Kroger Confidential

"I'm headed for bigger and better things.”

A phrase I repeated ad nauseam to myself every time a customer yelled at me because the grapes were priced wrong. Soon enough I'll be off to college, discussing Marx and Du Bois, well beyond the scent of old fruit and industrial cleaners. No cleaning schedules to make, no white washed renditions of Marvin Gaye songs blaring over the loud speakers, most importantly no Kroger.
These thoughts swam around my brain whenever I was face down in a crumpled newspaper, eagerly awaiting the beep of the microwave in the break room. The spastic air conditioner would hack and cough, drowning my exhausted body in a swell of mechanical desperation. I could identify with that machine, it kept going, but lord how it needed a break.

"Are you aware that Kroger makes products to compete with most national brands? You owe it to yourself to try Kroger brand items..."

The loudspeaker would wake me from my dozing; you'd think you would become used to the announcements after a while. As if they'd become white noise, like crickets or late night traffic, but what good would they be if you could ignore them? That voice, a sickly sweet mixture of genuine interest and concern. Somewhere there existed a woman truly excited that Kroger brand Pasta Sauce had real Italian flavor, just like the national brand. This woman was so proud of her discovery that she took it upon herself to inform every customer in the store over the loud speaker. I always wondered if these advertisements ever convinced anyone to put down their jar of Ragu in order to grab Kroger brand Tomato flavored Sauce (now with mushrooms!!!).

30 minutes. Enough time for the numbness in your feet to wear off so you can feel pain again. I only got a lunch those days. There was never anyone to give supervisors breaks, so I had to wait for a lull in the waves of customers, shove my keys into the hand of the least incompetent cashier and run off before someone could stop me with a problem. There was no guarantee I wasn't going to be called back to scan alcohol for someone, or to make a money exchange, but at least if I made it to the back of the store before that happened I could vocalize my indignation with some justification.

There was a process to taking a break at this store. You learn it when you’re a bagger, usually within your first week after you've shaken off the horrific memories of company training videos. First you head to the front end time clock and press a bunch of buttons. Just make it look like you’re clocking out, no point in giving your self less time if you don't have to. If a manager comes by, your shit outta luck, but the managers wouldn't dare come down to the front end unless they had a good reason, like a regional manager showed up, or they were about to take an obscenely long lunch. The second step is to scramble around the store to find something to eat. It's kind of painful to give money back to the store that is working you to death, but it's just so damn convenient. Finally you head back to the break room, clock out, sit down, and entertain fantasies about the wonderful jobs at Foot Locker or Applebee's you'll get once you finally work up the nerve to quit.

I often made the mistake of trying to take book into the break room with me. I'd
finish eating my over priced Kroger Cheese filled Hot Pouch and try desperately to make it through the same two pages of East of Eden for 20 minutes.

"What you readin?"

"East of Eden"

"Oh, is it good?"

"I don't know yet"

"Who's it by?"

".......Steinbeck"

"Oh I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt"

"It's cool; I'm just trying to finish this chapter before I have to go back...."

"Oh ok"

.................

"You know...."

At this point I'd insert a book mark to hold my place and hope for the best later that day.

"What?"

"I like to read to..."

"You don't say...."

"You ever read anything by Zane"

"I can't say that I have"

"You should, it's good"

"....."

"Oh, well I've got to go back now, see you in a bit".

I used to try and resume reading after these conversations ended, but what was the point. Before I even resumed my place someone else would suggest I read Eric Jerome Dickey, or ask me what I thought about the Titans, or any number of things I found only slightly more interesting than going back to work.

I don't blame them though, they weren't trying to bother me, they were trying to hold on to the last strains of humanity that Kroger afforded them. I just wish they could have found a way to do so that didn't involve me. Before I knew it, my time would be whittled down to a meager 2 minutes, the point at which the overwhelming sense of dread and doom consumed the average worker. It was this terror that could only be felt in the pit of the stomach, twisting and knotting its self around the soul, obliterating all memories of joy and self worth. It was time to resume life amongst the horde; it was time to face the locusts.

"Yes mam, you can make exchanges at customer service.....No sir rain checks can not be used on multiple orders....Kalisha the code is 4011....I apologize miss I'll have someone help you out to your car immediately...Well sir we are having a sale, most items on sale will be running low by this time of day...Sir, I don't control what they do at other Krogers, at this one rain checks are void after their first use....I'll have someone check in the back....Why isn't Jeremy getting carts? Well who is getting carts? Why is she getting carts? She has carts at 8 not 7. You can't just switch cart times without telling me No, don't leave I'll get Jeremy.....Sir, I can get you a manger if you want, but he'll tell you what I'm telling you, the rain check issue isn't negotiable....Why isn't Dana at her register? You don't think that's something you should have told me?....No you can't take your break, you've were outside for ten minutes talking instead of getting carts, I'm pushing your break back until 7:45. The hell I can't. Ok, go ahead and quit it isn't like you do a whole lot of work anyway....WHERE IS DANA DAMN IT?"

9 hours most days (up to 15 some days), over 40 hours a week of bickering and pettiness, and swollen feet, and bloodshot eyes. For Under 300 dollars a week. I know I worked harder than 300 dollars a week. I know because I wasn't really a supervisor...I was a janitor, a baby sitter, a secretary, a customer service rep, a mediator and a counselor, and an accountant.

But every week I'd rip open my check and feel a flood of mixed emotions. Happy I wasn't making minimum wage anymore, upset I received such ridiculous compensation for smiling at customers while they spewed flecks of spit on my face as they complained about having to wait 2 extra minutes for a propane exchange. My only consolation was that I was somewhat lucky; some of my fellow employees had to raise a family on less.

By 10 it would be quiet, only a few customers remained walking down the bare aisles picked clean like a carcass. The store usually played better music at night, because god forbid the daytime customers be exposed to the hyper sexualized and offensive lyrics of Earth Wind and Fire and Bobby Caldwell. Usually by this time I'd set about my task of counting down the registers, filling the change machines up and preparing the store for the night shift. It was always a relief when I could lock myself in the safe room, blast Illmatic at concert level decibels, and count money in piece.

Thousands would sit before me, all neatly packaged in bundles of large and small denominations. The store took in more money in one day than I'd make all year. And it all went to paying for the red and ash gray shirts I had to wear, the spill magic cleaner that resembled blue asbestos, and mostly in to the pocket of some big wig executive that I'd never meet unless he needed a photo op with a Black employee.

If I focused I could get out before midnight, usually minutes before my ride called it quits and left without me. As I walked out the night shift walked in, fresh and ready to make the store ready for customers in the morning.

"Hey Manuel..."

"Hey Aaron...u look tired man"

"Yeah, I'm so sick of this place...today was a bitch. The Customers were
relentless; it was like a zombie movie."

"If there were no customers we'd both be unemployed."

"Been reading the employee info posters again?"

"When do you leave?"

"September, my last day is the 3rd."

"Good luck man, study hard."

"Yeah, I don't plan on coming back here."

"It aint so bad, I mean it’s helping to pay for my tuition."

"You started school again?"

"Of course man, I'm moving on to bigger and better things."