It doesn't get any better than this

I woke easily that morning. It helped that that sun was streaming in through the louver blinds of my east-facing bedroom window. And, I had gone to bed at a reasonable hour the night before. There was no hurry to get up. I was not due at work until one o’clock that afternoon. Out of habit, I rolled over with the idea of sleeping a few more hours and enjoyed the sounds of the neighborhood coming to life. It was Friday, and “Happy Friday” greetings were no doubt being heard on buses and in coffee shops. It was not my Friday. I had a Thursday-Monday schedule, so my own weekend was days away. But I still found myself infected with weekend fever on Friday mornings.

I enjoyed the distinctive sound of a flicker drumming its bill on the top of a street lamp. Some sparrows were jabbering happily in the bushes under my window. Out in the street, a bus went by, slowing as it approached the next block and I heard the trumpeting of the brake engaging as it stopped to pick up riders. And then it was off again, heading downtown. I had the feeling I was not going to sleep any more that morning. And my cat had surmised as such and was now making hopeful noises in anticipation of food. I had to give in and get up.

After feeding the cat, I made a cup of tea and checked my phone, but this was before I had a smartphone, and there was not much to check. I was able to view a weather forecast, and the first summery weather of spring had arrived in time for the weekend. I took a leisurely shower and dressed, still a bit discombobulated at getting up so early. With nothing better to do, I washed the dishes in the kitchen sink and wiped down the counters. Even though it would not be my weekend, it would be nice to come home to a tidy kitchen tonight. Then I hand-washed some clothes that had piled up and hung them to dry on a rack in the bathtub. I like to wash clothes by hand. My hands have been mildly arthritic since childhood and wringing out clothes in warm, soapy water is soothing. And clothes last longer when they air dry instead of casting off lint in a tumble dryer. While I was in the mood to clean and tidy, I put the vacuum cleaner around and took out the garbage. When I was done with cleaning, it was still not quite ten o’clock. I had at least two hours to kill before leaving for work.

I had a TV but not cable, and the over-air reception was so bad most of the time, that I had rediscovered radio. Actually, radio reception was not much better, but I was able to pick up a public radio station that aired a mix of NPR and BBC World Service programming. Every weekday morning there was a program called World Have Your Say. It was hardly an in-depth analysis of current affairs, but that was not really the point. The idea was to have people from all over the world weigh in on a general topic. A small panel of experts might be drawn from just about any country on Earth to participate by phone. And listeners were encouraged to send feedback by email or text to be read out on the air. “And we have a text message here from Kenya…” Sometimes it could feel as informal and chatty as a local radio station in a small town. This morning, the topic was a comparison of incarceration rates across the world, not the cheeriest of topics, and I have to confess I remember nothing of what was said. I know that many radio programs that appear to be live actually are not, but I loved the idea that perhaps it was indeed live, and that someone in Kenya was hearing the very same broadcast as me, and that they felt compelled to reach for their mobile phone and text a response to the BBC in London. My little life in Seattle felt just a bit less disconnected from the world.

I decided to dirty up my clean kitchen and cook something for lunch. I sautéed an onion and a red pepper in olive oil and then added two cans of condensed milk and a few tablespoons of orange marmalade, seasoning it all with copious amounts of curry powder. Then I added some chopped potatoes, peeled baby carrots and some frozen mixed vegetables. By the time I had it simmering gently on the stove, World Have Your Say was done, and NPR Science Friday had started. And I was suddenly flooded with memories.

In a different time and place, I was at home writing my doctoral dissertation in the study of climatology. A local NPR station kept me company during the day, and Science Friday would be airing as I was preparing to wrap up my work for the week. I liked to end the week on a high note, or at least at a good stopping point, with no loose ends to have to pick up on Monday. Then I would zip up my working directories, label with the date, and archive on a backup disk, my own approach to version control, long before I had heard of Git. Listening to Science Friday, I enjoyed the company of other scientists describing the results of their own research, and it motivated me to keep plugging away. And a few months later, I did receive my PhD. Listening to Science Friday always took me back to that rather happy time of my life.

I ate a small bowl of curry and put the rest in the fridge. And I packed an apple and some chunks of cheese for a snack to eat later at work. It still was not quite time to leave, but I had run out of things to do in my apartment, and the sunny weather outside beckoned. I decided to leave early and take my time enjoying the walk. It was warm enough to go without a sweatshirt, but I took my hoodie for the walk home. Before I headed out, I cracked open a couple of windows and the breeze that wafted in carried a suggestion of the summer marine air smell. The cat jumped up onto the window ledge of the living room to enjoy all the sensory pleasures of the outdoors coming in.

