A Fresh Coat

I spent the bulk of the day cleaning. In the next few days, another manager or group of managers from other stores will judge our store on its cleanliness. This is always a tough time for the team because we clean and clean and clean; yet it almost never makes a difference, because we can only be as clean as our customers and the age of the store allow us.

So, as I said in the beginning I spent most of my time cleaning. The first thing I do in the morning is clean the bathrooms. I think I've mentioned that this is usually my favorite time at work, because it allows me to have a few quiet moments before associates and managers start laying down demands. I make that sound worse than it is. After I clean the bathrooms, it is nearly time to open and my second task is to wipe down all the carts.

This is not a task I do daily, come to think of it; I don't think I've ever actually done it before. I know I've attempted to dry carts for customers, but I never cleaned them. So I take out the Sani-Spritz Spray II, spritz the carts and start wiping them down. Not the most glamorous of jobs, but it did keep me busy. One of the tools I like to use when cleaning are latex gloves. This was the crux of the experience, because every time a customer was ready to pay, I had to take off the gloves and ring the customer through. After helping the customers, I put on a fresh new pair of gloves. I got both tired and good at putting on latex gloves. Sadly, it's always been a slight dream to be able to put on gloves as seamlessly as they do in medical drams like ER, and even The X-Files as I have seen Scully do a thousand times before.

After I returned from break, I was instructed to do my favorite task of all time, paint. That's right ladies and gentlemen, the painting wasn't done yet. This time I had to paint the doors. Immediately I began to panic like last time. I don't think I did a good job last time, and this time I let my general manager know it. She didn't seem to mind, but I could see my blatant lack of experience shine through. Those poor doors went through a lot.

I had three doors to paint. The first door took the longest because it was absolutely filthy. The second door was easier and more interesting. Let me tell you about the second door. There was tape all over it; some of the tape was fresh while other pieces were painted over. I used a scraper to take off most of the tape. Afterwards, I grabbed a Mr. Clean Magic Eraser to try to get the goop that was left behind. The thing about the Magic Eraser is it will take paint off walls, but what happened next was a complete surprise.

I washed the door with the magic eraser and got most of the sticky goop off. I realized I still had some pieces of tape on the door, so I grabbed the scraper and went to scrape of the tape. I put the scraper to the door and pushed up and down came a long strip of paint. I kept scraping up and more of the paint came off the door. Soon I had most of the paint on the floor in these long strips. It was the most satisfying moment of the day.

All the while two managers were trying to scrape off this horrible green paint off the third door with little success. I won't go into the details, but suffice to say, it was like watching Laurel and Hardy scrape paint. After I finished the second door, I moved onto the last one. This one needed the most work of all and I just didn't have the time to fix it. One of the managers said he would work on sanding down the divots so I could get it painted tomorrow. I can't wait.

My Day

My day began like most of my days, waking up 90 minutes before I leave for work, immediately saying to myself how much I don't want to go. I promptly amend that statement by saying to myself, "I don't want to be at work today." I don't mind going to work, it's the being there that's hard. However, I just needed to get through the next nine hours and I am without a job for the following three days. Yes, for the entire month of January I decided I was going to take control of my schedule by requesting Tuesdays off.

After watching another hysterical episode of Psych, it was time to get ready. I had on a red shirt that I don't normally like to wear because it's a very large medium, so it looks big on me. Since I like to layer my shirts, I was going to put on another shirt over the red one. I looked in my hamper of clean clothes and noticed a nice blue one. Because I recently began a rather unhealthy obsession with the Superman movies, I immediately snatched the blue shirt out of the hamper and pulled it over the red. I felt like Superman, faster than a speeding bullet and able to leap tall buildings in a single bound. It did not prepare me for what I was about to do at work.

A couple of years ago, I was asked by the general manager to paint some walls in the backroom. I first had to prime and then paint one of the walls this horrifying blue and a couple of others red. I did a terrible job, in part because I'm not an experienced painter and the drywall sucked up the paint like a dry sponge. Fast-forward, a couple years later I'm sitting in the office when the current General Manager asks what I wanted to do today. I give her my usual, "anything is fine", secretly hoping she doesn't banish me to the registers. She responds by asking me if I wanted to Spackle and paint a few walls in the backroom.

Panic started to set in because I remembered the debacle that occurred last time I attempted such a feat. Regardless, I agreed without hesitation because it would get me off the sales floor for the day and I certainly didn't want to deal with "Saturday customers". She found me the small container of Spackle, the Spackle knife and I began applying it to the wall. It was a nightmare.

There were thousands of little holes in the wall from all the tacks we used to post announcements. When I began, the wall was blue, by the time I finished spackling it had turned to a pale pink. I put on so much Spackle I thought my hand was going to fall off. The last time I spackled anything was when we first moved into the house 16 years ago. I felt like a poser, reading the instructions and not having a clue what they meant, but pretending to work the knife like a pro. Thankfully, I watched more than my fair share of Bob Ross creating snow on the happy little trees that lived in the forest.

