Edgar wouldn’t say he’s gotten to know Christie extremely well just yet. They are on friendly enough terms, however, to chat briefly in passing about even non-business related matters. Or for him to become her desperation last resort when, as the day of an event at Liberty Avenue approaches, to ask if it might be possible for him to man the grill.
He normally has weekends off, of course, so it’s going to take some convincing. Or not even that, really, for in truth he’s already liking the sounds of this, from a networking and novelty aspect. But it wouldn’t do well to display much enthusiasm for such a concept, lest it become a regular thing, but also just on general principles.
“Mmmm…,” he waffles.
“I’ll give you forty bucks cash,” she says.
“Now you’re talking,” he replies, shooting a finger pistol at her.
This is some sort of annual “birthday party” event, rescheduled from a month prior, happening at their oldest store alone. And in a weird, what was I even thinking? type twist, Edgar also gets the idea in his head that he will bring a bunch of kittens with him, to attempt giving these away. He’s been staying with his brother, since moving here, and one of the female cats just burst forth with a litter. Nobody objects, however, which he suspected would be the case, and the same applies to giving away all six of these adorable little creatures in short order. Of course, it does mean enduring about a half dozen speeches as well, about how they really need to get the mother fixed. But even this is worth it, as he nods along and totally agrees with them, totally, knowing that it would be insane to mention that the mama actually has a sister right now who is in the same boat.
One such speech is delivered by Barbara, the somewhat maniacal seeming, middle-aged woman from the department manager’s office at Southside. He isn’t entirely sure what she does, but thinks it has something to do with marketing, getting the word out around town about their charming enterprise. She is also just about the only person he’s witnessed who regularly – or even occasionally – sticks up for Pierre O’Brien.
Their first true interaction occurred on an afternoon he breezed into that department head’s office, looking for Dale. She was the only person in there at the moment, though, and blurted out to him as he stood there, “you have a nice skull.”
“A nice skull?”
“Yeah, you know, for shaving your head like that. Not everyone can do that. It looks good on you, though. I wish I could shave my head,” she says, wistfully and dreamily playing with her mousy brown pageboy cut, “but it’s too lumpy...”
Though legitimately busy and needing to ask Dale a question, he escaped that situation as swiftly as he could. Otherwise, it was possibly somewhat instructive to observe the way she went positively bananas one time, when Diamond Girl by Seals and Croft came on over the Muzak. As far as an actual conversation is concerned, however, today is their first of these. He hadn’t gotten much of a read on her before now apart from the vague impression that, were she a sitcom character, then this would be the slightly slutty, slightly boozy older woman next door, best friends to the main heroine. That was just his take from day one, setting foot inside Southside. Now he’s not so sure, however, and thinks the most obvious stereotype is also probably the most likely: this is just a well-disguised, modern day hippie.
She tells him about arriving here via the New England region, albeit with an extended pit stop in Florida first. Is currently really into this radio show she hosts, Sunday mornings at some station downtown, where she discusses a current health trend or crisis, interviews some local figure, and throws in a handful of plugs for their store. It’s part of their marketing efforts, of course, and they are paying for this hourly program themselves. All of which seems somewhat cool, although Barbara confesses she often frets about the quality of her voice.
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that,” Edgar assures her, with a dismissive wave, “They use a ton of compression on the radio, to make everything sound crisp. I’m sure you sound fine.”
Her face drops into a mild grimace as she furrows her brows, shakes her head and tells him, “I don’t think…they’re not doing anything like that…”
And he realizes now that he kind of stepped into it, because she wasn’t concerned about her voice at all. That was some kind of false modesty ploy. She’s actually convinced her voice sounds really cool and he unintentionally drove a slight wedge into that.
Well, that was unfortunate, but he didn’t mean anything by it. And whatever the case, whether it’s likely he will ever connect with somebody or not, he likes hearing everyone’s life story. Of which, after Barbara moves on, he receives plenty, he’s able to converse at length with shopper after shopper. They are just busy enough, with this event, to have a perpetual stream of a patron or two at this grill, but never any line.
