Greetings
from the ‘Great State of Texas’!
I’m
very pleased to have been invited to write a couple of times a month on this
excellent blog.
A
little about me… Born and raised in Arizona, I had the tremendous opportunity
of teaching junior high school students for over a decade. Oh no!
Your face is contorting. Please,
someone give that nice woman over there some water. Really, it’s great fun. However, there came a point when it was time
to close that door and start something new before I lost the few remaining hairs that
I still had. So, the beautiful Linda
(Clark) Larson (of Culver City, California and 21 years of happy-to-be-with-you marriage) and I packed up the house and moved
our four nifty tax-deductions…er… 'blessings from heaven' to College Station,
Texas. A new career as a ‘Guy’brarian
awaited at Texas A&M University (home of the fightin’ Texas Aggies). Whooooooooooop!!! (That’s a battle yell that means:
‘Guy’brarians are Awesome!).
I
love to write! I love to find humor and
great meaning in the world around me. I
love to pick up good writing tips from others; and, I will share a few hard-won
writing tips with you too. I've been
blessed to have had a few things published over the years. In addition to my bi-monthly posts, please
feel free to check out my ‘groove’ on my website.
I
encountered an interesting phenomenon recently.
I came to the realization that my level of excitement at getting my work
published has never been higher than when that first article went to
press. Holding that journal in my hands;
looking at my name under the article title on page ## was one of the most
exhilarating feelings I've ever had. I
felt like I was leaving a distinctive fingerprint on the collective thought of
humanity. It was amazing! No other article or posting has given me the
same rush. On the flip side, it was somewhat
terrifying. What if my ramblings weren’t
liked and enjoyed by others? What if my
ponderings were discarded as rubbish?
What if my mother read it and found a typo? Aggghhhh!
That said, one of my goals in participating with MMW
is to not only insert a line of literary thought from the ‘daddy’ side of the
aisle (might we possibly review the title of our blog?); but also, to encourage
everyone that wants to publish to keep moving forward toward that goal.
Mike’s Minute (aka ‘Preaching to the
Choir’): This essay was written after once working as
a greeting card merchandiser at a local chain store. As I would be working at stocking and
organizing the rows of greeting cards, I would often get a gentle tap on the
shoulder by the Spirit to pay attention to some event happening around me or to
see something happening in a new light and with a fresh perspective. It would usually leave me grabbing a piece of
card stock from my trash bag and scrambling to find something to write with
before the prompting went away. Over
time, my number of paper remnant reminders grew so large that I finally had to
sit down and write everything out. Edit…yes. Entertain second thoughts and
doubts…nope! So, without any fanfare (No
seriously! I really don’t like fanfare. You there…put that giant foam finger down and
stop clapping!), here is Between
Birthday and Sympathy—
I found a second job. It’s flexible and
the pay is good for part-time. I am . . . the Card Guy. That’s right; I am the
guy who ensures that the greeting cards you browse, giggle at, and hopefully
purchase at your local big-box store (we’ll refer to this environment as the
Store) or convenience mart are stocked, orderly, and presentable. I am a ghost.
Most of the time, I am unseen as I go about making the card displays just right.
Sometimes, I might get in your way. Occasionally, a customer wants me to find
space heaters, lotion, or beach sandals. I only do cards—I’m the Card Guy. I am
invisible. But you’re not.
A
Study in Buying a Greeting Card
You should just see yourselves. A grad
student could easily make a nice dissertation out of the psychological
processes involved in a customer choosing to purchase (or not purchase) a
greeting card. However, it’s so much more than just pulling a card out of the
slot and dropping it into your shopping cart. I mean, a card is really just
paper—paper inked with a tender thought or a witty joke, perhaps with a splash
of glitter, a wearable button, or a nifty tune. Choosing a card can be planned
or an impulse. It can be a form of therapy. It can elevate the expression of
the meek or seemingly untalented to a level of eloquence commensurate with the
most famous poets and weavers of prose and rhyme. When you say you’ve found “just
the right card,” you’re basically telling the receiver that the card is a
reflection of or something unique about him or her. But the observations I’m going
to share are about YOU, the customer.
