D1
Both in size and appearance, Liberty Avenue more closely resembles your average, single proprietor owned, charming little convenience store more than it does an all-natural market. And moving in the complete opposite direction as its Southside cousin across town, this location finds itself situated in a once thriving district which has now fallen seriously out of favor. In a non-GMO nutshell, what happened out here is that heavy traffic forced the city into some dicey infrastructure decisions, which then subsequently killed most traffic – namely, a cement blockaded bus lane right down the middle which essentially made this city boulevard into an interstate, a pair of divided one way streets with no turnoffs for half-mile stretches at a time. Therefore the inbound city traveler, in order to reach Liberty, has to sail a fair distance past it, to the next major intersection – the only crossing point between there and downtown – and then hook a U-turn or else a series of more conventional ones, just to retreat to this funky little enclave.
Fortunately, driving from the Southside store out to here is not nearly as convoluted. This store just happens to be on the correct side of the road. And so during the occasion of his first ever visit, Edgar arrives with maybe a half hour to spare from his standard 4pm quitting hour. Barely enough time to introduce himself to the head cashier, acting as manager on duty – a pleasant seeming, slightly heavy-set redheaded girl named Chloe who, yes, it must be said, dresses the part with the flowing, floor dragging skirt – and whomever else happens to be around. He hands off the tags for Duane’s new product line to her, some kind of packaged meat brand which figures to do well here, not so much the other two stores (and not to be confused with the merely pre-cut steaks recently introduced at those locations). Edgar finds himself a bit nervous and sweaty, strolling in for a cold introduction like this, into the sea of entirely unfamiliar faces, and Chloe’s kind of looking at him funny, but he otherwise does okay.
Having completed this task, he strolls around and appraises this bizarre yet adorable outpost. There’s a truly awesome neon sign which looks like it must have been in place circa the store opening in 1979, now relocated to a jutting high wall just above the cash registers. The dusty, white tiled floors are reminiscent of Palmyra’s checkerboard patterned ones, and the same applies to its zany paint jobs, each wall seemingly a different color, though this eclectic contrast works here, somehow. Taking a page from Southside, meanwhile (or rather the other way around, if getting technical), they’ve got a front wall of nothing but windows, although this store manages to be more cheerful somehow than either of the other two.
Nobody’s idea of modern, of course, but does this matter? Other details are possibly a little more crucial. They have no meat department or deli, hence the greater need for packaged cuts. The produce section is a little sad, but, on the plus side, their alcohol set seems a shade more realistic here – though only on the job a month, he’s already begun to suspect that there’s no way sales justify the massive square footage dedicated to beer and wine at the larger locales. They’ve got eight feet allotted for each here, and that seems about right.
But what of the personalities on display? Well, there’s basically no missing the guy running the bulk department here, even from halfway across the store. His volume and his manic energy announce his presence well in advance, this vaguely frightening Russian dude named Robert. As Edgar is drawn to this bulk aisle – the last one on the right, same as Southside – Robert is shouting down the length of it, to somebody stocking produce up in the front.
“You like dis!?” Robert asks the fellow. As Should I Stay Or Should I Go by The Clash is playing overhead on the Muzak, this transplanted Russian performs some sort of crazy gyrating dance that basically looks like someone trying to hula hoop, minus the actual hula hoop. “Michael Jackson. I buy dis yesterday. Michael Jackson.”
As Edgar has only poked his head into the aisle, neither has registered his presence, so he ducks back out of it once more without interaction. Maybe they thought he was a customer. Whatever the case, perhaps meeting this branch of the operation can wait until another day. Soon enough he is back up front, where Chloe continues holding court, alongside some other girl, a cashier named Tonya. The latter has short, spiky blonde hair, an admirable figure on display in tee shirt and jeans, as she too comes across nice as and normal enough.
Part of Edgar’s routine will involve conducting a monthly scan audit at each of the stores. Tied in with this, owing to some recent scandal, Duane also wants him to count the cash on hand during these unannounced visits. Basically this has to happen before store opening on whatever mornings he decides to drop by, to avoid a ton of probably impossible mid-day calculations and report running and bouncing from register to register. Maybe it defeats the purpose to tell these two that he’ll be stopping by soon for one such visit, but Edgar does kind of wish to get a handle on this landscape in advance.
Chloe is helping a customer, so Tonya escorts him to the elevated office, one of those quaint 1970s relics with a scuffed, flimsy wooden door behind the front desk, opening up to an L shaped set of maybe ten steps, total, into this raised, glass railed cage. From which one can clearly see almost all of the store. A minute or so later, after Tonya shows Edgar the safe, grants him the passwords for their pair of computers, Chloe rejoins them.
He’s kind of hoping one or both girls is present whenever he does drop by again. Company policy is that someone be on hand when he’s auditing the cash, to cover everyone’s behind, but he would like to avoid interaction with the actual store manager, George, for as long as possible. As yet another casualty of Frilly’s demise, George shares considerable history with seemingly half the employees, and Edgar’s already heard a bunch of horror stories about the guy. Edgar hasn’t met him, but has glimpsed George, at least – strolling the aisles up in Palmyra, oddly enough.
“Now what in the hail is he doin here?” the deli manager up there, Dolly, had wondered aloud, mid-conversation with Edgar, in a Southern drawl molasses-thick enough to make Duane’s seem nonexistent. She was already filling him in on a crash course about her time with this company, and that other one before this, and immediately shifted gears into ranting about George instead. “He must be checkin up on us. Either that or trynta get ideas for he’s own store.”
Now that Edgar has arrived at George’s actual store, however, the man’s subordinates don’t seem all that intimidated. Either that or they’re just enjoying the jittery gallows humor of those who are temporarily free. Still, it’s possible that the stories Edgar has heard about George being an iron fisted tyrant are a bit overblown – these two do indeed seem to regard him as some kind of joke. Apparently, as they explain it to Edgar now, they think he looks just like the actor Wilford Brimley, and have a contest going to see who can trick him into saying “diabetes” the most often. Just like in the insurance or medicine commercial or whatever it is (whereby this timeless film legend pronounces it dia-beet-us), but slipped into normal conversation, i.e. without him ever realizing what they’re up to.
“I got him to say it yesterday,” Chloe gloats.
“No way! Damn…oh, but did you hear they rescheduled our event?” Tonya says, an event about which Edgar isn’t aware, “it’s not gonna be at the end of the month now.”
“They lied to us,” Chloe hisses, a whisper of mock indignation, “bastards…”
Having checked off this final store, right around the same time that he’s closing out his first month, Edgar leaves this afternoon feeling as though he’s completed some sort of circuit. He’s met the major players, for the most part, and learned much of what is needed from Teri, has begun to develop some ideas of his own. But he really hasn’t implemented a whole hell of a lot, not yet, and that’s where he’s headed next. This is what Duane and the owners are expecting from his role: to dig in deep and figure out where the problems lie, help straighten out these messes.
