This week we're putting that to the test by writing about what the other person does for a living. Stay tuned after each take to see how we each respond to how much our partner knows about our jobs.
His Take:
Let me give you some life advice that you didn’t ask for. Try to not second-guess yourself. I mean it. As little as possible. Go with your gut and if you’re wrong, hey, everybody makes mistakes. Keep that in mind when you read this weeks article because when I suggested this topic, I was 1000% certain of what my good buddy does for a living, but as I sat down to write this, I thought “wait. Am I right on this? Does she maybe do this other thing instead?”. So, I’m pretty sure, but here goes
The lovely lady that I share this space with has one of the coolest jobs that you can have. She also HAD the coolest job that you could have. In fact, 30 years ago she had the coolest job you could have. Anyway, let’s talk about the one before this one for a second, then we’ll get to the heart of the matter.
So, right before her current job, her job included throwing parties for a living. She had other duties, of course, but she was responsible for putting together events at the credit union where she works. These included events ran the gambit: member appreciation days, giveaways, appearences, pretty much anything a credit union would take part in. I used to have to do the same thing (in a different industry) and let me assure you, this is NOT easy to pull off. Not only do you have to prepare everything, get everything to one place, make sure everything runs smoothly, be ready for anything and everything to go wrong, put out fires, and let’s not forget you have to get people to actually show up. Which takes us to our next chapter.
Currently, Sue’s multitasking (both kicking ass AND taking names) at her new position, HBIC of marketing for the firm of...Central, City, Credit, & Union. Damn! I don’t know the titles and the companies, but she’s a marketing wizard. Can I brag on her for just a second? So, she did SO good at the marketing aspect of her last position, that they CREATED A NEW FREAKIN’ COMPANY for her to work at. What the hell?!??!?!?! When was the last time you heard “Oh, Tammy did a really good job babysitting, so we’re having another child so that she can babysit them!” I mean, does that EVER happen? Okay so, she works in marketing which is like the most awesome thing. She goes to work and guess what tools she uses to get her job done? Her brain and her imagination. That’s pretty much it. So, someone calls her up and says “Hi! I’m opening a museum of all my ex-girlfriends. They’ll all be on display in big glass jars. Can you help me get the word out?” And she’d be like “No. Get out.” Alright, bad example, but let’s say you’re opening a new dress shop. This incredibly talented gal sets up a few different ideas for you to choose from, then from there develops programs to use your store’s branding to advertise in different mediums, mostly in whichever one is going to hit most of your target audience. And maybe, she’ll develop a radio, print or television ad for you as well. So basically she’s the woman who’s going to write the next “Where’s the beef?” or “I’m lovin’ it” or “Charlie Murphy’s cookin’ Johnsonville Braaaaaats”! Shit, she might even teach the world to sing in perfect harmony, and then buy them a Coke!!! Bottom line: She brings home the bacon and fries it up in a pan.
Her Response:
Oh, wow. Just wow. He gives me SO MUCH more credit than I really deserve in ALMOST every way.
Yes, I work in Marketing. Yes, I did handle special events and (just before my heart exploded) handed that off to someone new in our department. And, ok, yes, some of the stuff I do now is something like he's saying, but it's all about our team. I work with an amazingly talented team that includes, hands down, the best graphic designer ever (and I don't just say that because he's my boss), an audio/video guy who is both so talented and a great partner,/friend and the lucky girl who took over events (among so many other things) and basically saved my life.
None of that really good stuff happens alone.
But, you know, it's cool to know that your friend thinks this highly of you.
Her Take:
My life advice to you this week is to find friends who have great ideas, like my co-blogger.
He was, after all, the one who decided that we should take the lawn ornaments from our friend’s house and switch them with the pink flamingos from his ex-girlfriend’s house in the middle of the night when we were 16 or 17.
Now, sure, Danny’s mom was nearly apoplectic until we confessed and reassured her that we’d undo it, and OF COURSE I was one year older and slightly more likely to go to adult jail than him because he was younger, but look, I’m still laughing about it. It was a great idea.
So get yourself a guy (or gal) like that ASAP.
This week, he had another great idea: that we should write about each other’s jobs. I think we’ve talked about work enough by now that we could actually Freaky Friday, take each other’s jobs, and do just fine. Well, except for me taking the L into downtown Chicago. The only way that part of the story ends is with me riding in endless loops and making a homeless person my new best friend because I don’t know where or how to get off the train. That’s assuming I get on the train in the first place.
BUT THAT ASIDE, I’ve got this. Here’s what a day at the Comic Store looks like:
There’s a very special silence that you only experience in a locked store before it opens. It’s almost as if the real world can’t leak into the space as long as the deadbolt on the door is locked. I step into that silence from the busy sidewalk, lock the door behind me, and take one deep breath to savor it. In a minute I’ll have too much to do to feel this calm, so I need to take it in and hope this feeling holds me over until my shift is done. The store hangs with shadows and the smell of newsprint is heavy in the overnight air. Soon the fluorescent lights will make the store almost unbearably bright and the scent of food, sweat, and life will invade the store again.
I flip on the lights and make my way through the stockroom toward the sales floor. There’s a part of me dreading what I’ll find behind the counter. If there’s something I need to know, usually bad news, there will be a note set neatly next to the cash register, and I crane my neck to try to see before I get there, even though I know the register will block my view.