This location’s demographic base, at least today, skews heavily toward the middle-aged housewife. And while it might be reading too much into matters, it seems a decent hypothesis to propose that this contributes to the overall vibe. Liberty Avenue has quickly turned into his favorite location to visit. Southside, probably because he is there maybe 90% of the time, represents what he would think of as an average experience – average as it applies to this company, anyhow – and this makes sense, even without considering time spent there. It’s the newest location, the largest, and likely their model for future stores, moving forward. If he needs a healthy dose of comedy, meanwhile, there’s always the wacky college scene up in Palmyra. The greatest risk to comedy, however, is not keeping it short, so he tends to limit his exposure to that one. Liberty’s perfect for just tuning everything out and narrowing one’s focus and working on an extensive project, though, such as a day spent here recently going through their entire grocery section, scanning everything. This above and beyond his standard monthly scan audit project, undertaken because the section was looking a little rough. Missing tags, or with incorrect tags, and a ton of things still not in their Orchestra system.
As far as moonlighting today on this grill, he is granted exactly one helper for most of his stint out here, first Chloe, who is a tremendous help, but then later some Jonathan kid from grocery who is not so much. They’re only offering a limited menu of real meat and vegan options, however, so it’s pretty much a breeze either way. Christie drifts through late in the event, cracking up to see him out here, as though assuming he would blow her off. She does hand him the $40 on the spot, though, which relieves him of hounding her for it. But of primary interest, really, is that Tonya is not only present, she too steps outside during break to grab a bite during lunch.
Russian Robert might be as hilarious as he is somewhat frightening, but, like if picturing a version of Palmyra as run by the Moscow mob, Edgar also limits his exposure to this individual. Great for juicy quotes, recited to friends and family later, though breezed past as quickly as possible in the moment. And Chloe’s friendly, knowledgeable, seems to do a great job. But his preferred contact here has already turned into Tonya, which is unlikely to change soon. She’s pretty much assumed the mantle for firing off the new items file on behalf of the entire store, with the occasional assist from Chloe, and any other random email sent on behalf of the gang. Also, while normally not a look he has latched upon as one of his favorites, with the short, spiky blonde hair, and a ton of piercings, strategically placed tattoos all over, he thinks she is positively adorable. Standing maybe a shade above five foot tall, in what seems her everyday attire of a plain white tee shirt and baggy jeans, blue eyed and given to smile, not tremendously skinny but instead fleshing out these loose-fitting clothes with the perfect degree of curve. Yeah, this would definitely work. Most endearing of all, somehow, might be this constellation of tiny tattoos she has trailing off behind one ear, a constellation of stars, hearts, and pretty much anything else you’d find in a box of Lucky Charms.
Still, while someone he’s considered cute from afar, that’s represented about the extent of it to date. He never would have dreamed she has any interest, even if something he might have sort of envisioned he could maybe make happen down the road. Albeit without any effort thus far, mind you. And maybe he’s pinning too much on their conversation now, although she does mention this festival happening nearby today, that she plans to attend after clocking out of here.
“It’s called Revolution Fest and they’ve got…”
“Revolution Fest? Does that mean it’s close to Liberty Avenue?”
“Well, no, it’s actually more like downtown, but yeah they’ve got music, bands – well, I guess that’s the same thing, heh heh – food trucks, uh, beer, uh…you should definitely check it out if you’re not doing anything.”
“You’re gonna be there?” he asks, and when she nods, further questions, “like, where at downtown?”
“Eh, I could maybe try to give you directions,” she laughs, “but you’d be better off Googling it.”
And he could, of course, but the question about directions wasn’t entirely a question about directions. Maybe a bit presumptuous, yet there was always the hope this would somehow lead to talk of meeting if not riding together down there or something. Yet her suggestion about looking up the route seems to preclude that, as well asking for her number right this second – surely she would have volunteered if so inclined. Instead she trails off to the opposite side of the building, sandwich in hand and with a couple of chick friends who’ve shown up here to check out the event.
