this was a big part of my life for ten years, a part most people don’t know much about.

Leave a comment and tell me if you want more.  Or you could just say, “please stop with your boring Best Buy stories!  We want to hear more bitching about gas prices and gay people and speed-bump stoppers!”  I’d oblige naturally.

It’s good to be back!

Fortunately, (or unfortunately in a financial sense) it didn’t work out that way.  As you all know by now, the Big Yellow Tag decided to terminate my employment back in January over the matter of roughly $4 worth of broken DVD casing.  To add a little salt to the wound, they also challenged my Unemployment Insurance claim so that the state could deny me any sort of income after the fact.  I’m not bitter though.  In fact, I still have no regrets about it to this day, although I won’t shop there anymore.

Ten years is forever in retail terms.  In my position, which was management, the average term of employment is probably something like four or five years.  Really good managers tend to get recruited away to better-paying places, or they grow to hate policies that hold them back and leave for greener pastures, and sub-par managers tend to get weeded out.  It’s the average ones that tend to linger, and they still probably only stick around for seven or eight years.  The fact that I made it almost ten years is quite exceptional, and those that go on past ten are almost unheard of.  Retail is a harsh career, and it will swallow your soul after too long.  I’m glad I got out, regardless of how it happened.

I’ll look back with a few fond memories, and a few bitter ones.  In the end, it was a good experience overall.  I made lots of friends and got to travel the country.  It’s too bad it had to end the way that it did.

I’m still plugging along though.  I’m not in dire straights or anything, but money is tighter than I’m used to.  This is likely the reason for my lapse in judgement and common sense in filing for unemployment insurance.

You know those little terriers that perform in fairs and sideshows?  Little circus dogs that jump through hoops like little yapping fools for the entertainment of others?  That’s exactly what filing for unemployment is like.  It’s a humiliating experience so chock-full of red tape and bureaucracy that it makes your head spin like Linda Blair at a baptism.  You’d think that in this day and age, filling out some government forms would be as simple as logging onto some dot-gov  web site and typing in some info.  Well, they make you think it’s that simple, but not long after typing the equivalent text of War and Peace into Utah’s wonderful web site, professing secrets and useless information about myself to government employees, the response of the state is to send you more forms in the mail.  These forms contain the exact same questions that were answered online, only in convenient annoying manual form, destined to be lost somewhere in the back of a mail truck on their way to not being read by anybody.

Then there’s the tease.  According to some random formula, possibly involving horses stomping out numbers, Utah came up with the amount of $430 per week that I would receive, should I qualify of course, of unemployment insurance.  That’s a little exciting.  After all, that’s roughly ten dollars per hour.  I could sit around and collect unemployment whilst continuing my vegetative state.  Putting a damper on that idea though is the fact that you are required to send them proof of at least two job prospects every week, complete with contact names, dates, and outcome of the request.  So much for sitting around.

That’s not such a bad deal though.  The whole point is to get a job, and forcing you to look is a good thing.  I had no problem with it.

Then they sent me a debit card in the mail.  A shiny little card with a MasterCard logo on the front, promising untold riches at the expense of my former employer.  This card is the method of which the state pays the insurance, forcing you to use it whenever you want to pay for something.  I chuckled a little at the little pamphlet that came with the card, detailing the fact that a service charge would be incurred each time I used the card at an ATM.  Government programs are so wonderful!

This whole situation culminated in a phone call from a "helpful" asshole government employee who called to ask why the hell I don’t have a job.  His intent was to ascertain my eligibility for unemployment insurance, asking me the same type of stupid questions that I could swear I already answered in electronic as well as written form at least twice.  Government is nothing if not thorough.  Interestingly, he seemed to have copies of all of the statements from employees and the corporate office of my former employer at his disposal.  These are documents I had no access to myself.  I wasn’t allowed to see them or know their content, but the tool on the phone apparently did.  He even read bits of them to me in a mocking tone, asking me to explain my actions and defend my position on why I got fired.  I told him I’d never seen those documents, and I countered his argument with my own story, which should have been plainly obvious by that point.  He didn’t buy it though.  He told me they’d "have a decision" by the end of the day.  I wasn’t too hopeful.

