Pile it high and watch the buddy rings fly!
With everything else going on, Liberty Avenue has been even more neglected than usual of late. Sure, they have gotten their token peace offering of a hot food case, but that gain is probably more than wiped out by donating Russian Robert to Southside all the time. And while Edgar hasn’t exactly forgotten about Tonya, it’s clear that he’s not even paid all that much attention to her lately, or remained in the loop about store happenings, because plenty has changed.
Plenty, aye, but not all! Though the amusingly batty cashier Linda is not here today, she has least left her latest Scan Error Sheet masterpiece, halfway completed, by one of the registers. So in other words, the best of both worlds. While there aren’t as many priceless nuggets perhaps as usual, she is in typical form on at least one of them, concerning an African shea butter product over in health and beauty:
we are very well priced on this currently 2 times less than gold up the street
So apparently she is now moonlighting as a commodities analyst. Again, there’s not much he can do with this puppy other than to fold and pocket it. But, if this is perchance a sign of her decreased engagement with the cashier post, it would explain the presence of not one but two unfamiliar faces in that role today. At present there’s some white dude named Jim, who says almost nothing, and then also a highly entertaining black kid, Shad, who more than makes up the difference.
Now that he thinks about it, Edgar has seen their names, at least, in the monthly roundup of new hires that Valerie adds at the bottom of every employee newsletter. The only thing he’s not really sure about is if these two already knew one another, or have developed an incredible rapport in their month or so, tops, at this job. Because as there are long stretches with no traffic up front, with those two just staring off into space, Shad occasionally blurts out the latest entry in what is evidently a long-standing comedy routine.
“Hey Jim, remember when the Ebola virus broke out? Remember what Mom did to take care of us? You remember that, don’t ya, Jim?” Shad shouts, across the cash registers, which Edgar can readily hear from the elevated office.
Shad mostly hollers these warm vignettes during lulls in business, although the presence of customers doesn’t necessarily stop him. A short while later Edgar’s looking up something over in the vitamins department, when the latest, randomly arriving transmission arrives.
“Hey Jim, remember when we didn’t wanna ride the bus and Mom would drive us to school? Remember that, Jim? Those were the good ol’ days, weren’t they?”
This isn’t to suggest he’s a one trick pony, however, a comedian with a single tired shtick. Right on the heels of this, another new face, a surprisingly decent looking older woman named Candace who has just been hired for vitamins/health & beauty, arrives on the scene, breezing past the front end en route to her post. The seldom seen Chloe, who still represents a refreshing burst of normalcy, even if working far less than she used to, remarks that she liked whatever perfume Candace is wearing.
“Really?” Shad laments, sniffing the air around him in an attempt to detect it, “I didn’t catch a woof o’ that goodness.”
As an added bonus, balancing things out somewhat, Edgar is pleasantly surprised to glimpse Arnie here today, too, over straightening up their paltry produce section. He also grins and tilts his head in Edgar’s direction, to see him approach — although as it turns out, Arnie is pretty fired up about the latest batch of movement reports Edgar sent him. He asked for one from each of the stores — except Walnut, where they have to make due with a rough triangulation involving what’s been ordered, what’s been thrown out, and the department’s overall sales — and is distressed to see that PLU number 10016 is at the top of all three lists. Heads and shoulders above the others, really, as it’s not even close.
“What is that?” he asks now.
“That’s the department code. It’s where sales go when they hit the generic key.”
“The generic key?”
“Yeah, you know, the button on the register that just says PRODUCE.”
“So let me get this straight,” Arnie says. And Edgar can see that the producer mechandiser had already figured this was the case, but wanted to hear for sure, also that he’s growing a little red around the face, “I’m gettin my ass chewed all the time about where my margin went, because after all the work I put into making sure that every item is priced for me to hit my margin, if some cashier who’s makin minimum wage decides — BOOP — she’s gonna hit the generic produce button n’ make up her own price, it completely negates all I’m doin!?”
“Yeah,” Edgar shrugs.
This is something Edgar’s mentioned here and there, on a few separate occasions, because nearly every department is knee deep in the same quagmire. With the exception of Dale, who’s already gotten equally pissed off about this and begun clamping down on it, most store managers, merchandisers and department heads have effectively shrugged about this. He understands that they have a lot going on, though, so it’s possible some didn’t quite understand what he was talking about, or grasp its impact. As this encounter demonstrates, for example, this is clearly something Arnie should and does care about.
And there are some valid excuses for it, too, like the cashiers continually complaining that hot deli food often melts the Hobart stickers just enough, to where they won’t scan. Edgar has explained how to pick out the PLU from those price embedded, “Type 2” barcodes, but this is something only a handful at best are ever going to trifle with. But regarding produce, none of this really applies. It’s particularly baffling with this department, most of all, in that the produce items have universal PLU numbers. They do get the occasional packaged item in with a brand new barcode, but even this is rare. Furthermore, there’s a book at every register with alphabetized lists of produce items, with their PLU number, which they should be looking up, if the odd random weight item comes across without its little sticker. So either the cashiers are too lazy to look them up, or there’s a whole lot of shadiness going down.
Arnie asks what can be done about this, and Edgar mentions password protecting that button on the register. Apart again from Walnut’s clunky old fashioned manual register, where everything is punched in as the generic department key only, they have touch screens on every checkout lane, at every store. Which are handy for a number of reasons, in that managers can VNC in to watch the cashier in action, if they so choose, and also that Edgar can remotely modify these screens, store by store or even register by register if so desired. The only thing they’ve password protected, really, is the generic alcohol button, but Edgar would be in favor or locking all of them down, requiring a store manager override.
As Arnie thanks him and speed walks his way to the office, to call Duane with this proposal, Edgar continues down the bulk aisle, toward the breakroom where he typically sets up camp. As he rounds that corner, Russian Robert does so from the other direction, and this encounter suddenly prompts the bulk manager to recall his own burning question. He wants to know how the Bellwether snack concoction named Capital Mix sells at Southside, because he’s thinking about bringing it in over here — not to be confused with their other, similarly named, much crunchier blend.
“Cappy tall meex. No crunch. Meex.”
And so this is how the day begins, which is pretty much typical at this stage. Two brand new projects on his plate, and he hasn’t even sat down yet. But it’s good to feel wanted, and that you are making a positive impact — not everyone appreciates these finer points.