Around behind the glass case filled with the kind of classic and cool toys and books that we want to keep away from sticky hands, up to the formica counter where the cash register squats, and with one corner just tucked under the credit card machine, is a note.
“Chelsie went home early last night, something going on with her boyfriend, don’t be surprised if she doesn’t show up today. Call Kevin if that happens, he said he’d come in.”
Ok, bad news, but not too bad. At least I know. I hate it when the part time employees just don’t show up. Don’t get me wrong, they’re good kids, they just get wrapped up in their own drama and forget that if the closer doesn’t show up, the opener has to cover their shift. They don’t know it’s inconsiderate, that’s all.
A few minutes later I open the door, and the day at the Comic Store really starts. It’s a lot of the same thing: Say ‘Hi’ as someone walks in the door, answer questions, help them find something, check them out, and start over with the next person. Let me tell you about the best and worst parts of my day, ok?
The Worst Part:
Two kids, maybe 14 years old come in, and one kid has a backpack. As they cruise by the counter I say “Hey guys, let me keep that backpack here at the counter for you, ok?”. They ignore me. “Hey! Kid! You’ve gotta leave your backpack at the counter. Store rules!” I half-yell.
This time Backpack hears me and turns with a sneer on his face. Punk.
“That’s stupid!”, he says, “Who the hell ever heard-a that?”
“Look, buddy, I don’t care if you think it’s stupid, it’s what we do and you’ve gotta follow the rules if you want to stay in the store.”
His friend is standing there, mouth open, probably trying to think of a smartass comment so he can get in on the story they’re going to tell the rest of their friends later. Backpack struggles with the straps of his bag and, as he’s throwing it at me, he grumbles, “I’m not your frickin’ Buddy.”
In another part of the store, a dad is shopping with his little guy who’s maybe 7 or 8 years old. The dad has a baby asleep in a carrier strapped across his chest and a diaper bag slung across his shoulder.
As the two angry kids stomp down their aisle, he reaches to grab his son’s shoulder and pull him into the next aisle, watching them closely.
Backpack eyes the diaper bag and turns to shout at me.
“Hey! BUDDY! This asshat has a bag! Why the hell didn’t you confiscate HIS BAG?”
I hook one strap of the backpack with my index finger and charge out from behind the counter.
“Ok, we’re done.”, I say as I’m barreling down the aisle toward Backpack and his friend, “You’re leaving NOW.”
As I move toward them, I can see the nasty smirks on their faces start to melt. I know I can’t touch these kids, no matter how badly I want to crack their skulls together right now, and I’m not even a fighter. The other thing I know, though, is that when I make an angry face and launch myself at kids half my size, it’s enough to make them pee a little. That’s the reaction I need right now.
I’m down the aisle in 6 or 7 quick steps, stop just close enough to the punks to make them flinch, and drop the bag at Backpacks feet. He doesn’t know what to do. He’s still staring at me, mouth open, looking like a scared little kid.
“Well? Pick that up and get out.”
Backpack scrambles for the strap of his bag and clearly has to get too close to me for his own liking because he reaches with just the tips of his fingers and almost loses it. Once he has it, they both turn and bolt toward the door. It’s not until they’re safely through and the door is closing that I hear the other kid shout back at me.
“Asshole!!”
I take a few deep breaths and remind myself that I’m a store manager and I can’t swear back at a 14 year-old-kid. It’s an occupational limitation.
With the worst part over, I make eye contact over the shelves at the dad with his kids in the next aisle.
“I’m very sorry you guys had to see and … um… hear that. That’s not the kind of place we run here.”
My face is hot as my anger turns into embarrassment. Dad’s eyebrows in a what-are-you-gonna-do look, he laughs a little awkwardly, and goes back to watching his son try to pick out a comic.
I walk around to join them in their aisle and see how I can help. Little Dude is looking from Spiderman comic to Spiderman comic and back again. It would be easy to underestimate the sheer number of different Spiderman titles we have, almost as easy as underestimating how hard it would be for a 7 year-old to choose one.
Dad has the hard-worn look of a guy who thought this was going to be an amazing memory to share with his son only to have that dream unravel along with his patience.
I kneel down to get eye-to-eye with Little Dude and can see that even he’s starting to panic just a little bit. It’s time for me to do what I do best.
“Hey man,” I say, reaching out my hand to shake his, “What’s your name?”
Little Dude almost looks me straight in the eye and says, “Charlie.”
“That’s a cool name, Charlie. Do you like Spiderman?”
“Uh-huh…”, he says. His eyes look bewildered and a little teary.
I pluck a comic from near the back of the lower shelf and show him.
“This is a great Spiderman book. It’s one of my favorites.”
His eyes widen and he regards me seriously.
“Is there a lots of web-swingin’ in it?”
I return his gaze and respond just as seriously, “So much web-swingin’, Charlie.”
I hand him the comic. He smiles and turns to his dad. “I want this one because it has SO MUCH web-swingin’!”
That’s the best part of my job.
His Response:
Both the good and bad news? I have actually had those two things happen to me. Not word for word, but pretty close. Fortunately, the good far outweighs the bad. Helping someone-of any age-discover comics is one of the most rewarding things I’ve ever done in my life. Seeing a kid turn into a life-long fan, helping someone find a comic that they’ve been looking for for 20 years, those are all amazing perks of the job. Selling comics may not have the prestige that comes with boardrooms or corner offices, but at the end of the day, I guarantee the smile on my face is bigger than people who work in those places.
Comments
Post a Comment