Yes, Best Buy challenged my claim, and I was denied unemployment insurance by the state of Utah.  No surprise to me at all.  Seems my firing was "justified" by my actions, and Best Buy was "justified" in canning me because I broke a DVD case after ten years of faithful service.  Government protects the big companies, and I don’t get to peck at the little crumbs of help they throw in the dirt.  Seems logical.

Ah well.  Back to the job search.  This whole experience was an exercise in frustration anyway, so I’m glad it’s over.  I wish I’d have know ahead of time though.  Live and learn.

Since they are switching things around, I figured it was time to get my money.  My plan is to go to my bank and have the 401K switched over to an IRA or some other kind of interest-bearing account.  There isn’t too much money there, less than thirty thousand, but it’s a good start.  Since I don’t work for Best Buy anymore, that money isn’t doing me any good just sitting there with no income flowing into it, so today I set about getting access to the account to start the process.  To my amazement and my fury, I can’t get to it.

Best Buy has a benefits website that is a portal to all things money and benefit related.  This website used to be great, because it was a one-stop-shop to all my information.  I say it used to be great, because I used to be an employee.   You see, this website requires an active employee number and password to access.  Two things which I no longer have. 

Unfortunately, the website used within the company is the same website used outside the company.  My 401K information is safely locked away in a website I can no longer access. 

At the bottom of the log in page, there is a little section that says "for former Best Buy employees."  OK, I’ll just click that and all will be right with the world.  WRONG!  Guess what that link does?  It takes you to a LOG IN PAGE THAT REQUIRES AN EMPLOYEE NUMBER AND PASSWORD!  AHHHRGH!  You can even see for yourself.  Go to http://www.mybbyrewards.com and scroll to the bottom, where it says "If you are a former Best Buy employee."  Click it and tell me if that’s not the most asinine thing you’ve ever seen?

Luckily, the wonderful color brochure I received also includes a  number for helpful customer assistance via telephone.  I cheerfully dialed this number, making my way through various unrelated menus and attempting to follow the instructions of someone speaking a completely unintelligible Indian accent, when I finally came upon a menu containing the information I need.  I pressed the number, and waited for the computer voice to give me further instructions.  Much to my chagrin, but not my surprise, accessing my information via telephone requires an ACTIVE EMPLOYEE NUMBER AND PASSWORD.

I’m thinking there must be some sort of legal recourse here.  They can’t just hold my account hostage like this simply because I’m no longer employed there.  I want my money.  Furthermore, I’d like a level of service that isn’t completely idiotic and impossible.  Is that so much to ask?

I’m off to try and find an actual human being to scream at now.  They better not even ask for an employee number.

How’s it going? Actually, I already know, but it’s polite to ask. I’m writing you from the future to let you in on a few things.

You’re probably asking, how do you know I’m you for sure? Well, remember that magazine we had hidden in a gopher hole in the woods across the road from the house? Right by the tree we fell out of? Yeah… now you know I’m telling the truth. No one else in the whole world knows about that.

I’m writing you to tell you that next week, on the 25th to be exact, we will be starting our 36th trip around the sun. That’s right, thirty-six years. I’m writing you now because you are about to turn 18, which is a milestone in itself. I know you just graduated from high school, and what you really want to do is take some time off from academics and just get a job for the summer, so enlighten me for a moment. And eighteen years… they came up on you fast, didn’t they? Believe me, the next eighteen years are gonna fly by even faster. I should know.

