It was a usually slow evening at the store where I was working. I was sitting on my stool looking out at the rest of Meijer. I should have been cobbling, a pair of half soles and sew a purse, but I was staring at all the families, children, and teens walking in and out of Meijer, and taking care of their returns at Guest Services. I wanted to be in a dance club or out with friends at the time. Cobbling was the last thing on my mind.
I hadn't had a customer enter my store in almost twenty minutes, when a seventy-something man strolled in.
"How may I help you?" I asked, as I do with all my customers.
"How much do you charge to make keys?" he asked. I detected a slight Yiddish accent.
"A dollar ninety-nine for single cut keys and two forty-nine for double cut."
His head moved back in surprise. "Really!?" A flap of skin hanging down from his chin shook as he spoke, resembling a turkey. "People actually pay that?" He stopped to think for a moment. "How long have you been working here?" he queried.
"Oh, about three months now."
"I worked for your company many years ago," he said. "I remember when they were forty-nine cents each. I guess people come by and think, 'Well, I might as well get it while I'm here. Save myself a trip from driving across town to save a few cents.' After they get across town, they wind up spending a few dollars on gas and wear and tear on their cars anyway."
"Yep." The conversation really didn't interest me, but I felt it was my job to be polite. I smiled.
"So you've been here for three months? I used to work with the original Pell of Pell's Shoe Service."
"Yeah? Paul Pell?" I asked. I really didn't care, but I knew that old people love to be nostalgic.
"Well, Tim Pell. Paul Pell was his brother. Tim Pell was the great cobbler. He was totally opposed to starting the chain of stores, but Paul went through with it anyway. They were doing really well for a long time, but now the company is going under. It seems like every time that I come in here there is someone new working here. They must have a high turnover rate." He turned his head to look at the "Help Wanted" sign, when I noticed the thick fur growing out from his ear. It was gray, while his mustache and balding head displayed white hair.
"Yeah, a lot of the people they higher have drug problem and criminal records," I explained with a smile.
He smiled and shook his head in a disapproving manner. His eyes wandered for a few seconds before falling onto a shoeshine box on top of a stack of boxes filled with waterproofing spray. It was a small, brown wooden box with a handle on top and filled with different colored shoe polishes, brushes, and cleaners. He stepped away from the counter to examine the box when I noticed his bulky waistline covered with light khakis and a thick black belt. His hands clumsily moved over the box, feeling it. His hands bore youthful black hair that defied the maturity of the hair on his head and face.
"How much is this box?" he asked.
"Nineteen ninety-five for just the box. All the contents are extra," I replied.
"A person thinks they're getting all of it for nineteen ninety-five." He pointed down to the sign.
"Well, they get fifty percent off all other shoe shine products." I was failing at justifying the price and misleading display.
"They really shouldn't display it like this. It's really misleading. You can't win over customers by having a display that sells something and then telling them that their only getting the box." He walked back to the counter.
"You know, I'm in sales," he continued. "You know what I'm selling? He pulled out from his shirt pocket under his lightweight jacket a red and white candy-cane shaped pen. "I'm trying to get Meijer to market them. Here. Write with it and smell it. Tell me what it smells like."
I searched around for something to write on and finally scribbled on an old claim ticket. I sniffed it, but could detect a smell that was only slightly different from ink.
"If you can't smell it, there's something wrong with your nose."
I smelled it again to no avail.
"Peppermint. Really popular at Christmas time," he said. He stepped back to get a panoramic view of the store. "This store isn't what it used to be. What's your name again?"
I hadn't told him my name to begin with. "David."
"Nice talking with you, David," he said and started to meander his way out of the store.
"Nice talking with you too. Have a great day."
I sat back on my stool and recommenced my activity of watching the Meijer customers.
