www.ubersite.com/m/38991The Great Toy Store Incident (198 hits)
Author: JMG114
Not too long ago, I decided to take on a job in the mall, at the local big-chain toy store. It's walking distance from my house, and I like the idea of having discounts on chemistry sets and lite brites.
You ought to know that this particular store is an anchor store for the mall within which it sits. This being the case, we had a virtual army of employees on the floor and in the back room at all times.
My first day on the job, I was actually looking forward to my triumphant return to retail sales. I couldn't wait to be the salesperson who'd NOT run from customers and who'd be helpful when needed. Yes sir, things were going to be just dandy.
"Jared!"
I swiveled around at the shouter. It was Joanna, one of the five store managers, and the one in charge on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays. I hadn't met her up until that point, as the weekend manager, Delta, was the one who had hired me.
Joanna was a willowy girl, a little taller than I am, dark, and had long brown hair. She was about 30, and had big, pretty, brown eyes. Additionally, she wore a rather blatant gold crucifix around her neck.
"Yes?" I asked sweetly.
"Have you been to the baby department yet? The store hasn't been open an hour yet, and it's a mess! Get over there now to fix it up."
"Okay," I replied, a little miffed at the lack of politeness.
"Oh," she continued as I turned my back, "You might be new, but we have to earn our stripes around here."
"Okay, Joanna. I'll do my best."
I went to the baby department, and aside from one blanket that wasn't folded properly, nothing was amiss. After double and triple checking the area, I went back to the action figure area and paced about, straightening toys and making myself available to any customer in need.
"Jared!"
I turned my head. It was Joanna. She came right up to my face and whispered loudly, "What do you think you're doing?"
"I was just setting things up in action figures and---"
"No, Jared. It looked to me like you were lollygagging."
"I was---what?"
"Lollygagging."
I stifled a smile, but not well enough.
Joanna's eyes flashed. "Are you laughing at me? Get into the back room. We have to have a talk about your behavior."
I couldn't believe that this was happening. Could it have been a little prank that she liked to play on the newbies? Yes. That had to be it. Heh. Lollygagging.
Joanna marched me into the back room and sat me down. "You see, Jared, this store is like a gear," she interlocked her fingers, gear-like, "And the workers are like the teeth on the gear. Do you follow what I'm saying?"
I nodded.
She continued, "Well, when one tooth isn't pulling its weight, the machine starts to break down. Do you follow what I'm saying?"
I nodded again.
"Good. Now, do your job, or I'll have no choice but to write you up."
That hit a nerve. I think that write-ups are the stupidest thing on the planet. Either fire someone or keep them on. Don't write them up, you crazy, sick pussy.
I nodded. "I understand, Joanna. I'll work harder. I'm sorry."
When she left the back room to return to the floor, two back room employees, Sam and Jarmaine, approached me.
"Hey," Jarmaine said, "Don't listen to that bitch. She gives everyone a hard time. She's technically not even a manager. She's a supervisor."
"Yeah," agreed Sam, "She's really nasty, but there isn't much we can do. Her uncle is district manager."
Intriguingly, Joanna, as supervisor, was in charge of making the weekly schedules. For some reason, I was always scheduled to work during her shifts. I approached another couple of managers when I could, to discuss the situation, but they seemed to think that I was doing a good enough job to not cause any fuss in Joanna's scheduling realm.
The proverbial straw-that-broke-the-camel's-back came in the form of a new shipment of "Robo-Kitties" Robo-Kitties are little robot cats that purr and meow, move about like real cats, and have light-up eyes. I was placed in charge of stocking them on the floor. As they were last holiday season's big seller, I thought that I'd put them in a rather prominent spot, towards the front area, by the registers.
I've always liked stacking things and building models, so I arranged the toy boxes (over a hundred of them) in a rather fetching pattern. When I was done unloading the shipment, the boxes stood a full foot or so higher than I did, and I stepped back, mightily pleased with my work.
"Jared!"
That cacophonous voice of a thousand cats, screeching their claws across a chalkboard---I'd recognize it anywhere. Joanna.
