Another Hard Luck Story.

Over the weekend we went to the Anderson’s. It is a privately owned supermarket. They sell hardware, groceries, clothing, furniture, almost everything. More accurately, they sold almost everything. The company is closing its retail stores. The losses were too significant to overcome. It is one of those decisions that make sense, and may be unavoidable, but are still difficult to understand. A decision that cuts a swath through families, and communities.

If you have never lost a job because the decision was made to close you can’t really understand the pain. Unless you have lived through the announcement that your job was being eliminated by a vote of the shareholders, you don’t really understand the hopelessness, the lonely sense of desperation, the overpowering sense of impotence, uselessness.

I always feel a little like a carrion bird going through the bargains. A ghoul, wandering long graveyard aisles filled with the misery of people whose lives have been changed, prowling for a little discount at the expense of a poor family learning to adapt to one less paycheck. I can feel the weight of the ghosts shuffling aimlessly around me.

 

A lot of stuff had already been sold. Empty shelves stood silent and lifeless. I hurried past them. It was no place to be, nothing to see, but if you looked the emptiness told so many stories, all different, all ending the same, an empty shelf, in a store that was soon to empty, and the crowded bustle of shoppers who had given it life for so many years.

We found some things, but, it was bittersweet. Making it worse, the staff was so polite, helpful, courteous, almost cheerful. I went from pity to misery. It would have been easier to face apathy, or even hostility. I would have still felt sorry for them, but it could have had an edge of anger to provide moderation. Now, though, it is just a heartbreaking numbness.

In the equation of life the loss of a few retail jobs barely even changes the result. But, in the lives of the people who attended the meeting, or got the email, or memo, or tweet this was a terrible blow. In one scandalously short instant their lives were changed dramatically for the worse. As you go about your day, think of the ways you can help someone, lift a spirit, spread a smile or a little joy. Do it for the people who are worried about their future, it may not help, but it can’t hurt.

Last Night, the Application Process Begins.

Since it is almost the weekend, and there are so many things going on we will make this brief. Today is not the time to find fault with the 10 candidates who were driven like cattle into Cleveland, and forced to confront their most profound insecurities last night.

Who among us has not been looking for a job in a cutthroat world of potential employees? We should take pity on these poor, lost souls who want nothing more than to earn a living an provide for their family. 

In many ways it saddens us, here at Life Explained, that with the popularity of "American Idol," "America's Got Talent," and others, that finding a decent job has turned into such a gladiatorial contest. Each potential associate having to defend a record of employment, and service, in front of a panel of indifferent, callous human resource personnel.

Imagine trying to land a job as a grocery bagger with the other applicants making snide comments about your oafish appearance, and the likelihood of you klutzing a whole container of cottage cheese onto the floor, watching it burst open, and make an awful mess, right in the middle of the rush for Thanksgiving. That would be awful. Who among us could handle that kind of pressure?

Oh, well that makes more sense. We really liked that guy with the hair, he could bag our groceries any time.

The First Step is Always the Hardest, and Sometimes the Fastest, Too.

It was so much simpler in the early days. Just Dr. Dawg, Bob, and me. Driving around, in a 1971 VW Micro Bus, solving problems, and saving humanity. No withholding taxes, no retirement accounts, no worries, no huge government contracts. Life was simple.

We were staying in the HG wing of the Wells hotel in Baltimore. It had taken some work, and a lot of effort, and combing a microwave oven and a laser printer to create a small, controlled nuclear reactor, but our first time machine was ready to try. Bob, our accountant, had agreed to give it a shot.

"You're sure it's safe?" Bob asked and the trembling in his voice, and hands and knees,
made it obvious he was considering un-volunteering, backing out, not going.

I poured him a bourbon, neat. And Doctor Dawg pointed to a chalk board covered with long, complicated equations that had almost as many letters as numbers.

"I have been over the calculations too many times to count. They always come up the same. Since you lived long enough to be born you can't be killed before your birth. There is no way alter a reality that has passed. It is numerically impossible. It's all right there. Nothing bad can happen." He said, and a bit lower, under his breath, almost inaudible he added, "I think."

Bob had a very keen eye for numbers, which is why we hired him to be our accountant, but he did not understand science, or scientific notation. Which was fine, that was why we had Dr. Dawg. I was the driver, bartender, chef, shopper, and calming influence. We all took our jobs very seriously.

So, Bob finished his bourbon, looked at the equations, and Dr. Dawg, who patted him on the back, and said "you can do this, Bob, you are blazing a new trail, setting a new course for human understanding, you will be a hero. And we will wait right here."

Bob, stepped through the portal.

"Where did you send him?" I asked.