So let’s see. What’s going on in the world in your time? If I remember correctly, a president named Bush engaged the American people in a war with a country called Iraq. There was lots of bickering about oil, and gas prices were soaring out of control. Well, rest assured that in the future, everything is quite diff…

Er…

Ent…

Ah, forget that. I don’t want to bore you with politics. You’ll find out anyway. What I want to do is let you in on a few things so as to be prepared for what’s to come. You see, we’ve made one or two mistakes in the past 18 years, and as a bigger and wiser version of you, I’m giving you the responsibility of fixing them. This letter is bound to be extremely long, but bear with me — there’s a lot of stuff to cover. Oh, there is one thing that I want you to remember though, if you take nothing else out of this. A word: GOOGLE. Remember that word.

First, keep going with the workouts. I know you’ve put almost thirty pounds on your scrawny ass in just the last year alone. That ought to tell you how skinny and under-trained you were to begin with. And you wonder why kids picked on you all throughout school? Well, let me tell you, that body you’re building now will become a fine machine. You’ll add another forty pounds on top of what you’ve already done, all pure muscle. At one point, in your mid-twenties, you’ll look so good that you’ll consider entering a contest! Sadly, you wussed out, but the body and the knowledge used to gain it will benefit you for the rest of your life. You won’t ever be picked on again, and one day a group of guys will put that to a test…

Please though… for the love of God; don’t let it start sliding downhill around age 30 or so. This excess flab and this beer gut I have to carry around are both embarrassing and annoying. If you could help me out with that, I’d be most appreciative.

Don’t worry too much about money, although think about it a lot. That frugal attitude you inherited will serve you quite well. (It will be even better if you remember that word I told you: GOOGLE. Don’t forget.) Anyway, the new job at McDonald’s that you’re about to start isn’t too bad. You’ll become the fastest-promoted worker in that stores history, and be a manager by next year. Even better, you’ll meet some people who will become life-long friends. You’ll also meet a few girls along the way. Just to help: Marla=yes, Rhonda=yes, Dalene=no (dude… she’s 15 you perv) Melanie=yes, and Flavia=hell no. There were several more but I forget their names. You’ll figure it out I’m sure. Oh, there is one other: I know Starla is only 14 in your current “when”, but you’ll run into her again in a few more years. You’ll screw it up too, jerk. She’s way flighty anyway, so don’t beat yourself up about it. Blame her if it helps, and rest assured we threw all the crap she left in out apartment in the dumpster. Back to money though, don’t stress. We’re doing fine, (although GOOGLE would help tremendously). You’re a smart guy with money, and all that debt you’re starting to accumulate? It gets worse, but relax. You are debt free by age 30. Look how smart you are! Er… will be! Have a beer to celebrate.

Wait, you’re 18. Wait a couple years, and then have a beer to celebrate. Oh, and let me tell you about the drinking while we’re on the subject. Enjoy it. I know that’s not the typical response you’d expect to hear from an adult, but I’m you and I’m telling you to enjoy it. There’s nothing wrong with it. Have fun. I can say this, because I know the outcome. Sure, we screwed up a few times, and we’re not a good drunk, but in your 20′s you come to a crossroads about drinking, and you’ll make the right choice. We’ve been sober for maybe nine or ten years now, and we’re proud of that fact. We can even still go out and have a couple of beers or drinks too, but we control it now. We’ve mastered it. So have fun, and drink up.

Now about computers. I know they’re just a curiosity or a novelty in your current time, but it’s best if you get a head start on them. I can tell you, I’m writing this letter to you right now on a computer that we personally built with our own two hands. It’s actually one of a long line of computers we’ve built over the years. Each one better than the one before it. Get going on that knowledge now, and it will make things better for both of us. We’re a smart guy, and although we can’t do Algebra for shit, we can add two and two. Just remember computers + GOOGLE + a little bit of money = happy future. Trust me. I expect good things when I wake up tomorrow in my mansion surrounded by supermodels because you read this letter. Unfortunately, science tells me that telling you too much about the future mucks up the space-time-continuum-whatsit-thing, but it doesn’t say I can’t drop hints. Think hard about it, then do the right thing.