The purpose of cards is static; in other
words, their existence and use are constants. What changes are the thought
processes and behaviors of the humans who purchase the cards. Why did you pick
that particular card from all of the thousands of others? Most big-box stores
have approximately 3,500 greeting cards that are standard sets throughout the
year. Topics include birthdays, babies, weddings, anniversaries, sympathy,
get-well wishes, and language-related cards. This standard set does not include
the seasonal rotations, stickers, and stationary. If you think there is any
randomness to the greeting card business, there’s not. There is a reason behind
every card placement (height, width, proximity to other cards, genre, customer
eye-level, customer buying habits, etc.).
So, what made you pick that particular
card? Perhaps even more interesting is how did you behaved and appeared to
other people while you were picking a card? I’m going to tell you.
Deep
in the Heart
In Texas and the Deep South, polite human
behavior is ingrained in most people from an early age. We say “Yes, Ma’am!” or
“No, Sir!” with the same effort as it takes to breathe. We hold doors for
people, we apologize profusely if we offend, and we loathe the thought of
inconveniencing another person with our silly little needs and wants. Now, the
way we go about these behaviors is both interesting and downright humorous at
times, especially when it comes to greeting cards.
When I’m working a card aisle, it’s
inevitable that I’ll have customers come down that aisle looking for cards. The
Store wants this, and my card company wants this. It’s also Murphy’s law of
greeting cards. Here in Texas, the politeness gene kicks in and the customer
will stand behind you, quietly, not saying a single word, focused with laser
precision on the card he or she wants, but without wanting to ask you to move. “Excuse
me, Sir,” a lady could say to me. “Would you mind moving for just a moment
while I grab a card for a baby shower I’m going to tomorrow?” But she won’t. In
fact, I don’t think I’ve ever been asked to move. So, I often take the
initiative and say to the customer, “Ma’am, ya’ll let me know if you need me to
move, okay?” Without fail, the response I always get is, “Oh no. You’re fine
where you are. I’m just lookin’.” I only believed this social nicety one time. A
little, white-haired lady in her golden years said it to me and then proceeded to
wait five minutes while I finished working that section of the cards. By the
time I finally moved down the aisle, she had set up a little camping chair,
pulled out her cross-stitch project from her bag, and was using a Sterno can to
heat up some water to make tea. There was no way on this planet that she was
going to offend me by asking me to hurry along out of her way. I love Texas!
That night, I started feeling a little
odd about this interaction. So, I looked up the words she had used in the Southern Living & Rules of Etiquette
book I’d purchased when I first moved here. I was shocked! The literal
translation of ‘Oh no. You’re fine where you are. I’m just lookin’ is “I
don’t mind you wrapping up what you’re doing in the next little bit, but you better
get your hind end boot-scooted out of my way before I perch on your shoulder
like a vulture and start pecking your brains out.” So now when I hear the
phrase, I automatically move to another section of the aisle. Everyone gets to
move on with their lives, and I get to keep my brains intact.
Birthday
Blackout
There is an interesting phenomenon that
happens to people when they browse through a greeting card aisle: short-term
spatial memory disappears. For example, Brenda the Browser spends a good 15 minutes
pulling out one card after another, chuckling, evaluating, and then putting the
card back into the slot. The wrong
slot. Now, you would think it should be easy to look at the card in your hand, find
the slot containing identical cards, and reunite the card with its brothers and
sisters. But no. Cards pulled at eyebrow level somehow end up in slots at knee level,
backward and upside down. How does this happen? It’s as if gravity multiplies
by a factor of three and the card suddenly became overwhelmingly heavy, forcing
the customer to let gravity pull the card downward into a slot near the floor
before the card smashes the customer’s toes.
I especially like watching the
customer who pulls a card from a slot 12 inches from his nose, reviews it, and
then gets a thoroughly confused and perplexed look on his face as his eyes dart
up, down, left, and right; then, that gravity I mentioned kicks in.
The
Wanderers
When I arrive at the Store, I sign my
name in a binder for guest merchandisers. About this time, a kind woman
approaches me, hesitantly, with a small basket of rogue cards that somehow
escaped the confines of the greeting card aisles and made their way to all
parts of the Store. The woman has an apologetic look on her face. Her
expression seems to say, “Please forgive us. We've failed you. We let these cards escape.” I smile at her, thank her, and ask her for the most exotic
location where any of the cards were discovered. “Garden equipment,” came the
reply one day. Garden equipment? A card was discovered atop a small stack of
bagged fertilizer. I looked at the card. No wonder. It was one of our Election
2012 cards. Well, that just figures, doesn't it?