Somehow she manages to leave at the end of her shift, too, without them speaking again, or for that matter him even spotting her go. And this leads to a conundrum as he stalls, taking his sweet time cleaning up this grill alone, putting things away. Wondering if he should even bother driving down there, and the dorkiness factor inherent in wandering around alone at something like that…but then also how to stem any awkwardness should he actually stumble into her, without looking like that’s pretty much what he was doing.
In the end, he figures what the hell, deciphers the location of this park and makes sojourns over there, about halfway between Southside and Liberty. If nothing else, it’s a gorgeous late spring afternoon, and a Saturday, to boot, the park spacious and quite lovely. In his travels, catches some live music, most of which doesn’t even suck, grabs some fried chicken and a couple of beers. But never spots Tonya anywhere down here – nor another familiar soul, though this too was technically somewhat possible – and in the end, after plonking down ten of his just earned forty dollars for a CD from one of the bands he’s recently heard, he takes off and listens to this during the long ride home.
As this month draws to a close, the incessant shakeups continue. With the bosses satisfied that he’s basically learned all he needs from Teri, and with other considerations on top of it, she is transferred to work at the Bellwether Snacks headquarters across town. Edgar now has this office to himself, including her gigantic former desk, but he laments her absence all the same. Now she works strictly for Bellwether, for instead they’ve hired some Felix Ortega character who will act as IT overlord for both companies. He too is based down at HQ, yet will always be on call for the stores, whenever needed. It seems a strange arrangement, given that sales are increasing, that the company as a whole now has two tech professionals, yet HHM has been reduced to zero of its own. But they obviously must have their reasons.
Elsewhere there are confirmations that various other judgment calls made have proven sound ones…and that even those which weren’t, given enough time, and enough chances at a do-over, these will also eventually sort themselves out. Into the former category falls their latest inventory, which Dolly enthuses was “the smoothest ever” and which does for the most part come back strong. Edgar gets a good glimpse at what Corey was talking about, too, about this maroon shirted crew of outsiders, LVIS, who are brought in to count most of their items. Everything except backstock and random weight items fall under the LVIS purview, and while these characters do often look a shade rough, they presumably deliver the goods, and can positively fly on these alien looking number punching machines hanging from their hips.
Into the second category might fall the hiring of a worthwhile assistant manager, once again at Palmyra. Somewhere around the seven month mark, Samantha announces that she lost her baby. Considering that there were already grumblings that she’d made the whole thing up to begin with (and Edgar must admit, he was thinking the same himself), this chatter is amped up into a full-blown chorus. Whether unconnected or not, one afternoon Samantha stomps in, slams her store keys onto the customer service counter, and storms back out without a word said, never to return.
But if able to roll the dice often enough, eventually one of these characters will pan out. This time around the crap shoot comes up in favor of Brady, a soft-spoken fellow from the vitamin department. Edgar hasn’t had a ton of interaction with anyone in that department – his biggest battle thus far is that they continue ignoring him and hand-sticker most new items that come in, rather than sending him an Excel file – but Brady seems like a cool enough guy. Maybe with a few New Age-y type leanings, perhaps well represented by his long ponytail and a standard outfit of a tee shirt, cargo shorts, and open toed sandals with no socks, though more crucially he is levelheaded and plenty intelligent to pull off the job.
All the more critical in that head cashier Shelly, about whom most of those things could also be said, applied for the position and was yet again rebuffed, over which some bad blood is rumored to swirl. Apparently this keeps happening, despite her overqualification and years on the post. Edgar has heard from multiple people that Rob Drake doesn’t much care for her, especially her goth-leaning attire, and often violent shock of neon hair color she has chosen for the week. Her dour disposition is also frequently cited as a reason why she remains stuck as head cashier, although it’s difficult to say whether this existed before she was constantly being passed over for promotions, or has cropped up as a result.