Here’s something interesting. A couple of years ago we moved to Utah. I know, right? Even better, in my past (your future) we had a job where we got to travel all around the country seeing new things and places and meeting cool people. We’ve been to New York, LA, Boston, Dallas, San Diego, Oklahoma City, Chicago, Denver, Seattle, St. Louis, Houston, Baltimore; hell… we’ve been to every major city in the lower 48. Some of them several times. (Even Hell itself, which is known as Stockton California in your time… you’ll see) You know how we always wanted to see what’s “out there”? Well, we did… and most of it was pretty cool. Anyway, that job led us to an opportunity here in Utah, and we took it. We’ve made some friends and seen some cool things. Luckily, one of our best friends lives here. She’s about seven years old to you, but don’t be creeped out by that… she grows up to be one of the smartest people you’ve ever met, and just has this personality that “clicks” with you somehow. She’s going to go be a lawyer next year, and although we know she’ll be successful and we’re happy, we’ll miss her terribly when she’s gone. Anyway we like Utah, although be prepared for a MASSIVE culture shock. Seems people out here have a take on religion that’s difficult to understand and really weird. It’s hard to explain, so I can’t tell you. You’ll have to find out for yourself. However, know that one person you’ll meet of that persuasion is incredible and kind, and another one of your best friends. She’s one of those rare people that are beautiful both on the inside and the outside, and you get the privilege of becoming very close to her. I can’t wait for you to meet her, which, incidentally, is actually a couple of years before you move here. You’ll see what I mean.

That reminds me. Treat your friends better. I’m getting ahead of you a little bit, but there are some people you’ll meet in the next few years who will become closer to you than anyone has in the past. Two in particular. One of them is quite literally the most creative and witty person in the world, and the other is so kind and sincere and incredible. She also has the cutest, most sheepish smile ever. These two people will be with you throughout some of the worst times of your life, yet even now, eighteen years separate from you, we still call them friends. Ok, so they’re both 2,000 miles away, but remember computers? (GOOGLE) Computers will revolutionize communication and you will be able to see and interact with these friends even though they’re far away. Treat them well, ok? Tell them what they mean to you (a lot) and support them. One in fact, will have his own trying times and you need to support him when he does. Even though you can’t be there physically, he needs support and needs to know you understand a decision he’s going to make about his own life. I know her now by a different name than you will at first, but somehow, it just works better. It seems right. Tell him that when the time comes. Respect all of your friends, old and new. Be a better person to them than I was.

Treat yourself better too. Stop being shy and reclusive. Do you know I spend far too many weekends alone in my apartment? I blame you. You’ve got the whole world in front of you. You have the beginnings of a great body; you have a sharp mind, good friends… Stop being bashful. Get out there and meet people. Oh… I know you’ll meet some people, but don’t be such a jerk to them. Try to be nicer, and please don’t be so depressed all the time.

Oh, and on that note, while I’m at it, there will be an incident in a few years where depression will get the best of you. It will involve an X-acto knife, blood, some scars (which I still have to carry, you bastard), and the authorities. I’ll just go ahead and ruin the ending for you: You survive it. Now, wouldn’t it be better if you just didn’t even try? Far be it for me to dictate to…er, me — but that might have been an experience I could’ve done without. Or maybe not.

In getting older we’ve gotten slightly better looking. (Thanks for finally cutting off that mullet, by the way) The weight we managed to put on has rounded out our face more and given us a more mature appearance. Don’t worry about looking old though. Remember, we have Dad’s genetics. I may be 36 soon, but I don’t look it. Most people guess my age at around 30. If Dad is any indication, we’ll continue to look exactly like this until we’re about 50, when we may get some gray hair. Maybe. Probably not though. Dad is 64 and finally turned gray in the last few years. No, age doesn’t affect us physically like it does mortal people.