Oh,
the Agony!
There is nothing more humorous than
watching a grown man being forced to help choose a card (and accessories) that
he has little or no interest in . . . at all. To the credit of the men who find
themselves in this predicament, I acknowledge the discomfort and pain your faces
and body postures display. The cards I’m speaking of are baby and wedding
cards. Since the events attached to these cards are usually awkward and
uncomfortable for guys, it stands to reason that selecting cards to celebrate
these events is tantamount to reopening old scabs and scars with a rusty
screwdriver. I applaud you for doing your best to feign interest in front of
your special lady. You may fool her (which you’re probably not doing), but you
can’t fool me. I’ve been there and barely lived to speak about it. “Oh, honey. This
card is sooooo cute. It’s perfect for Tricia’s baby shower. What do you think?”
Be careful! It’s a trap. You want to say: “I don’t give a rat’s whisker about
Tricia’s baby. The ultrasound already showed it’s got vampire fangs. We should
be looking in the sympathy card section.” But you’re smart, and you won’t say
what you really think. Instead, you’ll say the smart thing: “Sweetie, I like your choice.” Atta boy! This will earn
you a snuggle later tonight. One last caution: The fancy gift bags and wrapping
paper are less than six feet away. Start thinking of your response now, because
as soon as her radar picks up on those items, you could be a goner.
And
Put a Handle on It
A child getting injured in the Store is
never a good thing, especially when the injury is an adult’s fault. But I’m beginning to see why it happens so
often. It comes from something I call store
stress. That is, when children are over stimulated by the endless displays,
sounds, and lights (same marketing philosophy used by Las Vegas on adults), we shouldn't be surprised that they act a little crazy. Nevertheless, it often
leads to some surprising comments from the accompanying adults.
One morning, I noticed a boy pushing his
younger brother down one of the greeting card aisles, with the younger brother
riding underneath the shopping cart. For some reason, the boy doing the driving
found it hilarious to bring the cart to a sudden stop, thereby letting the
physics of momentum take over and sending the younger boy shooting out from the
cart’s undercarriage onto the floor. Eventually, the grandfather accompanying
the boys reached his limit. “If he falls out again because you pushed too hard,
I’m going to find a strap, put a handle on it, and . . .” One of the beautiful
things about living in Texas is the raw eloquence of the speech used by its
citizens to describe violence (or the potential use of violence). First, the
grandpa would find a strap (I understand there is a sale on belts on aisle 9);
then, he would create or attach a handle to ensure a sturdy grip; and finally, he
would administer a certain style of best-used-on-an-ornery-steer form of
lashing. I started laughing so hard at the description (a threat the boys
ignored because they’d heard it all before) that the grandfather looked up at
me. I told him that was the best line I’d heard all day. He smiled and
explained they were shopping for travel items for a promised trip to Disney World
in January (even though it was only August). I wiped the happy tears from my
eyes with my handkerchief and asked why he was shouldering this daunting
responsibility. He replied that his wife was the one initiating this devious
plan. As he regained control of the cart from the offending grandchild, his
body language took on the appearance of a man beaten down. His final words to
me as he trundled off with the two boys were “Just shoot me!” Mercifully, we
were nowhere near aisle 27 (pellet/BB guns) or I might just have had to put him
down the Texas way.
A
Sandwich for Mother’s Day
Store items make their way into the
greeting cards section on a regular basis. It’s not unusual to find small toys,
clothing, makeup, jewelry, and food. Leaving
items around the Store is not uncommon. I’ve done it before myself (and am now
paying eternal penance for my actions). For some reason, though, it seems
especially egregious when non-card items are left in the greeting card aisles. A
bra hanging from the sympathy section could just be a lazy person’s second
thoughts about a pending purchase, though Freud would probably have something
to say about the particular section the person chose to leave the bra in. It’s
not that I particularly mind clearing out the gunk from the card aisles now and
then. It’s archaeological proof that humans—potential customers—have been going
down the card aisles. However, I really have to object to the half-eaten Panini
stuffed in the humor section. Was this, too, a subconscious message?