"I'm not too sure, but I was aiming for ancient Egypt during the reign of Amenhotep III, it was a relatively peaceful, prosperous time, according to the internet, anyway. We will find out, when Bob returns, where he actually ended up, and calibrate the Chrono Place-Ometer for accuracy. Hey is there any pizza left?"

I went to check, Dr. Dawg said we wouldn't have to wait long, according to his research, Bob could spend two or three days in the past and it would only be a small amount of time, no more than a few minutes, in the present. I was coming back with a couple of pieces of pizza, and a nice glass of Chardonnay, when Bob came running through the portal, screaming in terror. He knocked the pizza to the floor, I barely saved the wine.

Bob slammed the door open so hard he put the knob through the sheetrock wall and tore off down the hall, like a motorcycle.  Right behind him came a contingent of Egyptian soldiers, slamming through the small apartment, knocking over the couch, and table, and took off after Bob.  I drank the wine before anything else could happen.

Dr. Dawg looked at at me and said, "Well, I certainly didn't see that coming. We should probably pack up and go somewhere else. There could be a lot of questions soon."

We moved to Memphis, Tennessee and started working on a method to open and close the portal.  More on that later, though.

Should the Nobel go next to the Emmy, or by the Pulitzer?

I work in a very old building, and sometimes I get there very early, and depending on the time of year, it can be very dark.  As you walk through the building there is always a lot of noise, a symphony of creaks, and groans, and shuffling sounds, and something that sounds similar to the purring intonation  made by the velociraptors in Jurassic Park, that would be awful.  Oddly, the noises always seem just out reach of the built in flashlight of the iPhone, you can almost see the source of the sound, but not quite.  It was frustrating.

Then, I read about this app available for the iPhone that would show paranormal activity, and in some cases allow you to communicate with the spirits.

I rushed to download the app, and spent the evening familiarizing myself with the "interface."  It seemed that ghost hunting was going to be stressful enough without adding confusing menu options, and complicated gestures, so I learned where the optimal screen for my approach was and the quickest way to get it loaded.

It was so exciting, I could barely sleep.  This morning, I rushed around the house fixing lunch, slurping coffee, finally it was time to leave, a quick peck on the cheek of my lovely wife, and a cryptic "hey, clean off a space for my Pulitzer, would you?"

She replied, "you are not trying room temperature fusion again, are you?  Remember the stitches.  And I sure you mean Nobel Prize, unless you are writing an article."

"Oh, great, a Nobel is smaller, I think, They take less room, it will be much easier to make space."

Whoosh, the elevator door opened on the darkened fourth floor, but the phone was at the ready, held high and scanning the room.  A noise to the right and a quick move in that direction, and I could not believe my eyes!  There, on the screen of the iPhone was a ghost.  He was standing about 12 feet (about 4 meters), and carrying a box, it looked kind of heavy, maybe 20 pounds (about 15 degrees Celsius).

"What are you looking at?"  He asked, staring right at me. I was shocked.

"Why are you carrying a box?"  That was the best thing I could think of to say, the whole thing kind of caught me off guard.  Try finding a ghost walking through the kitchen at work carrying a box, and see if you do better.

Slowly, he put the box on the floor, picked up a ghostly thermos, poured himself a cup of ghost coffee, sat down on the box, took a sip of his coffee, lit a cigarette, and said.  "It's my job."

"You carry boxes around a warehouse, for a job, in the afterlife?"  I asked, this was almost too much.

Another ghost came over and borrowed a cigarette, and a light, and a cup of coffee, some things never change.

"Yes, I do.  Hey, it's a living, we all have to eat."  The ghost said. "It's not all we do, we take stuff out of boxes and put it in other boxes, and send it to other places. Which works out ok, because those places send us boxes of stuff. Kind of the circle of afterlife commerce."

"Do you like it?"

"It ain't so bad, last year we had Attila the Hun as the warehouse foreman, and that could be a little tense. Now we have some guy from the renaissance.  He spends a lot of time painting and talking about art and enlightenment, so it is pretty easy, and the hours are good.  We have really good insurance, including dental, and 6 weeks of vacation.  All in all it is pretty nice, and there is always a chance for advancement, they moved Attila into sales and marketing. He cleaned up real nice."

He seemed pretty content, and I was glad we met.

A ghostly whistle sounded and he said he had to get back to work.  I see him around once in a while and he is doing well.  He met a girl, and they are getting married in the spring, he said I could come to the wedding. It would be a little awkward, so my wife and I decided to pass.

Turns out ghosts have have the same problems, and opportunities as all of us.  They are just trying to get by, they struggle and they scrape, and they take coffee breaks.  So, next time you are in a dark room, and you hear an otherworldly noise, try to stay out the way it is probably just a guy doing his job.  And if someone picks up your plates and puts them in the dishwasher it might not be your wife, no matter what she says.