The Grocery Store - Part 2
I worked throughout the summer for Mrs. Jones. She seemed pleased with my capabilities, and when I was old enough for a work permit, she hired me to work in the store. She doubled my salary to fifty cents an hour. I was thrilled. I worked every night after school from four to six and then as many hours as I wanted on Saturdays. I never worked on Sundays. While my friends were playing after school, I was making money.
Even though it was over fifty years ago, I can still see the inside of the store. The candy case was on the left as you entered. This was where the neighborhood children sat on the floor in front of the candy case with legs crossed, pennies clutched in their sweaty little hands, making decisions to purchase one piece of candy with a penny, or to get the bargain of two for one. I loved to see them and to hear their little giggles and conversations. I didn’t hurry them to make any quick choices, but Mrs. Jones did not appreciate having them in her store.
Directly in back of the candy case was a freezer for ice cream and frozen items. I looked forward to seeing the ice cream vendor. He was a senior in high school and I fell in love with him. My heart would beat so fast when I saw his truck pulling up to the store, but I usually had nothing to say to him. He was always nice to me though, and I often wondered what would have happened if I actually talked to him. Many, many years later my brother happened to see him and asked him if he knew that I had a crush on him. I couldn’t believe it when he told my brother he had no idea that I liked him. That shows how well I kept a secret!
I had known Mrs. Jones for some time and understood and tolerated her almost vicious temper. She would frequently scold me, and the one thing she did that was extremely annoying was to spy on me. She would leave the door open between her home and the store and look into the store to see if I was working. Then she would yell quite loudly, “What are you doing? I don’t hear anything going on out there. I’m not paying you to stand around.”
One day I was on the ladder stocking cereal when she began her raving. I got down from the ladder, walked toward the door, told her goodbye and informed her I was quitting. She ran after me saying she was sorry and would never bother me again and begged me to come back. You see, most of the people who worked for her quit within weeks. I was determined I would not and was glad she apologized to me.
Not only did I wait on customers but I was shown every aspect of the grocery business. I worked in the stockroom, opened boxes, stamped the prices on the items and put them on the shelves. I ground meat and sliced meat. I learned who the vendors were and ordered items and checked invoices. I swept the floors, dusted and stocked the shelves. Mrs. Jones eventually gave me full charge of the store and felt comfortable leaving me alone. Her main concern was that someone would rob the store when I was by myself. She was quite adamant that if this was to occur, I should hand over the money without question. She never told me what to do if I saw someone stealing.
He came into the store when I was by myself. I had seen him in school and knew he was a few years younger than me. As he began walking slowly through the store, I asked him if I could help him find what he was looking for. He politely said “no”. I was stocking a shelf, but looked up just in time to see him unzip his jacket, take a jar of peanuts, put it in his jacket, zip up his jacket and walk out the store.
I knew I couldn’t let him get away with this. Even though there was no one in the store, I quickly followed him out the door. He was walking quite fast, but I began to run after him. I yelled as loud as I could, “STOP”. He then turned, and when he saw this somewhat crazy girl screaming at him over and over again to STOP, he did. A little out of breath I told him to hand over the peanuts or I would call the police. He looked so pitiful. I felt sorry for him as I knew I scared him half to death. He didn’t deny what he had done and unzipped his coat and gave me the jar of peanuts. “Don’t call the police”, he begged. I told him that I wouldn’t, but I made him promise that he would never steal anything again. Off he went and I took the jar of peanuts and carefully put them back on the shelf. Once I composed myself I thought, “I handled that quite well.”
Years later a young man approached me on the street. “Do you remember me?” he asked. Of course, I really didn’t. He continued, “I was the young boy you caught stealing a jar of peanuts. Do you remember now?” Then it all came back to me. He continued, “I always wanted to thank you. You see, up to that time I had taken quite a few items from different stores but was never caught. When you actually caught me stealing and made me promise I would never steal again, I believe you saved me from a life of crime. It meant a lot to me to know that you stopped me. I thank you for helping me.”
I worked in the grocery store on and off until I graduated from college. I worked under two different managements after Mrs. Jones sold the store, and was able to indoctrinate the new owners into the grocery business. Those were good years to remember. I liked working in the grocery store and knew that it would have never happened if Mrs. Jones hadn’t broken her collar bone in a car accident.