Being a vampire isn’t all good though. Protect your skin. Remember, we have pasty white skin void of all pigmentation. We don’t tan. (There is one exception the year you’re 22. We get a good tan that year, but at the cost of lots of burning beforehand.) Use lots of sunblock and don’t go on the beach in daylight. I have a few suspicious places on my skin that I should have checked out because of your recklessness. Just be careful.

We finally got that tattoo we always wanted in 2006. Check it out! We drew it ourselves, and it’s line-for-line exactly what we wanted. I’m only sorry that we waited that long for it, but a tattoo is something you can’t rush. You’ll just know when the time is right.

Oh, and in that same year you’re 22 and get that tan? There’s a girl. A cute girl. She’s even into you, you drunkard. Do not kick the poor thing in the head. Twice. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

What else? There’s just so much. So many things you can fix for me. I know I said to enjoy the drinking, but 1994 is a serious blur. You know how when you take a picture in a dark room with a flash, everything is pitch black, and suddenly there’s this bright flash of light where everything is clear, but only for an instant? Once that instant is over, there’s this fuzzy remnant of what was in the room, but it’s pitch black again and you can’t really picture it? That’s what 1994 is to me. Flashes of lucidity followed by complete darkness. If you could maybe just cut down just a little, it would be helpful.

Here’s a big one. You’re a musician. I remember. You got into (or will get into) every single college you apply to based almost exclusively on the fact that you play viola, and there aren’t many people who do. All of those colleges, yet you bail out and don’t attend any. Now, I’m not going to tell you what to do here, but I will let you know that decision is making it extremely hard to get a job here in 2008. There are some skills that we maybe could have acquired that would be coming in very handy for me right now. I remember that we do attend college at one point, but out heart wasn’t in it. We were too immature to take it seriously. I’m regretting that now, and I’m expecting you to do something about it. Go to college, and finish it this time. Get a degree… in anything. Whatever, just do it. Don’t let me down again. We’re too old to go back in my time, but you can do it back then.

Buy that damn Mazda 6 instead of the Taurus. It’s just a cooler car.

When it comes time to toss the DVD case that gets you fired from your job at Best Buy, fire that thing hard. Take out ten years of aggression on it and don’t hold back. It’s not going to matter what you do anyway, because they’re going to fire you no matter what you say. You don’t get a jury, a judge, or a trial. All you get for a decade of faithful service is an execution, so make it worth it. Fire it hard and shatter that bitch to Kingdom Come. It will be worth it.

There’s a cop sitting by a parking lot on West Broad Street in Columbus, Ohio in the year 2001 — at about 5PM — near the traffic light, just itching to catch somebody. Tip: Get your license tags renewed before they expire, dumbass.

Speaking of 2001, you’ll be in New York City in 2000. You’ll walk right by the World Trade Center and not even look up. Do me a favor, and check the buildings out real quick. They were pretty cool.

You know that cartoon from the Tracy Ullman show? The Simpsons? It’s still on. No, not re-runs. New episodes. Shouldn’t Bart be something like 29 years old in my now?

No, I don’t have a flying car. I know they promised us that stuff back in the 70s, and by the 21st century we should have had them, but they lied. The 21st century feels just like the 20th century, except there’s no more Russians and everything costs three times as much. And a guy named Barry Bonds broke all the home run records. And we’re about to either have a woman or a black guy for President.

Mia was cool, but a little scatterbrained. She’ll like you, no doubt, but be careful. I know what happened. And don’t believe Dave when he says her newborn twins have red hair. I’m sure it’s a lie.

Ask that radio DJ out. So what if she likes blond surfer guys? She lives in Ohio. She’s cute, and very friendly. Take a chance. I was always curious about that one.

Around ’99 I think, you’ll get the opportunity to play softball representing Best Buy with a few members of the Cincinnati Reds against other retailers. Whatever you do, don’t let them make you pitch. You suck at pitching in softball. Luckily, you are Casey at the Bat, going four-for-four with two doubles and batting in six runs, but you lose the game on the defensive side because of your poor pitching. Your batting skills are the only reason that dick Aaron Boone kept you in the game, even after you give up like four home runs and ask to be benched. (Don’t worry too much about Boone though. In 2004 he’ll be playing third base for the Yankees, but tear a knee during a basketball game in violation of his contract and get cut. He’ll be replaced by a guy named Alex Rodriguez.)