The first part of my walk was along a waterfront park. There were very few people around, it being a weekday with school still in session. The Olympic Mountains still sported a heavy snowpack from the recent winter. The spring had been cool and snowmelt had been sluggish. That would be about to change, but for now the snowy peaks were dazzling against the blue sky. I took the path that went down to the shore. It was high tide and no beach was exposed, so I sat on some concrete steps above the sea wall. Apart from a few seagulls and crows, there was nothing much to watch, but I enjoyed the sun for about ten minutes before getting back to my walk. Striking inland and uphill, I walked up a quiet street with only a few scattered homes. The trees were almost in full leaf — but not quite. I suspected by the end of the day, they would have completed the transition. You could almost feel the leaves opening. Near the top of this street I passed a bush covered with clusters of tiny blue blooms which had attracted hundreds (perhaps thousands) of bees buzzing so loudly you could almost imagine that any second the bees might lift off together and take the bush with them. Across the street, an older woman was filling an inflatable paddle pool with water from the garden hose, and two pre-schoolers in bathing suits were jumping around and squealing with excitement. It sure felt like summer.

A few more blocks, and the sleepy residential neighborhood was behind me. On a day like today, the sudden change could be a little jarring to the system. Bus stops were busy. Delivery vans poked in and out of back alleys. Car drivers jockeyed for parking spots. Pedestrians darted across traffic. I turned into a back alley to enter the store via the back door.

The lighting inside the store was gloomy, and on a sunny day like today, the contrast with outside was even more pronounced. The bright outdoor light coming in through the large storefront windows threw everything into shadow. But as my eyes adjusted, I was able to see that the store was quiet. I could make out the silhouetted form of Adam, the manager, and see that he was looking in my direction. The hanging bells on the back door would have alerted him as I came in. Although his face was in shadow, his posture suggested happy and relaxed. He was leaning back against the counter and holding a pen loosely in one hand while drumming it in the other — something he did when at ease.

I went into the office, ringing another set of hanging bells. I secured my belongings and used the restroom. I was early for my shift and could have dallied some more, but I decided I might as well sign in and go out onto the floor. And it was a good call, because in the few minutes since my arrival, several customers had appeared. Adam was ringing up one customer and two others were waiting with arms wrapped around large sacks of dog food. The second register was open, so I waved the next person over and got started on my day. We had a brief flurry of customers coming in. It goes that way in retail, lulls followed by flurries. Once the flurry was over, Adam was able to bring me up to speed with the day so far.

He was very pleased. The two Friday deliveries had shown up first thing, and both were all present and correct. No discrepancies, omissions or damages to report. Business had been brisk and customers had been in a mood to spend money — over two thousand dollars so far, something quite exceptional for that time of the day on a Friday. And, all the customers had been friendly and easy to help. Now that I had arrived, Adam took a break and went next door to get some coffee. And I took advantage of the current lull to receive the orders that had been delivered and post them to inventory. Then I got a tagging gun and set up a work area to tag merchandise.

The happy groove persisted for the rest of the afternoon. In between helping customers, Adam dollied sacks of pet food from the stockroom and restocked the shelves. Once I was done tagging merchandise and finding homes for it on the floor or in the stockroom, I set to work on the canned goods. Normally, this is work for new employees, because there really is not much to it, other than the chore of removing older product from shelves first so as to put newer product behind it. But we were short staffed and there was no new employee to put on the cans. I enjoyed working on the cans, because it is a task that lends itself to customer interruption. Once you are done helping a customer, you just go back to your cans and you can immediately pick up where you left off, regardless of whether that is five minutes later or five hours. There are no thoughts you have to hold onto in the meantime. But trying to identify and resolve discrepancies in a messed-up invoice is a different matter altogether — and I never understood why we were expected to even attempt such tasks at the counter (which is why I am no longer in this line of work.) But no matter how many times I was interrupted, I could do a really good job at cans, and customers often commented at how well faced and presented the cans were. I used to tell new employees that I wanted to see a wall of cans, not something that looked like the Giants’ Causeway.

Somewhere between four-thirty and five o’clock, the after-work rush began. The Friday rush could be extra busy going into a nice weekend as people decided to take care of Saturday errands on Friday. But the happy groove prevailed. Every customer knew what they wanted. No one made any bizarre requests. No one wanted to return or exchange anything. And no one got impatient waiting in line. Even the people who called on the phone did not seem to mind being asked to hold for a few minutes.

By six o’clock, we had hit forty-five hundred in sales, and the store had gone quiet again. Adam asked if I would be OK managing the rest of the evening alone. He was hoping to have dinner with his girlfriend. He had been in the store since eight o’clock this morning, so I told him I would be fine — if I could just get ten minutes first to eat my apple and cheese. I sat on a bench outside, enjoying the Friday evening street scene. Every parking spot was taken and the sidewalks were crowded with people in search of dinner or drinks. There were still at least three hours of my shift ahead of me, so I could not allow myself to pick up too much of the TGIF mood. Going back inside, I found Adam taking one last lap of the store before signing out to leave.

