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Category: Tales from the Co-op
13 years at one job computes to a crap ton of stories.
Talking with a friend today about this lady we know of who recently took her life. I asked what she did for a living because some careers have a high suicide rate. He didn’t know, but asked me if I’d looked her up on Facebook. I hadn’t. “She looks….kinda…different. Like a writer. You know?” I thought immediately of my hair, springing out all over my head in 16 million directions. I thought of my eyeliner, that I’ve never managed to conquer, and even if it looks decent when I leave the house manages to be smudged by the time I get to work. I thought of my glasses, that are perpetually spotted from who knows what. I thought of my clothes, how some days my pants are dragging the ground or my socks are inside out or I’ve wound up wearing two different shoes. Or earrings. “Yes, I know,” I replied dryly, flipping my hand to indicate my current appearance. “WAS she a writer?” “Well, no,” he backpedaled. “Well, I don’t think so. But, like, she just looked…I can’t put it in words.” “Unkept?” “No. Just…plain, I guess. Maybe homely.” “Was she a poet?” “No, I don’t think so.” “Because poets are tortured, you know.” He…
Today, this woman walks up to the counter & asks for someone to help her with fencing. She gestures vaguely. Whitney & I are standing there, & I let her take point most of the time because it’s good for her to learn & I’m right there if she does need help. Whitney says, “Okay. Whatcha need?” Standard reply for any of us. The woman gets a sharper tone. “I need help with fencing.” Whitney hesitates. I look up. She is a replica of Peach in Lonesome Dove, bonnet, red-faced demeanor, plumpness, & all. My mouth drops, but I recover. “Yes, ma’am, we’ll be glad to help you. But are you building a fence? Do you need pricing on barbed wire or vinyl or wooden…???” She sighs like we are her cross to bear. “I need help BACK HERE with your fencing, I want to get some sticks out of the ground,” she enunciated each word clearly as if I were a stupid hillbilly. Not appreciated. But I had time on my hands, as it were, & could humor this…old wet hen. Normally I would call for one of the guys but decided I could handle this swiftly. (Plus they were all at lunch). I followed her back to the wall where we have a few pieces displayed. Most of the stuff is in the warehouse, & in order…
So, yesterday I got to go back in time AND be a snake. I don’t mean I was a snake in a past life. And I know you know I’m scared of snakes. But it was really a good time. The good thing about having the same job for so long is I travel in the same circles & get to know a lot of people. So when I go to meetings, I see at least one familiar face. This is both a blessing and a curse, because I’m comfortable enough to chat with people, but also, I get called on a lot & made an example of, because the speakers know me by name. As was the case yesterday. Minor, Whit, & I went to a meeting in Morristown to learn about sales skills from Purina. You may not know it, but Minor & I go way back. To Walters State. Like, twenty years we’ve known each other. There’s another girl in the Co-op system we went to college with, Mandy Hicks. And Mandy was at this particular meeting, too. You know how it is when you get around people you’ve known that long. You regress to the good ole days, & reminisce about that time in your life. It’s a great deal of fun catching up. And the three of us haven’t been to a meeting together in a long, long…
This morning, I was running behind (I know this surprises no one) and didn’t have time to fix my lunch. I did tote along a mountain dew and a baggie of chips, thinking I’ll just run up to Subway. You know, that’s a racket. It’s like, six bucks for a sandwich, but if you need chips and a drink, all of a sudden it’s $24. Anyway, traffic is monstrous, but I eventually get there. There is a man trying to pay for his $7 sandwich with a hundred dollar bill at 11 o’clock in the morning. I’m thinking, “What an arrogant ass, who in their right mind pays for a sandwich at eleven o’clock in the morning with a Franklin?” The cashier is flustered & asking the other sandwich artist if there was money in the back. She’s saying no, no way, the guy is halfheartedly digging for smaller bills. (Who in this day and age doesn’t carry a debit card, anyway???) “I’m gonna run right over here & see if I can break it,” she tells the man, inching towards the door, showing his $100. “Where you goin’ with it?” he demands, all indignant. Ok, chick is head to toe Subway attire. Her coworker is there, as well as a policeman, trying to quietly consume his sandwich in the corner…
If you’re southern, and you call around hunting a product, it goes something like this: “Such-and-such store, this is Do-Lollie, could I hep ye?” “Good mornin’, it’s Amy at the Co-op, how you doin’?” (nevermind I’ve never met or talked to this person prior) “Good mornin’, Amy, I’m doin’ alright, other’n this rain, it always makes my hip hurt. How are YEW?” “Oh, I’m alright. If I’s a pig, I’d be enjoyin’ this mud a little more.” A chortle. “I heard that. What can I do fer ye?” “Well, I’s wonderin’ if Bryan was in?” “Yeah, hang on jest a minute & I’ll git ‘im fer ye.” “Thank you!” “Mm-hmm. You have a good day.” “Hey, you too!” With that, I am placed on hold. {I can imagine the hollerin’ to the back of the store “Bryan! Line one! It’s Amy!” “Huh?” “Line ONE!” “Ok.”} “This is Bryan, could I hep ye?” “Good mornin’ Bryan, how are ye?” “Well, I ain’t talked to you in a coons age! You doin’ alright?” “Yeah, how ’bout you…