There were a few fun things like that. Even though we lost, it was a good game and a great time. We made some friends that day. (Wait ’till you meet Angela… whoa!)

Oh man… there’s just so much to say. I’m serious dude; you could help me out so much by reading this letter and straightening some things out. Our life could be so much different and so much better if you listen to me. You could change everything.

Yeah. You could change… everything.

You… could…

You could change…

Everything?

Hey, you know what? I’ve been reading back over this letter and I think maybe I might have changed my mind. You know, people are the sum of their experiences. You and I have gone through a lot in the last 18 years. I could never even begin to put them all in a letter. Do you think that maybe we’re better for it? I mean, yeah… we made some mistakes. But mistakes are lessons disguised as pain or embarrassment. Once you figure that out, then you can learn the lesson. Maybe all those mistakes happened for a reason, and maybe I’m able to write this now because I know what I know from experience. And I sure don’t want you to screw up the good things by accident. What if something happened and I never got to travel the country? I would have never met Erin! I’d have likely never moved to Utah and made these wonderful friends! I’m scared to think what might have happened.

So I’m thinking you should just tear this letter up. Don’t even bother with it. Go ahead and live our life just as things come, and don’t worry too much about the future. Trust me, it turns out ok. Just forget everything I’ve said.

AAHHHHHHH! NO WAIT!

GOOGLE

(Remember that part.)

So have a good 18^th birthday, Me from 1990.

I’ll see you in a few.

Now, ten years is a long time in retail. In that decade, I saw so many people come and go in so many ways. The turnover rate in that industry is absolutely hideous, and no one is exempt. Everyone from the lowliest part-timer to district managers, vice-presidents, and even presidents come in and go out with surprising regularity. The nature of retail is so volatile and sketchy that you never really know from one day to the next what’s going to happen. Sure, you can speculate, but you tend to be wrong more often than not. For me to survive ten years in that environment is quite the achievement. It’s actually something I’m proud of in a lot of ways.

You may ask why I spent so long working in retail. After all, isn’t that for starving college kids and just-out-of-school teenagers looking for their first jobs? Don’t retail people make minimum wage and curse themselves daily for filling out that damn application in the first place? Do you have a vast collection of plastic name tags and khaki-styled pants? How could an intelligent, college-educated person subject themselves to the torture of retail for an entire decade? Shouldn’t you be dead or in jail for shooting the place up by now?

Well, most of those are valid points. I’d say a majority of the people that work on a store level are young adults, or even outright kids. The average age is probably about twenty, give or take, and for many of them, it is their first or one of their first jobs. Retail is easy to get into, and it offers a lot of promises if you stick it out. Sadly, a vast majority (and by vast, I literally mean over 90%) don’t stick it out, and those that do realize that those promises will eventually be broken.

As for that other stuff, well, I do actually have a pretty good stash of old name tags, and I do own probably about 10 pairs of khaki pants. I’ve never actually fantasized about shooting the place up, but I’ll admit that if I were to have had, say, some sort of cool super powers, like electromagnetism, it would have potentially served me well in a number of occasions. I never worked for minimum wage though, and I actually made pretty good money at my level. The benefits were fantastic (ten years had its advantages), and there were perks, like a healthy employee discount and a good social experience.

Lest you think I’m actually advocating retail however, know that it wasn’t all fun and games. The biggest problem with retail is that it promises lots of things but doesn’t deliver. Do a search for your favorite retailer and you’ll undoubtedly come up with all kinds of articles and posts about how this person got screwed and that person got screwed and so forth. You’ll get some positive responses as well, but it only takes one negative experience to balloon out of proportion, and the whole thing collapses. Retail is hell on Earth, and you don’t have to look any farther than Black Friday (the day after Thanksgiving) in order to know that. It’s a day of absolute misery for employees and customers alike.