No sooner had he left than the store was suddenly slammed with customers. You can usually count on that. But there was something special about this particular Friday and the customers were still easygoing and willing to patiently wait their turn. And they spent some decent money! By eight forty-five, the sales total stood at $4989. Just eleven dollars short of the magic five thousand with fifteen minutes until closing time.

Normally, I was not a relaxed closer. My understanding of “closing time” is that it is the time by which the door is locked and all customers are on the other side of it, outside. (This is another reason I am no longer in this line of work.) But this was a special Friday, and I knew Adam would be thrilled if we broke $5000 in sales. I surveyed the store for prospects. A frail old lady was browsing cans of dog food. She was a regular customer and I knew she would not buy much. Her dog was small and she only ever bought two or three cans at a time. At the back of the store, a well-dressed couple were looking at dog shampoo. They both carried boxed restaurant leftovers and had probably just wandered in on the way back to their car. I went up to ask if they needed any help, but before I got back there, they were heading for the back door.

The little old lady was at the counter with two cans of dog food. I rang them up and that brought the total up to around $4995. The store was now empty again, so I decided to get a head start on closing by putting the credit and debit card receipts in order and stapling them together. By the time I was done with that, it was two minutes to nine. I went out the back door into the alley and looked up and down the way. There was not a person or dog to be seen. I went back inside and then checked the situation from the front door. The street was still lined with parked cars but there was little vehicular traffic and only a few pedestrians, none heading towards the store. At nine o’clock, I took one more look out the back door before locking it. I returned to the front door and went back out onto the sidewalk, half-hoping to see an excited dog towing a person in my direction. But the street was deserted. I locked the front door and turned off the “Open” sign and the main store lights.

I returned to the counter to count the cash in the two registers. The store cat, Moses, jumped up on the counter to keep me company. He had been asleep most of the evening, hiding from customers in amongst the large sacks of dog food. The first register balanced exactly to $0.00 in large green typeface at the first count. And so did the other register. No recounting tonight. I printed the end-of-day reports, put them in a manila envelope with receipts, checks, and cash for deposit, and stowed everything away in the night safe.

Now I could finish the rest of the close-down procedure. A cat-rescue organization had cats up for adoption at the back of the store. Volunteers came by twice a day to take care of feeding and litter boxes, but we were asked to check water bowls at closing time. I also refilled water for Moses. Frozen raw pet food was stored in three freezers, the doors of which were to be checked before leaving at night, because customers sometimes left them ajar. I always fully opened each door and then closed hard to be sure.

When I had gone outside at closing time, I had noticed that it was still warm, so I did not need to put on the hoodie I had brought with me. After gathering my belongings from the office, I shut down the PC on the desk — and enjoyed hearing the Windows XP jingle announcing the official end of my shift.

Moses was now up on a counter display helping himself to some cat grass. I gave him a goodnight kiss, checked the freezer doors one more time, and then headed out the front door, locking it behind me, and then giving it a few hard tugs to reassure myself it was indeed locked.

It was still light and I fancied some wine, so before heading home, I went over to the grocery store to pick up a cheap bottle, one of those supermarket value brands that could be had for $3.99 back then. As I head for home down the hill, the sky finally started to darken and the temperature dropped a little, but not enough that I needed to put on my hoodie. I was walking into the sunset and for most of my way, I had a spectacular view of the Olympic Mountains and Puget Sound. Nothing adds to quality of life as much as being able to walk to and from work, especially when you have a view like that to enjoy on the way home.

There was the smell of honeysuckle and other fragrances in the air and it felt a little humid — reminiscent of a summer evening back East. The residential streets I walked were quiet. I passed a few people walking dogs, but no one I recognized, else I might have joked with them that I really missed seeing them tonight. So, we did not hit $5000 in sales — but I was sure Adam would be thrilled anyway to see the sales total when he opened up the next morning. I passed the house where the inflatable pool was being set up when I walked by on my way to work. A beach ball was floating on the water, and the yard was littered with toys. It must have been a fun day. The bush that had been filled with noisy bees was now silent.

It was dark by the time I got home. One of my neighbors was standing sentry outside his apartment drinking a beer and smoking a cigarette. I never really got to know him, but he always waved and smiled when I came home. On the way to my apartment I checked my mailbox and found it empty.

I was pleasantly surprised at the unusually clean kitchen. The events of the morning seemed like they had happened a million years ago. I fed my cat and then reheated some curry for a late dinner. I did not have to report for work until two o’clock the following afternoon, so I could enjoy my wine with no worries. I rinsed out my bowl and changed into my sleep clothes before opening the wine, pouring the first glass, and retiring to the bedroom, where my laptop and collection of M*A*S*H DVDs greeted me. I opened the laptop, queued an episode, and hit play. To the comforting sound of the choppers, I snuggled amongst the pillows on my bed and enjoyed the first taste of wine, which was surprisingly good for the price. The cat joined me on the bed — and I thought, it doesn’t get any better than this.