Steve Calamars

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instinct, apathy and hard work

The telephone rings in the kitchen. Paul Clark sits in a small kitchen chair, slipping his shoes on and checking his tie in the reflection provided by an aluminum toaster. His wife Sara walks into the kitchen and answers the phone.

“Hello,” Sara says, “O nothing Mom, just getting ready for work.” Paul stands and smoothes his khaki-slacks. “Yes, he’s up and dressed,” Sara says, “No he didn’t go with the grays, he’s wearing the khakis.”

Sara’s mother calls every few days to see if Paul has a job yet, or at least an interview or probable lead. “No, I’m not gonna tell him that,” she says into the phone, “He knows how to interview.” Paul picks up his keys and wallet from the countertop. “His interview is at 9:30,” Sara says, “He’s going to be there by 9, he looks nice.” Paul slips on his jacket. His wife opens the refrigerator and pours a glass of orange juice. He walks over and kisses Sara on the cheek. She covers the receiver with her hand and looks at Paul.

“Good luck,” she whispers, “You’ll do good, just be yourself.” Paul nods and doesn’t make eye-contact. “No I’m not driving him, he’s taking his own car,” Sara says into the phone, “He’s been there before Mom, he knows how to find it.”

He walks from the kitchen into the living room. He glances at a digital clock on the coffee table and walks out the front door.

Paul walks down the sidewalk to the curb-line. He unlocks his car and gets in. He drives a 1987, fading shampoo-red Volvo-240. He starts the thing and goes over the stock responses for the stock questions he’ll be posed with during the interview.

After both the car and his memory have warmed up sufficiently, Paul puts the car in drive and pulls away. His check-engine light is on and his breaks squeak badly. Paul stares straight ahead and turns up the radio.

He pulls into the parking-lot and finds a space up front. Paul gets out and examines himself in the reflection of the car-window. He adjusts his tie and goes inside.

He walks up to the customer-service desk and asks to speak with the store manager. A flat-chested girl with bad skin pages the manager over the intercom. Paul sits down on a bench and stares at the floor.

“Hello Paul,” the manager says. Paul looks up and stands. “Glad to see you made it,” he says, extending his hand. Paul extends his hand and says, “Hello Mr. Nickels.” The two shake, Paul with a lazy grip, Mr. Nickels with a firm. “Right this way,” he says, “We’ll go back to my office.”

Paul follows him, the two exchange awkward small-talk. They walk to the back of the store and pass through large double-doors that read, Employees Only.

The office is white and well-organized. The manager opens a manila-folder and removes an application. Paul sits across the desk from the manager and attempts to look interested.

“I see from your application,” he says, “You have a degree.” Paul nods and coughs. “History I see,” the manager says, “What does a person normally do with a degree in History?”

“You usually teach,” Paul says, “Or go to graduate school for a PhD, then teach at a University and do historical research.”

“O I see, I see,” he says, studying the application, “You didn’t want to teach?”

“No, it’s not really for me.”

“What kinda skills you get from studying History?” the manager asks.

“Mainly critical thinking, communication, analytical,” Paul says, attempting to sound practical, “Plus psychological stuff, I mean you learn a lot about human nature when you examine our history.”

“I bet,” the manager says, smiling.

“So why do you want to come work for Roger’s Grocery?” he asks, looking up from the application, “Why do you want to be a cashier?” Paul looks down at his shoes and retrieves a stock response. “I want to join a company where I can grow personally and professionally in my career.” The manager smiles and nods. “I want to start as a cashier because I’m good with people,” Paul says, “I am organized and have a strong attention to detail . . . my study of History has benefited me here as well, I am empathetic and really able to relate well to people.”

“I bet so,” the manager says, “How would you handle a difficult customer?” Paul’s initial instinct is to cut their throat, but he looks at his shoes and retrieves another stock response.

“I would be patient, respectful and listen courteously,” he says, “If that were unsuccessful, I would call for a supervisor.” The manager nods and looks down at the application.

“I see here your job history consists of a single job,” he says, “As a part-time library clerk from 2007 to 2009.” Paul nods. “How will your experience as a clerk benefit you here at Roger’s as a cashier?”

“I believe my helping people locate books and working the register in the library give me an advantage,” Paul says, “I mean I know how to deal appropriately with the public and I know the basics of balancing a cash-drawer.”