I stayed in retail for selfish reasons and stupid reasons. After a point, I made pretty good money. Money isn’t a huge driving force for me personally, but like anyone, I have to eat and have a place to live. I also have expensive hobbies, so good money was definitely a positive. As I mentioned, the benefits were good as well, so I didn’t have to worry too much about medical expenses killing me. Mostly though, it was my life. It was routine, it was normal. After so long, you get to a point where you just sort of cruise on autopilot. You don’t have to think about work, you just sorta know it’s there and you go. Like eating a meal that you don’t particularly hate or like, it’s just sustaining. You know what to expect, you know how it tastes, you know the routine and the outcome, and you just let it happen. A little effort is required here and there, but nothing too spectacular. You just drone on, day after day in sort of a numb capacity. It becomes who you are and how you define yourself. You stop thinking about it.

This is so unhealthy. You should never, never let a job you don’t care for define your life. If you love what you do, say if you’re a musician or an artist or whatever, and you are lucky enough to make a living from that, then that’s a different story. I’m not a retailer though. That’s what I did, not what I am. My existence became about going to work, getting my paycheck, then getting some sleep so I could go back to work again the next day. That’s no way to live.

A parting shot

So today I’m looking at my finances and I discover that I’ve received a paycheck from my former employer. Now, It’s been four and a half weeks since my liberation, and they’ve already paid me for my vacation hours and whatnot, so I’m a little surprised. I logged on to my direct deposit account, and low and behold, I see this:

This is an actual screen grab of my paycheck. I’ve taken the liberty to blacken out the sensitive stuff, but I highlighted some things to prove my point.

Firstly, I know that I have no argument in this case. I know that this is all perfectly legal and I have no recourse. I’m simply posting this because IT SUCKS. It’s a perfect example of why so many people can never get ahead, and that there are certain rules and laws in effect for no reason other than to make life harder.

As you can see, during my last dying gasp with the company I managed to accrue 4.62 extra hours of vacation time beyond what they paid me after termination, at a rate of 16.15 per hour. This equates to $74.63 in taxable earnings. However, they’ve deducted $56.61 in pre-tax dollars for my health plan. This is all well and good, except that my health plan was discontinued last month. As of January 31st, I was no longer covered by my health care plan. What does this mean? Exactly. I just paid $56.61 for nothing. Gone. Vanished into thin air, never to be seen again. I get absolutely no benefit from that $56.61 at all. Nothing. That money was stolen from me.

I know this is an automatic process. Still, it feels like they screwed me. It feels like a knife in my back. It’s not enough to take away my livelihood and my means of supporting myself, no… You have to dangle a tiny carrot in front of my face, and then snatch it away at the last second while laughing gleefully at my expense. I get $16 of my original $75. A pittance. Somewhere, the retails gods are rolling on the floor in a fit of laughter and spite. I can just hear them now. Fat bastards.

Happier even though

I don’t regret my time in retail. It’s given me invaluable experience in dealing with people, it’s given me a skill set that can prove handy in other aspects of my life, and it’s given me some friends that I’ve come to know over the years. It’s also given me some money that I was able to invest and live off for the time being until I find a new job. Still, what did I trade for that time? What did I give up to get these things? Was it worth it? Was the price too high? It’s hard to say right now. I can say this though, I’m happier without it. The job I mean. It was eating me from the inside out, and controlling my life in a way that I didn’t like. It was like a cancer growing and stealing away precious time. You should work to live, not live to work. Life comes first, job comes later. Notice I didn’t say second… I said later. These things I’ve had lots of time to ponder over the last few weeks, and in the end I have to admit, I’m happier now. I have more control over my life, and I don’t miss the old job one bit.

Now it’s time to move on and find my path.

Here’s to the future.

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