Chapter 7: Office Supplies (4/14)
The Gates of Hell Swing Open Wide
If I have yet to make it clear, we have been open throughout this entire media-driven emergency and nothing else near us was… we were an oasis.
The big boxes (Home Depot, Office Depot, Lowe’s &.) were at least 10 minutes away and near Andrew Square—which was dangerous even to drive through (see Chapter 30 later).
In other words, there was nowhere else to go in the neighborhood other than our store. Literally. And so the curveball was thrown directly at me.
I took this (second) job under pressure from my (ex)wife to make more money (she would go on to leave me, partially out of embarrassment). Eight months in, this goofy job, that didn't really pay all that well, that I never expected would become any substantial part of my life, suddenly became not only everything to me … but sort of everything to almost the entire neighborhood.
People would come browse, simply to get out of the house. And despite the catatonic nature of the paralyzed public, we were a kind of solace. And so, I took it upon myself to give it more of a comfortable vibe: I never hassled anyone about absurd mask rules, nor did I ever put down tape marks to maintain that ridiculous 6 feet apart nonsense. We would eventually, under social media pressure, be forced to mask up and install some ridiculous plexi-glass cage. But for the most part, it was business as usual.
And also: country music.
To keep people shopping (at the end of the day), but also to make them relaxed, I would employ a playlist called “Golden Country."
You can imagine what is in the golden country playlist but let's just say “Islands in the Stream” (Kenny Rogers and Dolly Parton) probably played at least every third or fourth hour. But also “Willin” by Linda Ronstadt, “Aces” by Suzy Boguss, and of course Merle, Willie and Hank.
As a result: Saturday's became more and more busy year-over-year. We were doing about 50% to 100% more business (on top of that) than we would normally do because we were literally the only thing open in the neighborhood. Turns out, people being shuttered in their homes by the government had nothing better to do than to work around the house.
And—while this sounds like I'm over reaching or exaggerating—for at least three months we became the center of the community.
That is to say people would come to the hardware store and talk about what was going on.
People were having conversations about things much more than the weather or what bolt went with what nut in our aisles. We supplemented as a gathering place. But more on that later.
One busy Sunday, I had my hands full: cutting keys, giving extension cords to the homebound office folks; and sourcing cable for their tri-screen coding setup. As for the coders: all the men work for DraftKings, and the women—all of them basically, and ultimately—work for Jeff Bezos and Amazon.
They all needed equipment to set up their home offices.
So once again we called upon a section that rarely got much activity: the home office section down at the end of aisle one (on the right). Think of it as a kind of mini Radio Shack. We would get calls routinely throughout this entire experience asking us if we had such-and-such in stock. And these millennials—so wrapped with their societal functions and their bar-hopping and their continual consensual engagements in the meatspace—would start to get increasingly lonely throughout this year.
In fact, it was a dark Tuesday at 4 or 5 pm when I picked up the phone:
“Economy Hardware, this is Dave, how may I help you today?”
"Oh my God, oh my God, I'm so glad you guys are open!!” Said a somewhat desperate-sounding female voice…
I don't think a hardware store has ever had a phone call quite so enthusiastic.
So anyway this busy Sunday I saw an older lady come in and disappear into one side of the shop .
Our playlist blaring, I, one by one, took care of the line of customers. None of whom had yet been trained in social distancing (at this point it's still early on), when I looked up and I thought to myself:
“Where in the world did that lady go?”
Sure enough, she came out from the other side of the store, on my left. She had not grabbed a shopping basket but had still managed to fill her cupped arms with items from all sections: kitchen, plumbing, housewares, you name it.
She had gone through every part of the store and found something she wanted in each and every part.
She made her way towards the counter, and as I was ringing her up, she seemed to have a glazed look in her eyes. A sort of peace had come over her.
"Do you know who this is?" she asked me, deliriously.
"No ma'am I do not know who this is."
"This is Alan Jackson."
It was, in particular, this:
And, soon enough, the big blue city was about to become … a gigantic den of iniquity.
In the next installment, a grandmother will throw a bag of dirt at me:
