07 August 2012

Evangelists: A Reader's Request (Pt 1)

Day One.

"Isaac!"

I cringed. The earpiece I had been issued only two weeks before all this happened was on the verge of melting. So many loud, high-frequency sounds had been pouring through the speaker that my ears threatened to go on strike. I raised the hanging mic piece to my mouth.

"Yes?" I replied tentatively.

"Did you sign into your task?" Sophie's voice was a high pitched whine that she sent forth with impressive volume in order, I think, to make up for her diminutive stature. I sighed, replied to the negative effect and made my way to the front office. On a desktop, I typed in my password and selected an item on the screen. A timer started, allotting me fifteen minutes to complete a task I'd finished hours ago. I sighed again.

This was my third stint at Vallenmarkt, a Dutch retailer that had all but taken over the world at that time. The first time, I'd left to venture into the far reaches of Africa. I somehow thought that, upon my return, my life would "take off". I'd find work that I loved doing and never darken the doorway of  the place again. When that didn't happen, when I ended up there as a temporary bike builder for the Christmas rush, I felt as though I must not have learned much in Africa. When I had to apply a third time, I was bitter. 

I suppose, in a life as unmarred by tragedy as mine was then, a person has to look for things to be unhappy about.

Stepping out of the office, I made my way to the front aisle, where my cashiers were unloading a pallet of candy and knick-knacks into carts for distribution among the registers. These four girls had proven the easiest part of my transfer to the graveyard shift. Though the daytime Customer Care Supervisors had warned me against befriending the nighttime cashiers, it was the overnight managers and stocking crew I'd had problems with. A culture of mutual inconsideration seemed to pervade the place after the sun had set.

As the supervisor over these cashiers, I was able to create my own culture at the front end of the store, one separate and antithetical to that of the sales floor. I referred to each of them as "Miss" and made a point of using phrases obscure to the night shift, like "Please", "Thank you" and "Excellent work". These efforts seemed to have an immediate effect. The reports I heard from my predecessor were nothing like what I experienced among my workers.

One of the girls, a twenty-something named Linda, approached me with her phone in hand. During the day, rules against using a cell phone while at work were strictly enforced. Overnight, most supervisors let it slide unless there were customers nearby or it started affecting work. Laughing to herself, Linda showed me a picture she had found on the internet. Two puppies were at play; one of them had the other's snout in his mouth. A caption read "Bath salts". I chuckled, remembering the recent news frenzy surrounding an attack in Miami.  



A man, naked and in a fit, had attacked a transient, biting at his face. When police gave the man a warning shot, he didn't even pause in his attack. The crazed cannibal had to be shot more than six times - to death - in order to save the victim's life. Officers familiar with cases like that one had blamed an amphetamine-based drug that bore the street handle "bath salts". Those of the zombie-apocalypse persuasion took the event as a sign to stock up on shotgun ammo and canned ravioli.




"You know what's crazy about that?" I mentioned, "The toxicology report came back; and the guy didn't have  any bath salts in him."

Linda's amused expression dimmed.

"Really?" she asked.

"Yeah. I read an article that said that the only drug in him was marijuana. I guess there's no knowing what happened to make him attack like that."

Linda looked troubled for a moment; then her face brightened again. This time, the brightness didn't reach her eyes. I began to ask her if she was okay; but my ear nearly exploded with Sophie's voice.

"Isaac! Call me at one-nine-oh!"

Heading back into the office, I picked up the phone and dialed. Before the first ring had ended, I found myself receiving a verbal lashing for forgetting to sign into my tasks on time, a nightly ritual which I had yet to see the point of. I apologised nonetheless and spent a few minutes reading my work email while I licked my wounds.

I checked on each of the cashiers, seeing how the work was progressing; then I started rotating through their breaks. It was just past midnight.

Day Two.

"Zoning" is Vallenmarkt's name for what every other retailer I'd ever encountered called "facing". This was the process of lining up and straightening all the products in an area to face forward and sit on the edge of the shelf. With candy and impulse-buy products, this task felt especially tedious. Every night, after the day's merchandise had been distributed among the registers, we went back to the beginning and zoned the whole mess.

