“Closing time…

April 14, 2008 at 11:55 pm (Cussed Dumbers)

…You don’t have to go home,
But you can’t stay here…”

Changes are afoot at my work. Times have been good for Master P. Upgrades and expansion are now in the works. Expansion? The worst-kept secret around the workplace is the new store. No official announcement has been made, but the boss has confided to most of us that there will be a fourth location up and running by mid-June.

My hanging spot for the last two years? It’s undergoing a major rip and tear, being gutted ceiling to floor. There will be new slate floors, proper insulation, a new “paper ceiling” that will easily accomodate advertising, a new layout for the floor plan. Sounds nice, but WTF am I supposed to do for the two weeks (optimistic) it will take?

I get to move around!

I haven’t worked more than an emergency shift or a traded day off at any of the other stores in ages. This should be fun. Every time I go to one of the other stores, clusters of ne’er-do-wells are hanging out front. They are gone when I come out. Part of Master P’s plan was for me to “move the criminals around a bit.” Gee, that sounds like fun.

I’ve been dropping by ‘my store’ every couple of days, monitoring the situation. The first time was right after I’d chugged a bunch of bourbon. Saturday afternoon, nobody around, right? WRONG! Plumes of white dust were billowing out into the street, masked workers were stripping the ceiling of air-conditioning ducts. I turned, and it was Master P and his wife. Yikes! Reeking of booze, even on an off day, is never wise around the big boss, so I covered my mouth, muttered something about dangerous air particles and got the hell out of there.

Yesterday I went by for another look. Nobody from the store, but there were many workers at it. They were prying up bricks from where my cash register station used to be. It was still very dusty, a quick look was enough.

The hours will be the same, the faces will be different. I’ll have to remember a new safe combination, and it will take a few days to get that comfortable in-the-groove feeling that comes with familiarity. If I can actually have someone’s cigarettes on the counter before they ask? So much the better. It’s a much faster-paced store, and comes with a ‘grind ’em out like sausage’ feel. Less patter, more pitter-patter.

I should have plenty of work-related anecdotes to share…

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