“Did I ever tell you about my friend who wouldn’t eat the ends of hot dog weenies?” Tuletta says to me this morning. I snicker. “No, I don’t think so.” “Well, she wouldn’t. She’d cut ’em off. You know, the ends where they’re pinched up?” “Yes. Weird.” “Said they were poison.”… I’m laughing heartily. People are peculiar. “Every time I go in the bathroom & there’s just a little bit of toilet paper left on the roll, I think of that. Poison.” “People are lazy,” I concur. “Tuletta, you’re the one who needs to write the book.”…
This post began January 5th, 2015, and finally came full circle months later when I realized I was waiting on the owner of the pigs, as I knew I eventually would. “Have you seen those two big pigs down here? They’re up on the hill…in some chain link fence….” Yankee trails off as I squint my eyes at her, trying to determine if she just launched into this story or if there was a prelude that I hadn’t been tuned in for. Rewind…replay….no. “Which road???” I ask. “Chapman Highway.” Mighty long road. “Where at on Chapman?” “Uhhhmmm…I can’t think….it’s up on a hill….there’s chain link around the property…” She’s vaguely gesturing with her right hand. “What’s the closest business or road to it?” “….I’m not sure….” “Is it before Zion Hill or after?” “After.” “Is it before Sugarloaf Road or after, or do you even know where Sugarloaf is?” “Yeah, it’s after.” “Is it after the Wye?” “No, it’s before.” “Okay, so they’re between Sugarloaf & the Wye?” “No. It’s if you’re leaving Sevierville, before you get to Sugarloaf…
I would like to blame the lack of sunshine for making people crazy, but I know they’re crazy all the time, so that can’t be it. A little while ago, a lady dressed…shall we say…festively…approached the counter & asked if Big Lots sold fishing poles or something along those lines. We’re like, “maybe…” Evidently our answer didn’t satisfy her, because clearly, in addition to knowing the merchandise of our own store, we should keep track of all the surrounding businesses. “Do you all live here?” I was thisclose to saying, “No, I commute from Atlanta every morning.” What the crap? Later, this guy gives me his credit card to pay, I indicate the sig pad with stylus and direct him to “sign here.” “My name?’ ………. I refrained, yet again, from saying what was REALLY on my mind: No, your occupation and blood type, and where you plan to eat supper. I have saved the best for last, & this isn’t someone I think is lacking sense. He’s about my age and farms. He gives me his debit card to pay. It’s kinda warped up and wouldn’t read, which is not unusual in my line of work because typically they’re dirt encrusted. I type it in. …
I have been at work for just over an hour and all this has already transpired: A regular comes in and I ask if he’s ready for Christmas. “NEVER!” He goes on, “My wife asks me for the most impossible things! This year she asked for two feeder calves!” At this, he rolls his eyes. “All the feeder calves I’ve seen are going for like two THOUSAND dollars! So I get to messin’ around on the internet and I finally found ONE for three hundred and fifty dollars.” “Well, that’s good!” I chirp. “Yeah, but it took me half the day to find it and it was on the other side of Clinch Mountain so it took the other half of the day to go get it and bring it back. And he only had the one. While I was there, I bought a turkey. So I guess she’s getting a calf and a turkey for Christmas.” I’m hee-hawing. He continues, “Usually I ask her and she’ll come out with the most outrageous things. Like, ‘happiness!’. Give me a break. It’s always a major undertaking. And then I go to the trouble of getting it and she says, ‘Oh, I wish you hadn’t gotten…
I’ve had a communication problem today. First, I’m at a lunchtime meeting with my supervisors to discuss horse feed. Before we started, I turned to Lynwood, whom I had been making small talk with about this insane weather we’ve been experiencing. Me: “What about Buffalo?!?” Lynwood: “Pardon?” Me: “What about Buffalo??!” Lynwood: “Buffalo?” He looks perplexed. Me: “Yeah, they’ve got like, eight feet of snow!” (Thinking, how did he miss this?!?) Lynwood, laughing, : “Oh! I thought you wanted to know about buffalo eating Pinnacle feed. I was gonna say we haven’t field tested anything but horses at this time.” Hardy harhar. Next, this afternoon, Whitney answers the phone & then turns to ask me, “Do we have a Marine working here?” Totally out of the blue. But Whit is pretty random, so I just rolled with it. “Yeah, Brion’s a Marine…and the new guy, Phil…” Thinking of their slogan ‘there are no FORMER Marines. Once a Marine, always a Marine. I’m getting the bewildered expression for the second time today. “What?” I ask. “No, not a Marine, MAUReen!” “Oh. Yeah, she’s at Waynesville.” Hilarious…
