When I wrapped up 10th Grade, I decided not to work in my stepfather’s automobile paint and body shop. Instead, I drew on my Grandpa’s connections to land a job working at a little convenience store. It sounded like a good job. I would not be around a parent all day, I would be in an air-conditioned building (in Texas that is important) and I would finish my workday not covered in dust and dirt. All of that sounded attractive to my teen-aged mind.
My Grandpa worked at another little store owned by the local company, which had three or four of the places around Tyler. He asked the manager, a grouchy old guy, to hire me for the summer. Although I was only 15, I got the job, which mostly put me behind a cash register (there was only one). There was nothing at all fancy about the cash register. I pushed hard on some buttons as I rang up each item, hit total and the cash drawer flew open. This was a long, long time before computerized registers.
The store had a nice little butcher counter, so I was ringing up everything from hamburger meat to Winstons and Mountain Dews. The hardest part was making correct change. Remember, there was nothing telling me the correct amount. I had to figure it out with a brain that struggled with high school math. The good news is I usually got it right.
To this day, I find it amazing that a 15-year-old was allowed to work at the store. It was another time, I reckon. As in, 1970. There were many times in the evenings when I would be the only employee working.
The most exciting night I ever had there was when a car ran into the building. I was standing on the other side of the wall that was hit. I was near the register, surrounded by counters full of candy and a wall behind me stacked with packs of cigarettes. Hundreds of cigarette packs came flying down on me when the car slammed into the wall. It was a great story to tell when I got home that night.
Getting back to my grouchy boss, I want to mention that he had a hard time, apparently, remembering my name. He called me Kelvin, Calvin, Keith, Ken and, some days, Kevin. I soon realized there not much point in reminding him of my name. Even on my weekly checks, he would get my first name wrong. Whatever.
During my weeks there, I was fine with most all of it. The other fellows who worked there were nice. The customers were okay, too. But, there was one problem. My boss was annoyed by my long hair. It was long for those days in Tyler, Texas. It would have been just fine if I had been in a California rock band.
The hair issue came to a head one day when my boss paid me and told me not to come back until I cut my hair. Whoa! I immediately thought of CSNY’s “I Almost Cut My Hair.” I did not say much. I just left thinking I was not coming back.
At home, I told my stepdad that I wanted to resume working for him. I did not mention the hair ultimatum. He said I was welcome to return to the shop.
That was the best decision I had made up to that time in my teen life. From that point on, until I started college, I worked for my stepdad. I came to love my work. And, I kept my hair long. My mother and stepdad insisted I get a trim every now and then. I did, too. I got my last one in high school about a half-year before I graduated. I remember telling the barber that I was never getting a haircut again. Actually, I did, but it was 18 months later.
That was my last grocery story job. As my wife knows, I am fascinated with grocery stores. But, I am done working in them. It is a shame, in a way. I do not mind haircuts, anymore. I would like to have a long ponytail again, but Candace says it would not look too good on me. She fell in love with me when I had a ponytail, but that was nearly a half-century ago. Apparently, I have changed some since then.
It's KPC Again 