Sears: A Wasted Life

25 Nov

I was in the middle of an intense Ab-Isolator session when the call came in.

“Ma’am.  We’d like to offer you the job of sales associate.  Be here at 9 a.m. sharp.  Under the escalator.”

Well.  I guess this was it then.   Grown up life.  I’d already blown through my graduation money, so it was high time I got out there, put on my helmet and belly flopped  into the middle of the rat race.

So I found the escalator.  I saw Randy before he saw me.  In this brief purgatory, I debated staying or running across the parking lot and hiding out in Taco Bell all day so my mom wouldn’t know I was a complete and totally irresponsible delinquent.  I decided to proceed.

Randy wore one of those black rubber digital watches. You know what I’m talking about.  I don’t even need to describe it.  He glanced at it to remind me that he was the manager and had his whole eyeball up in the sky and wouldn’t tolerate one smidgen of tomfoolery.  I sniffed, Don Knotts style, to let him know I didn’t give a wippety-ding-dong about his pathetic superiority.

It was obvious that Randy hadn’t been manager for more than five minutes.  An awkward silence followed by crickets chirping caused me to clear my throat and take charge of the declining situation.

“Sooo.  What sales will I be associating?”

I smirked at the brilliance of my own wit.  Randy and I were obviously NOT on the same page.  Randy was that hardcore.

Me: “I like your vest.”

(If humor doesn’t work, then I suggest you move right along to insincere flattery.)

Randy: “Oh.  Thanks! “

(Works every time.)

“You will be responsible for making keys.  All kinds of keys.  House keys, car keys, lockbox keys, storage keys.  Take this manual and familiarize yourself with the foundation key shapes so the customer isn’t forced to wait while you learn on the job.”

I took the tri-fold pamphlet like an Olympic baton.


“We’re professional here, April.”


I tuned Randy’s nasal ramblings right on out of my head and focused in on the monstrous metal beast of a key maker behind him.  Yesssss.  Let me get on that thing!  My ears perked back up when I heard Randy say,

“…and there will be some days when you’ll be working in our parking lot location.”

The parking lot location!  The key hut!!

“When do I go out there?”

“You must first learn the ways.”

I wanted to get one centimeter from his face and hoarsely whisper, “Grasshoppaaahhhhh.”  But I didn’t want to get fired before fully experiencing  the hut.

I didn’t stay long with Sears.  After numerous complaints about excessive “Will Be Back At:” sign hangings, I was kindly let go.  Whatever.  It didn’t matter.  I was fixing to go work for a massage therapist with an English sheepdog named Zack.  I didn’t need this stupid job anyway.  Boo-Ya!


4 Responses to “Sears: A Wasted Life”

  1. angrymiddleagewoman November 25, 2011 at 9:19 pm #

    Did you have to put up with dorky teenaged boys coming up and asking “Do you have the ‘key’ to my heart?” ‘Cause if so you should’ve included that. Thank goodness for the massage therapist!


  2. thespiderfarmmanager November 25, 2011 at 9:59 pm #

    Grossly hillarious!


  3. hillbillyzen13 November 25, 2011 at 10:34 pm #

    “Grasshoppaaahhhhh.” almost made me spit coffee all over the keyboard. Sears was my first job, too, lasted until my second year of college. The only really good thing that came of that job was scoring a sweet hookah from the catalog and getting an employee discount on it. Thanks for the laugh, Ms. April. Hopefully it burned off like a thousand calories.


  4. Michael Cargill November 26, 2011 at 1:36 am #

    That was brilliant. The helmet/belly-flopping bit was superb.


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