Oh, if I remember correctly, I ended up making ninety-five cents an hour.
Even though it was over fifty years ago, I can still see the inside of the store. The candy case was on the left as you entered. This was where the neighborhood children sat on the floor in front of the candy case with legs crossed, pennies clutched in their sweaty little hands, making decisions to purchase one piece of candy with a penny, or to get the bargain of two for one. I loved to see them and to hear their little giggles and conversations. I didn’t hurry them to make any quick choices, but Mrs. Jones did not appreciate having them in her store.
Directly in back of the candy case was a freezer for ice cream and frozen items. I looked forward to seeing the ice cream vendor. He was a senior in high school and I fell in love with him. My heart would beat so fast when I saw his truck pulling up to the store, but I usually had nothing to say to him. He was always nice to me though, and I often wondered what would have happened if I actually talked to him. Many, many years later my brother happened to see him and asked him if he knew that I had a crush on him. I couldn’t believe it when he told my brother he had no idea that I liked him. That shows how well I kept a secret!
I had known Mrs. Jones for some time and understood and tolerated her almost vicious temper. She would frequently scold me, and the one thing she did that was extremely annoying was to spy on me. She would leave the door open between her home and the store and look into the store to see if I was working. Then she would yell quite loudly, “What are you doing? I don’t hear anything going on out there. I’m not paying you to stand around.”
One day I was on the ladder stocking cereal when she began her raving. I got down from the ladder, walked toward the door, told her goodbye and informed her I was quitting. She ran after me saying she was sorry and would never bother me again and begged me to come back. You see, most of the people who worked for her quit within weeks. I was determined I would not and was glad she apologized to me.
Not only did I wait on customers but I was shown every aspect of the grocery business. I worked in the stockroom, opened boxes, stamped the prices on the items and put them on the shelves. I ground meat and sliced meat. I learned who the vendors were and ordered items and checked invoices. I swept the floors, dusted and stocked the shelves. Mrs. Jones eventually gave me full charge of the store and felt comfortable leaving me alone. Her main concern was that someone would rob the store when I was by myself. She was quite adamant that if this was to occur, I should hand over the money without question. She never told me what to do if I saw someone stealing.
He came into the store when I was by myself. I had seen him in school and knew he was a few years younger than me. As he began walking slowly through the store, I asked him if I could help him find what he was looking for. He politely said “no”. I was stocking a shelf, but looked up just in time to see him unzip his jacket, take a jar of peanuts, put it in his jacket, zip up his jacket and walk out the store.
I knew I couldn’t let him get away with this. Even though there was no one in the store, I quickly followed him out the door. He was walking quite fast, but I began to run after him. I yelled as loud as I could, “STOP”. He then turned, and when he saw this somewhat crazy girl screaming at him over and over again to STOP, he did. A little out of breath I told him to hand over the peanuts or I would call the police. He looked so pitiful. I felt sorry for him as I knew I scared him half to death. He didn’t deny what he had done and unzipped his coat and gave me the jar of peanuts. “Don’t call the police”, he begged. I told him that I wouldn’t, but I made him promise that he would never steal anything again. Off he went and I took the jar of peanuts and carefully put them back on the shelf. Once I composed myself I thought, “I handled that quite well.”
Years later a young man approached me on the street. “Do you remember me?” he asked. Of course, I really didn’t. He continued, “I was the young boy you caught stealing a jar of peanuts. Do you remember now?” Then it all came back to me. He continued, “I always wanted to thank you. You see, up to that time I had taken quite a few items from different stores but was never caught. When you actually caught me stealing and made me promise I would never steal again, I believe you saved me from a life of crime. It meant a lot to me to know that you stopped me. I thank you for helping me.”
I worked in the grocery store on and off until I graduated from college. I worked under two different managements after Mrs. Jones sold the store, and was able to indoctrinate the new owners into the grocery business. Those were good years to remember. I liked working in the grocery store and knew that it would have never happened if Mrs. Jones hadn’t broken her collar bone in a car accident.
Oh, if I remember correctly, I ended up making ninety-five cents an hour.
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