Daycare
for Daddy
How and when the card section of the
Store became a day care drop-off location for husbands, I will never know. What
I do know is that if there ever were a place to tame the troubled beast within
husbands, the card section is it. I have seen countless examples of wives,
young and old, dropping of their irritable don’t-want-to-be-here-shopping
husbands or boyfriends to be entertained for a few minutes so the women can
shop in peace. Though I've never heard it said directly, the message the women are giving the men is crystal clear: If you promise not to whine about shopping
with me, I’ll let you play in the card aisles for a while so I can finish. I’ll
be back in 15 minutes, so be good. Momma loves you. (Kiss.) The very least
these men could do would be to straighten a few cards as they peruse the card
shelves . . . while eating their Panini.
Blue
Saturday
In the olden days, a horde of locusts
sweeping through a farmer’s young crop usually spelled an untimely end to the
growing season that year. Though farmers have made valiant efforts to poison,
squash, burn, and even drown the critters, few if any methods have worked. Surprisingly,
hordes of “locusts” also appear on an annual basis at the Store. They are
called Black Friday shoppers, though major retailers have started fudging on
the starting day of this annual event of insanity. Recently, the “Friday” part
has been moved to after-you-push-your-gut-from-the-Thanksgiving-Day-meal-and-get-into-your-car-Thursday.
Much like locusts, shoppers attending this annual event darken the entryway of the
Store so as to block the sunlight. They start making low, guttural buzzing sounds
in their throats in anticipation of the doors opening, and when the doors do
open, the locusts spill into every inch of entryway. One would think the card
aisles would be spared the madness. With flat screens going for basement prices
and toys and clothing marked down every ten minutes, card merchandisers hope that
customers will spare the card aisles the carnage wrecked in the rest of the
Store. Not so. I’ve seen the aftereffects. The human locusts sweep around the Store
in great swarms, not wanting the competition to get too far out of sight so
they don’t gain advantage over others in their bargain shopping. Thus, the
swarms head down the main store lanes, devouring everything in their paths,
including greeting cards. Many of the locusts grab cards they don’t even need
or want; they do so purely out of feeding instinct. For a few short hours,
their minds make them believe that if they don’t grab everything they can, they
will somehow never be able to get the items ever again. And so, cards are
grabbed by the fistfuls, envelopes fly through the air like wheat chaff, and
the singing and dancing Christmas tree card gives up the ghost from having its “Play
me!” button pushed one too many times. I
dread going to the Store the day after Black Friday, because after seeing the
destruction of my beloved cards, I suddenly have . . . Blue Saturday.
An
Angel Here and There
Please don’t get the idea that if you
deliberately spend time in the Store observing human behavior that you’ll only
see one absurd situation after another play out. Quite the contrary; there are
an equal number of heart-warming events going on all the time. For instance, I
was once taking my empty cardboard boxes to the storage area of the Store to
recycle them. As I made my way down the central aisle, I saw three lovely
ladies peacefully shopping in the newborn baby section of the Store. For the
record, I don’t have solid evidence that I was witnessing a mother, her adult
daughter, and a newborn infant. But my heart-of-hearts tells me that I was
seeing three generations of females out for a day of shopping. What I keyed in
on was the grandmother, who happened to be tenderly holding the baby girl in
her arms. This matron had the most tranquil, radiant look on her face as she
held that baby. The smile on this grandmother’s face bespoke pure joy. She was
literally beaming to be holding perfection. I am fairly certain that this woman
could have been standing in the midst of a stampede of live longhorn steers and
would have paid them no mind as she serenely looked into the eyes of that
angelic little baby.
These are
reasons I like being the Card Guy. Human life unfolds before me every time I go
to the Store, like a tri-fold specialty card, replete with glitter, 3-D
elements, and sound. Now, if ya’ll don’t mind a smidgen of moralizing, we also get misplaced and bent out of
shape, lose our protective covering, and displace the tidy orderliness we often
come to expect. Gratefully, there is someone out there willing to help
straighten us up and put us back where we belong.
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