Help needed in grocery department…never mind.

I’m a Customer Service Specialist where I work.  That’s ironic, because I never talk to customers.  Instead I just geek away on the computer and fix stuff that I find to be broken, or that someone else sends me a message telling me that it is broken. No face to face.

Today a met a woman who should seek a job like mine.  Problem is she has a blue shirt, a name tag and a walkie-talkie.  These are symbols of import at Walmart. She actually does provide customer service. Well, that’s the idea anyway.

I was there in pursuit of my favorite flavored water beverage. It’s calorie free (I need all the help I can get) and comes in a variety of flavors with light carbonation. I don’t just go and by five or six bottles, I usually stroll out with a minimum of 100 bottles, or as many as will fit into the cart. I prefer to get them in the shrink wrap and cardboard to make them easy to carry to the depths of the basement where I fill my shelves.

Today there were  no wrapped bottles on the shelf. It’s one of those big industrial shelves that’s about six feet deep.  Lots of loose bottles scattered around, flavors all mixed together.  I didn’t relish the thought of crawling (literally) up on the shelf to get what I wanted.

Instead I approached…”Betty.” Yup, let’s call her Betty.

“Hi, can you help me locate some product?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe.” (Not a good start there if you’re keeping score at home)

“I need a bunch of beverages, hopefully still in the box. They’re right over here.”

We then walked the 20 feet to the display.  Or, should I say I walked the 20 feet, she hung back like I was trying to lure her into a car with the promise of candy and a puppy. She finally came close enough to the shelving that I could tell here what I wanted.

“I’d like to get a bunch of cases of this water. Any flavor will do, but I’d specifically like a few flavors that I don’t see here.”

Betty looked like someone had just tasered her without notice. “I haven’t seen those in months and I don’t know where to even look.”

She said it with such an air of finality I was tempted to thank her and walk away, or flop down on the floor and create a scene with a faked seizure just to see if her facial muscles actually worked.

“I’m sure you have them, I bought them here a few months ago and just ran out. They helped me out then, so I’m guessing you still carry the brand.”

It was sitting right there on the shelves, cardboard boxes broken down under the bottles.  Pretty obvious they had it, it was four feet away and on display.

“No, I wouldn’t even know where to look. Sorry.” And she didn’t flinch, not a muscle moved, nothing. I started looking around for a camera crew to come rushing down the aisle. It had to be a joke.

I thanked her for her time and left the store.  Sorry West Saint Paul Walmart, that business goes elsewhere.  You may want to work with Betty when she comes out of that coma. You’ve already spent the money on the shirt and name badge, why not get some work out of her!

It happens a couple of times a year.

I was gnawing on a stale piece of red licorice last night when the thought occured to me, “I should call Dad, he’d get a kick out of me eating stale licorice.”  Dad loved licorice.

Dad’s been gone for several years now.  I guess I can skip the call, he was looking down and caught it.  But it’s still strange to have that go through your head after these many years.

Guess I’ll miss him until I catch up to him.

The Joooos!

OK, let’s get this on the table right now and then you can decide to read the rest of this or go do something else:  I stand by Israel. I like the Jewish people. I’d shed my blood for them if it came down to it. I hate anti-Semites and their little nasty minds.

Uh-oh, he hates Arabs and Iranians. Nope, got nothing against Arabs or Iranians. Nothing against the average Muslim on the street.  Been to their homes, lurked in their lands, wouldn’t mind living in a few places in the Middle East/North Africa. Can’t stand Islamic supremacists, can’t stand Sharia Law, love Hummus.  Go figure. One of my Arab friends once said, “you are an Arab in your heart.” He meant that in the best of ways.  I have always been honored that he felt that way. Nothing finer than Bedouin hospitality and honor. Continue reading

A STATE FUNERAL

I wrote this last fall and sent it off to Proceedings. Got my first real rejection letter yesterday! I’m told I’d best get used to them in the future.
I hadn’t published this until my fate with the magazine was determined, but since I’m not going to submit it elsewhere I didn’t want to delay any further on posting it on the blog.

Every day one of our brothers falls overseas. It was just 25 years ago this week that Ranger 12 crashed and I lost two classmates. For those of you who haven’t been in the military it’s hard to describe the feelings that brings out. My friends still choke up talking about it all these years later. The whole crew of that aircraft were lost, including Pat Price and Craig Rudolph. Both fine men. Both my comrades. Pat has a gymnasium named after him at the Defense Language Institute. It’s a nice gesture, but I’d rather see his post on Facebook about his new grandchildren. Craig doesn’t have a memorial yet. Except in our hearts.

Nicholas Spehar was one of the S.E.A.L. operators that died in Afghanistan last fall. I didn’t know him, but he’s my brother. We both wore Crackerjacks. This article is in tribute to him and the men that died in that CH-47 crash. It’s a tribute to all the fallen in every war and the peacetime incidents that train us to be ready for war.

A STATE FUNERAL

By

Joseph R. Courtemanche Continue reading