“Good, good,” the manager says, “You don’t have a problem working weekends and nights, do you?”

“That’s fine.”

“The starting pay is $7.00 an hour,” the manager says, “All entry-level positions earn 7, but there’s room for advancement and promotion.” Paul nods.. “If you work hard, and give a good commitment,” the manager says, “You could become a department manager for one of the departments in the store, which bumps your pay up to 10 bucks starting.” Paul nods. “After a year as a department manager, if you work hard and give an honest effort, you’ll go up to $12.50 an hour.”

“That sounds good,” Paul says, flexing his calves beneath his khaki-slacks, “I want a place where I can grow.”

“Well you can grow with Roger’s, and you can grow with me,” the manager says, “We believe in rewarding hard work here.” Paul nods and half-smiles.

“You got any questions for me?” the manager asks. Paul’s brain goes flat, but he squints his eyes and retrieves another stock response.

“Yes, does Roger’s have insurance and 401K?” he asks.

“Yes, we have excellent insurance,” the manager says, smiling, “Medical, dental and vision.” Paul nods and rubs his chin thoughtfully. “Our 401K is outstanding as well, we match you dollar for dollar,” he says, “Like I said, we reward hard work.”

“I see.”

“If you are hired, Shirley in Human Resources will cover the specifics of our plans during orientation.” Paul looks at the clock on the wall.

“I suppose that should do it Paul,” the manager says, “I think we covered what we needed to cover.”

“Ok,” Paul says, standing up.. The manager stands and extends his hand. Paul suppresses his instincts and extends his hand. The two shake, Paul with a slack grip, the manager with a strong. “We’ll be in contact in the next few days, we’ll give you a call,” the manager says, “To let you know our decision.”

“All right,” Paul says, nodding, “Thank you for your time.”

“Sure thing,” the manager says, sitting back down at his desk, “You take care.” Paul nods and leaves the office.

He walks back through the store and out the front door. He gets back into his car and checks his face in the rearview mirror. Paul backs out of his parking space and pulls out of the parking-lot. He flips on the radio and clicks on his left blinker.

He pulls up along the curb-line in front of the house. Paul gets out of the car and goes inside. He turns on the television-set and goes into the kitchen.

He removes his tie and hangs it on a chair. He slips off his shoes and walks around in black dress socks. Paul makes himself a peanutbutter-&-jelly sandwich and pours a glass of soy milk. He sits down at the kitchen table and takes a bite. The telephone rings.

“Hello,” Paul says, answering the phone and swallowing his bite of sandwich.

“Hi honey,” his wife says, “You’re home already?”

“Ya, I got in a few minutes ago.”

“How did your interview go?”

“Pretty good, he seemed to like me I guess.”

“Did he like that you had a degree?” she asks.

“Ya, he commented on that,” Paul says, “I don’t think it hurt anything.”

“Did you tell him you are looking for a career, did you ask about the benefits?”

“Ya, he mentioned a department manager position, something he said I might think about working towards.”

“O, that would be great,” she says, “And the benefits, whata’d he say?”

“They’re good, I’ll learn more if I attend orientation.”

“When are you suppose to know if you got it?”

“In the next few days, they’re gonna give me a phone call sometime.”

“I hope this works out for you,” she says, “It’s 3 months now that you’ve been outta work.”

“It’ll work itself out,” Paul says, “Don’t worry, I’ll find something.”

“What time you finished with work today?” Paul asks, changing the subject.

“6:30,” his wife says, “I should be home by 7.”

“All right,” he says, “I’m in the middle of eating, so . . .”

“O, ‘ll let you go then,” she says, “Just wanted to see how your interview went, I’ll see you this evening.”

“OK, I’ll see you then.”

Paul hangs up the telephone. He finishes the sandwich and drinks the soy milk. He sets the dirty dishes in the sink and goes into the living room.

He sits down on the sofa and flips on the People’s Court. Paul attempts to absorb himself in the case. He sits watching the litigants and dreading the next ring of the telephone.

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Steve Calamars lives in San Antonio, TX. He has a B.A. in Philosophy and works in a grocery store. When he is not working or sleeping, he writes. The stuff he writes can be found (or will be found) in bottle rockets, Chiron Review, Harpur Palate, Clean Sheets, Zygote in My Coffee and other places he won’t bore you with. He can be found in sccalamars@yahoo.com.