shift work
Chapter 1
"The chicken decides when we're done here."
That's what he said when I tried to slip out the door at quitting time. I figured quitting time was quitting time and we were all free to go, but I guess I was wrong. I'd soon learn that I was wrong about a lot of things. Maybe "wrong" isn't the right word; perhaps I was just naive or uneducated about the situation I had gotten myself into. I guess I needed the money. It's always the money, isn't it?
I'd just started this job four days ago, working nights stocking shelves at the S-Mart. Shop smart, shop S-Mart. I had four pallets of shit to make disappear on these sporting goods and housewares aisle shelves. Why is there so much shit? People don't need all this shit. Why are there six different colors of ping-pong balls? Why do we only sell ping-pong balls and not paddles or nets?
Sometimes it was five pallets, sometimes it was four. I was told never less than four, and once they had twelve. It was the holidays, so that was really rare.
Richie was the one who trained me. I guess he'd started here in 1989 working part-time after college and just never left. Like he got lost in one of the aisles and never found his way out. Richie knew how to stretch his work; he'd make four pallets last all night. He knew if he finished early, they'd just give him more work. He'd get sent over to work Health & Beauty.
"You don't wanna do too much," Richie told me. "Finish early and they'll send you over there with Joan in the deodorant aisle." I glanced over and saw Joan picking her nose. "It wouldn't be so bad if she'd use some of that deodorant on herself."
After every shift, we'd take all our pallets back to the stockroom and clean up the trash cardboard from the aisles. If we left anything behind, we'd hear about it the next day. Then we'd all meet up in the cafeteria to review the shift, punch out, and go home—my favorite part of the night.
The night shift started at eleven, and we worked straight through until seven when the store opened. I'd cleaned up my aisles and stacked my pallets by the cardboard compactor in the rear. It was two till seven, so I made a beeline up front and grabbed my coat. The cafeteria was empty, so I made my way to the time clock. The store opened at seven, and I saw Todd, the morning guy, unlocking the doors and letting a few customers in. These were the fanatics who went straight to the toys and electronics departments to grab anything they thought they could resell to make a few bucks. It was the same few guys I'd seen every morning.
I went ahead and clocked out, figuring I was home free. Then, when I was about three feet from the doorway, I heard my name called out.
"Come on back, buddy."
It was Steve. Steve was second-in-command to Charlie.
"The Chicken decides when we're done here." Everyone called Charlie "Chicken." I'm not sure why. Maybe he really liked chicken?
I turned around. "I already clocked out."
"That's okay, we'll adjust your time. Unless you got somewhere to be? You don't have to go get your kids or something, do you?"
"No, man. I just thought we were free to scoot."
"Chicken loves his post-shift reviews, so have a seat in the cafeteria."
"You got it, Steve."