Thinking back to then, to before the world fell to pieces and what I called my prison became my fortress, I guess zoning wasn't such a taxing job. The life I lived afterward could've handle a dose of something so simple and monotonous, something so neat and together as a well-arranged aisle of candy bars.

It was half past one; and I'd seen no sign of Linda- the last cashier I'd sent to break. Because I found it best to lead by example, I tried to let my cashiers go to break before I do. Sometimes, the clock just didn't allow for that; but they seemed to appreciate the effort and emulate the attitude. 

It was getting uncomfortably close to the time to start rotating lunch breaks; and I needed Linda around to help me finish zoning, distribute shopping bags and serve customers. I paged for her, using the PA system at the fitting room. Another five minutes passed; and I decided to start lunches anyway. 

"Miss Beth," I called, "why don't you head to lunch?"

Beth, an older lady with a bit of a smart-alec streak to her, loudly declined and threatened violence if I tried to make her.

"Fine." I adopted an east-coast accent, "Turn in your badge and your weapon! I don't want to see you anywhere near this investigation! Go home; I'll call you when I wanna' see you again!"

We all laughed as she set a box in her cart and made her way toward the lunch room.

The clock had just passed 2am when the sirens started. One by one, the howling sounds built on  each other until the whole air seemed full of the noise. I don't know if there had been sirens going around before then that had escaped our notice, or if these were the first sign of what was coming. I do know that there was no ignoring these. The three of us along the registers paused in our work to listen.

I turned to Kristy, who was manning register 16, where we keep our tobacco. She had pulled out her phone; and whatever she saw on its screen alarmed her. I opened my mouth to ask her what was going on when I heard an angry shriek from the rear end of the store.  Katie looked in the direction of the sound and her face turned pale. Footsteps echoed at the pace of a full-on sprint. I wondered if we were about to encounter a shoplifter. I took a few steps toward the sound. 

Looking back toward Kristy, I found the register empty. Surveying the aisle along the front wall of the store, I could see her running hard and fast for the door. "What is going on tonight?" I asked myself.

The footsteps from the back got closer. I turned to face the sprinter and found myself face-to-face with Beth, who lunged at me with a ferocity I've only ever encountered in sports fans.

I never told you this; but I once worked for an organisation that provided full-time care to people with disabilities. One of the things I learned during the training course was a technique called "redirection". This used the energy of an attack to move the attacker away without injuring either party. I redirected Beth.

She seemed disoriented for a moment, as though wondering where I'd gone off to. Taking my cue from Kristy's hurried escape, I made a break for the men's room.

Locking myself in a stall, I sat on the toilet and lifted my legs to keep my presence unknown. Feeling a buzz in my pocket. I remembered that I had a phone of my own and that it might reveal to me whatever Kristy had seen. I pulled my phone out and found a number of messages and missed calls.


From the best man I know:

 


Within five minutes of entering that stall, I found that I was what was left of my family and friends. I learned that most of the country - if not the world -  was full of assailants like Mister Bath Salts from Miami. I found that no one in my contacts list could be reached. I learned that things had taken a very ill turn since I'd started my shift. I learned that Beth was not feeling much like herself at all; and that there was no helping her without dying.

In the men's room at Vallenmarkt, a certain handle on the wall, meant to be used by handicapped customers or those too heavy to lift themselves off the toilet without help, had been loose for years. For some reason, none of our maintenance personnel had gotten around to to repairing it. I had often thought of tearing the thing out of the wall, but feared I'd be accused of vandalism. On this night, vandalism was the least of my concerns.

When I emerged from the restroom, Beth was gnawing on a lifeless body, likely that of  Shelby, the last of my cashiers, at the register directly ahead of me. When she saw me approaching, her eyes filled up with that unspeakable rage all over again; and I imagine the expression in my eyes was about the same.

To be continued....

-isaac

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