She strode right up to my tower of Robo-Kitties. "What the hell is this? Am I paying you for---for---for little kiddie playtime?"
She shoved the tower and the boxes toppled over, onto the floor, and onto the child of a nearby customer.
"Oh my God!" the customer yelped as she pulled her crying child away from the crash site. She looked up at Joanna. "What the hell were you thinking? Are you insane? You hurt my son!"
Joanna, stone-faced and emotionless, stuck her thumb out in my direction. "Blame him. He's the one who stacked them." She then turned to me. "Clean this up, and find shelf space for them. I don't have time for silly little kiddie babysitting today."
With that, she turned and left for the back of the store. I went over to the customer to see if everything was okay, but she scooped up her sobbing child, said, "Stay away from me!" and left the store.
I considered quitting on the spot, but I realized that doing so would be tantamount to letting the terrorists win. Oh no. It was time for something else. Something I prided myself on.
I called up my friend, an MIT graduate who had just started med school.. "Hey man," I began, "How are you with robots?"
"Not so hot. I was in a competition once and finished tenth."
"Out of how many?"
"Five or six hundred."
"Okay. I need your help."
I knew the store's alarm system code from watching over Joanna's shoulder each morning. Additionally, once when she was in the bathroom, I unhooked the store's door key from her key ring and had a copy made over my lunch break before nonchalantly returning it to her possession.
The plan was set.
On Monday night of the next week, myself, my friend, and another couple of his MIT alums sneaked into the toy store, dressed in black from head to toe. We wore hairnets and gloves (in fact, we wore rubber gloves with another set of gloves over them, just to be safe).
Approaching the dozens of shelved Robo-Kitties, we gave each other the typical, "point of no return" glance, and went to work.
One boy deftly sliced open the side of the kitten with a three-inch scalpel while the other two went to work on the toy's innards. The final step, translucent red paint, was my own responsibility. After each toy was fitted with a slight rewire, a receiver, and a little recording (voices by yours truly), I painted over the cat's eyes with a layer of paint. My friend handed me a small, hastily conceived controlling transmitter. It was a couple of metal plates with some naked wires and an antenna.
"It might zap you when you use it, but it shouldn't be that bad."
After three and a half hours, we had modified about forty kitties and re-stacked them on the shelves. The incision on the side of each was easily disguised by the cat's fur, and we left the store, with the alarm rearmed, just as we left it. We didn't risk trying the transmitter just yet.
The next day was a Tuesday, and Joanna wasn't in. Luckily, no customers decided to purchase a Robo-Kitty than day.
Wednesday came. I was sure to spend a good amount of time around the kittens when I wasn't called to the registers. Sure enough, my patience paid off.
"Jared!"
I cringed. That voice---that horrible voice---
"Yes?" I asked with a great, big smile.
Joanna came right up to me, God yes, right in front of the kittens. God, God, God, yes.
She stared into my eyes. "What do you think you're doing? Lollygagging? Again! Why do you insist on just pacing, pacing, pacing, pacing around when there's work to be---"
I clicked the little wireless switch in my pocket. I felt a small electric shock, but that was nothing compared to---
"Joanna . . ." The cats croaked out my recorded voice in unison. Their eyes beamed red, and their heads moved from side to side.
Joanna turned and her mouth dropped open.
"Joanna . . ." the cats moaned again. She stepped back.
"Joanna . . ." the cats called her name a third time. Her hands jerked to her chest. Then, like a beautiful symphony, came the piece d'resistance:
The cats' heads turned from side to side and sung out, "Satan! Satan! Satan! Satan! Satan! Satan! Satan! Satan! Satan! Satan!"
Joanna fell backward but scrambled right up. "Aaaaaaaaauuuuggghhh!"
She ran out of the store, and I never saw her come back, because I chose that day to quit. I shouldn't have to resort to such trickery at my own place of work, so I left the place, but I still have the transmitter. I click it on occasionally, but I tend to doubt that the range would extend that far, or if it even still works.
I'm sorry to all of the children who have purchased one of my possessed Robo-Kitties from that store. I hope that they give you your money back, and if you're reading this, please don't report me.
