Night Crew
In high school and through college I worked at a grocery store. It was the closest grocery store to my house, about 25 miles away, and was the smallest store in the area, since most of the other stores in town had been super-sized when the big retail supermarket chains and Wal-Mart bought up space. This one, though a chain, was small enough to conduct a rousing game of rotten-tomato baseball using the Produce and Frozen Foods departments as first and third bases, respectively, just to give you an idea. They weren't quite regulation, but they served well.
I started as a bagger, which to this day remains my favorite job (in a long and industrious career). I loved bagging, since you didn't have to deal with anyone's money, you got great exercise, and people loved the help. Then when I became a cashier, it stopped being quite so fun, and when I moved into the customer service desk and back office, it wasn't that much fun at all.
But during this several-years' tenure at the store, I got to know the guys on the Night Crew pretty well. These guys come in at 11 p.m. and work through the night, receiving the shipments from the truck and stocking the shelves. Everyone is assigned to an aisle, and every aisle has a different boom box playing a different classic-rock song. I remember scanning the aisles for any remaining customers before I closed up the store and cashed out the tills, and hearing the alternate blares of "baby hold on to me/whatever will be will be" and then "there is no pain, you are receding/a distant ship's smoke on the horizon" and then "go and get yourself some cheap sunglasses/oh yeah!/oh yeah!/oh yeah!" -- and so on.
The Night Crew guys were tight, and they went out to socialize some mornings after work was through. Their inverted lives puzzled me at that time, and I still don't know how third-shifters function when they are called upon to attend some normal-hours obligation like a party or a parent/teacher meeting.
The night crew guys ranged from eccentric to shady, and hit most points in between. My friend Steve was ultraconservative and wore incredibly thick glasses. He had a concealed-weapons permit. He wore suspenders all the time and always walked as if he was stepping around something. As I counted up cash at the end of the night and prepared deposits to utility companies, Pat told me about his latest laser Floyd show at the Civic Center or his plans to buy a satellite dish (the ones big as cars that you needed a big back yard for).
I moved on from my job at the store once I graduated from school, and eventually the store became part of a Super K Mart. It's probably something else now. Whenever I drive by there now, on my way home to see my mom, I always look at that corner of the building where the letters used to be. For a long time after you could see the fade marks on the concrete where they'd been.
However fond I remain of my friends in the Night Crew, I cannot recommend visiting the 24-hour CVS in "off hours" unless you absolutely HAVE TO. I was there today at 4:30 a.m., getting some supplies (Gatorade, ginger ale) for an ailing Brad, and was alarmed to hear a stock guy shouting loudly down to the end of the store: "and she wouldn't even [expletive deleted] my [expletive deleted]! Can you believe that shit? Oh, shit! Sorry about that!" (this latter as I rounded the aisle determinedly hoofing to Cough 'n Cold in 13b).
Hey, I understand, it's the middle of the night, and they're the night crew. This is their turf and I'm just here to transact business and head out on my way. But it was a reminder that we aren't in Kansas anymore.
I started as a bagger, which to this day remains my favorite job (in a long and industrious career). I loved bagging, since you didn't have to deal with anyone's money, you got great exercise, and people loved the help. Then when I became a cashier, it stopped being quite so fun, and when I moved into the customer service desk and back office, it wasn't that much fun at all.
But during this several-years' tenure at the store, I got to know the guys on the Night Crew pretty well. These guys come in at 11 p.m. and work through the night, receiving the shipments from the truck and stocking the shelves. Everyone is assigned to an aisle, and every aisle has a different boom box playing a different classic-rock song. I remember scanning the aisles for any remaining customers before I closed up the store and cashed out the tills, and hearing the alternate blares of "baby hold on to me/whatever will be will be" and then "there is no pain, you are receding/a distant ship's smoke on the horizon" and then "go and get yourself some cheap sunglasses/oh yeah!/oh yeah!/oh yeah!" -- and so on.
The Night Crew guys were tight, and they went out to socialize some mornings after work was through. Their inverted lives puzzled me at that time, and I still don't know how third-shifters function when they are called upon to attend some normal-hours obligation like a party or a parent/teacher meeting.
The night crew guys ranged from eccentric to shady, and hit most points in between. My friend Steve was ultraconservative and wore incredibly thick glasses. He had a concealed-weapons permit. He wore suspenders all the time and always walked as if he was stepping around something. As I counted up cash at the end of the night and prepared deposits to utility companies, Pat told me about his latest laser Floyd show at the Civic Center or his plans to buy a satellite dish (the ones big as cars that you needed a big back yard for).
I moved on from my job at the store once I graduated from school, and eventually the store became part of a Super K Mart. It's probably something else now. Whenever I drive by there now, on my way home to see my mom, I always look at that corner of the building where the letters used to be. For a long time after you could see the fade marks on the concrete where they'd been.
However fond I remain of my friends in the Night Crew, I cannot recommend visiting the 24-hour CVS in "off hours" unless you absolutely HAVE TO. I was there today at 4:30 a.m., getting some supplies (Gatorade, ginger ale) for an ailing Brad, and was alarmed to hear a stock guy shouting loudly down to the end of the store: "and she wouldn't even [expletive deleted] my [expletive deleted]! Can you believe that shit? Oh, shit! Sorry about that!" (this latter as I rounded the aisle determinedly hoofing to Cough 'n Cold in 13b).
Hey, I understand, it's the middle of the night, and they're the night crew. This is their turf and I'm just here to transact business and head out on my way. But it was a reminder that we aren't in Kansas anymore.
posted by expediency101 at 6:14 PM
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