Archive for November, 2009

For the Record

“Every breath you take,
Every move you make,
Every bond you break,
Every step you take,
I’ll be watching you.”

~Police (Every Breath You Take)

Should I need a record or documentation somewhere down the road, here it is.

A piece of advice to anyone considering a job dealing with the public, be it as a grocery store cashier, a police officer, or a state office, do not work in the same town in which you live. Or if you take the job anyway, plan on moving when you leave the job.

People recognize me all the time from my last job. I can’t even walk the 1/2 mile to my new job without at least one wave or honk or something. Most times I just wave back even though I don’t have a clue who it was! I am proud of my new job, and when my former customers ask what happened to me, I haven’t thus far had any issue with telling them where I now work and sometimes my primary reason for leaving (more money).

So today, after my band rehearsal, I went to the grocery store before heading home. All grocery stores are crowded on Sunday afternoons, but a girl needs to eat! I was in the bread aisle, which was recently rearranged, so now I have trouble grabbing the loaf I usually buy, and wound up standing next to a former customer, lets call him Glenn (not his real name). I, and my former coworkers, decided long ago that Glenn was a strange creepy dude. I also know where he lives (around the corner from me, and yes, he knows where I live too), what he does for a living, his wife, and their pair of dachshunds. This is pretty much how the conversation went:

Me: “Hey Glenn”

Glenn: “Heyyyy. Haven’t seen you around in a while.”

Me: “Yeah, I don’t work for [insert old company name], anymore.”

Glenn: “Where are you working, now?”

Me: “[Insert new company name]. I really like it.”

I see we’ve created a bottleneck situation in the crowded aisle, so I find my bread, excuse myself, and head off down the next aisle. As I pause to open the refrigerator door for some butter, I realize he is rightthere with me, and he starts talking again:

Glenn: “Why’d you leave”

Me: shrugs, “Lots of reasons, better pay”

Glenn: “How much do you make?”

Me: “Ummm…”

Awkward pause. Do people really answer those sorts of questions? I can’t believe people ask those sorts of questions. How rude, although I guess I am partly at fault for mentioning money… lesson learned.

Glenn: “Ok, how much more do you make?”

Me: “I’d rather not discus that.” Time to change the subject. “I see that a new restaurant opened on [insert street he lives on].”

Glenn: “Yeah, and [another restaurant on same street] ripped out all the hedges for some new landscaping.”

Me: “That place has changed so much in the past ten years. I can’t even remember the last time I was in there.”

Glenn: Touches my arm – not a tap or a bump, but somewhere between a caress and a grab. “We should go out sometime.”

Me: Jumps a few steps backward. “I don’t think so.” I turn and walk quickly away. HELLO RED FLAGS!! Jackass is married and creepy and not my type in general. He follows me again and catches up the next time I slow down. He tries to apologize and “I didn’t mean anything”. Whatever.

I hear my name behind me, and see it’s one of the other people in my band. I strike up a conversation with him and we walk away. Around the corner I explained to him what he had just been so fortunate to interrupt. As I was checking out, my band mate was leaving too, and he walked past and asked if I was all right. I was by that point; I have no idea where Glenn went, but I hope he got the message. I’m a little freaked out.

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