Holiday Affective Disorder (part 3 of 3)

(part 2)

I.

I at first took George, the manager, to be kind of an oaf. He was heavy-set, bearded, disorganized. Came off as hyper, unfocused. Also, he hired me to work the jewelry counter: huge red flag. Some really bad judgement going on there.

So, I had him down as an oaf, but that ended up not being quite accurate. George was sharp. He was constantly gauging employee performance...offering mini-pep talks; quick words of advice he would tailor to the individual. And because his demeanor was so off-the-cuff, playful, no one ever took it the wrong way. Basically, he was an effective motivator. Acting bored out of his mind, he would roam around the store, chatting people up, working in suggestions. The "disorganized oaf" thing was shtick and he used it well.

Not that I benefited from any of it. I was a crap salesman...I saw and appreciated his technique, but never absorbed his feedback. He would offer advice...I would nod as if listening...nothing ever changed.

II.

His primary motivating tactic: once he assembled a sales team for the holiday season, he announced that a competition would be taking place. At the end of each week, he would post the sales totals for each employee. This list would go up in the break room and be ranked by success: best salesperson at the top, worst at the bottom.

Saturday would come and George would make a big production out of it. Parading through the jewelry room, waving the list above his head. "Here it goes, people! I'm putting the list up!"

Everyone would follow him to the break room, gather around, check out their ranking. Exciting! Fuck yeah! People burbled, "How did I do? How much did I make?"

I never played along. While they took in the list, I just sat in the corner, ate cheese puffs and waited.

George would say, "M! Don't you want to see?"

"Am I last again?"

"Yes."

"Then no, George. I don't want to see."

Not exaggerating, I was dead last every time. I suspected as much, but the list provided confirmation: I was quantifiably the worst salesperson on the team. Possibly the worst salesman ever.

When I started on the counter, I had been disinterested in the work, but the list made me feel kind of guilty. George had gone out of his way to put me on the team...and it didn't feel good to consistently generate such poor numbers.

On the other hand: that's precisely why he put the list up, to elicit self-motivating responses like guilt, so I had no problem ignoring it. I didn't want to be there...wasn't going to waste time feeling guilty.

III.

Still, it reinforced the strangeness of being picked for the jewelry counter. George seemed to be all about sales, understandably. I couldn't figure out how I fit in with his system.

One day I decided to ask him about it. I assumed that my sales numbers were disappointing and I wanted to sound him out on that.

We were in the break room, eating cheese puffs. I said, "George, the list...this is the fourth straight week that I've been the worst salesperson."

"Bah, forget the list. You're doing fine."

"No. I'm doing terrible. I'm mean, there's the list...I'm at the bottom. I just feel bad that you put me here and I'm not really delivering."

"You're great! You're my guy."

"I just mention it because, if you wanted me to go back to the toy section, that would be okay. You could bring someone in who might generate a little more money."

He laughed and said, "I love it. See what you're doing right there?"

"No."

"You're trying to get off the jewelry counter."

"Kind of."

"It's music to my ears! When you interviewed and said you weren't interested in working jewelry...I was dead set on putting you on the team. It's higher pay, it's more money...everyone asks to work jewelry. Every single person. You were the one guy to come along and say, 'Nope! Toy section for me.' Love it."

I think it over and say, "I guess that would make sense to me if I were doing okay. But it's pretty clear now that I'm not good at this. At all. George, I'm terrible."

"No, no. You're missing the point. I'm not valuing your sales ability. I'm valuing your honesty. I'm valuing...immensely!...the fact that you could care less about jewelry. You can't even imagine how huge that is."

"No," I say. "I guess I don't understand that."

"Let me ask you this. See if you can guess. What do you think causes the biggest loss of revenue for the jewelry industry? If you're a manager, what's enemy #1?"

I think about it, say, "I don't know."

"Employee theft. By far. It's the dirty secret of the industry...and it's a wide open secret. The merchandise is just to small to protect. Too easy to conceal. Cameras, sensors...a joke and everybody knows it. Only real protection: hire honest people. Don't get me wrong, love my top sellers. Love 'em. But when someone comes along with no interest in jewelry...it's, like, beam of light, angels singing...those are my people."

"Ugh. So you're saying that I'm stuck on the jewelry counter."

"You are indeed, sir. Pay no attention to the list."

I feel half flattered, half defeated. I'm flatfeated. Deflattered.

He wanders out, goes back to roaming the store, mingling and chatting. I go back to the watch-band section where I stand and sell very little.

IV.

The only good part of the job: a particular co-worker. She was cute. We would talk in passing and I would think to myself, "She's nice! I like her. I should stand taller. Why does my posture have to suck?"

She would walk into the break room; my heart would beat faster; I would stumble through conversation topics, desperately trying to do or say something that might seem interesting.

It was a textbook flirtation for that time. At work, or at college, I often wanted to flirt, but could not figure out the mechanics. I lack true non-verbal communication...and cannot perceive it in others. So I would feel interest in women, but get absolutely nowhere. I would rely on small-talk scripts...use the all-purpose gestures I had learned for basic social situations...but I was unable to work in the additional steps required for flirting. I would just talk, listen...lost in my artificial social mechanics...and think, "Is this flirting? Is something happening? Anything?"

Flirting for the mind-blind: it's like flying on autopilot in a plane with no windows. Usually with the same result.

She and I would cross paths in the break room, talk. Nothing would happen. She would resume working. I would resume my disinterest in feigned normalcy.

IV.

So, that's it.

Salesman M.

The holidays, 1996.

Customers: some beamed, some slumped, most went into debt. Salespeople chatted and sold and competed. I blinked in the lights and thought about my favorite Proust quote.

"The death of oneself is neither impossible nor extraordinary; it is effected without our knowledge, even against our will, every day of our lives."

Proust. Appropriate for every setting. Christmasey even.