Once I faked my way through spackling, it was time to sand it all down. I only realized I needed to sand it because my friend and professional painter, Marsha came by and said, "You're gonna need to sand it down." To which I responded, "That's next," with a confident authority. I'm certain I would have been able to find that next step as my Trading Spaces training was beginning to shine through. I found some sand paper and began sanding all the rough edges of the Spackle. Darin, another employee said we had a sanders block, or whatever he called it. He found it and gave it to me which made the job go my a lot faster.

The dust went everywhere. I didn't put anything down on the floor because I was going to sweep it up anyway and what's a little fine dust. The dust got over everything; even in places I didn't think it would. I got some canned air and blew dust off the time clock and mirror, then swept most of it up. The rest would have to be picked up by the mop that I would use at the end.

The dreaded painting was next. I hate painting because it's such a production, having to first clean the tray and roller that was sitting out with dried white paint covering the things. Next, I made a makeshift drop cloth out of a large trash bag and then painting around the edges and finally rolling out the paint. To my credit, this time it went a lot better and my end result was much better than I expected. Although I was proud of my results, the nagging feeling that my GM expected better of me was something I couldn't shake. To her credit, she didn't indicate to me that she felt that way.

I followed these steps for the other two walls I needed to paint and touch-up. I got tired of washing rollers, brushes and trays. I expressed this to Marsha and she said that I should have lined the paint tray with a trash bag, then poured in the new color, that way I would only need to clean the tray once. OMG!!! That was the most brilliant freaking idea I had ever heard! The next time I paint anything, I'm doing that. Instead, I'm going to start by lining the tray with a trash bag, so I wouldn't have to clean the tray at all.

It was a very long day of paint fumes and Spackle dust and I was ready to go home. I took my last 15-minute break 15 minutes before I had to leave. Paul, a manager that constantly joked that I missed some spots and I walked over to Starbucks to get a Supervisor some coffee. I bought a Raspberry Green Tea Blended Crème, which was pretty good even though I don't normally like the flavor of raspberries. While waiting for my beverage, I heard them announce a Hazelnut Green Tea Blended Crème and I got excited. I'm totally going to get that next time.

By the time we got back, it was time for me to clock out. Thank goodness, I don't think I could have handled another minute there without going crazy. Even though it was a rough day, it was a million times better than having to deal with customers. Come to think of it, anything is better than that.

Mr. Pressler Falls Down

For those unaware, Paul Pressler, CEO of Gap Inc. has stepped down. I'm almost sure this has nothing to do with the criticism's I raised about his leadership in my post, "AberGAPpie & Fitch". Nonetheless, I'm willing to take the credit for Mr. Pressler taking a much deserving break from destroying iconic brands. Gap Inc., you can thank me by adding a little something extra in my check next week.

Now what happens? Well, the son of the founder's of Gap Inc. is taking over on an interim basis while they scour the globe looking for someone with retail experience. Hey, wait! I have retail experience! Pick me! On second thought, please don't, although I do have a few thoughts on what I would do if I were to become the CEO of Gap Inc.

The first thing I would do is start closing stores, a lot of stores. I'm talking a third of them across all brands. After which I would focus on upgrading and cleaning up the existing stores. If you walk into an Old Navy right now, they seem rundown, especially ones that have been open for a while.

Next, I would put the brands through a product overhaul. Let me tell you what Old Navy's problem is, it doesn't know who it's customer is or why they should shop there. If someone on the street were to come up to me and ask me why they should shop for their clothes at Old Navy, or any of the Gap brands, I couldn't tell them. It certainly isn't as value priced as it once was, they are generally unstylish and occasionally obscene.

Finally, get rid of the Tri-Brand Credit Card. Yes, it saves the company a lot of money but the truth of the matter is, store cards are bad for your credit regardless of the ridiculous benefits. Instead, I would roll out a co-branded Visa or MasterCard. This would not only ensure that Gap Inc. would maintain a loyal customer base, but every time they used the card to buy gas or groceries, they would be reminded of their favorite stores, and continue to earn points towards coupons they can use at all Gap Inc. brands. Coupons incite spending.

I know, I'm a genius. It's just a shame they haven't started doing this, they could have saved themselves a lot of embarrassment. Maybe with the next CEO, they will finally get it right. Sometimes I get the feeling this company is like Donald Trump, it always tends to focus on the wrong thing.

Another Awkward Experience

Have you ever seen a couple and wondered how these two people of obviously different leagues got together? I happened upon a couple today while I was doing my time in the fitting room. A man walks in, looking slightly above average at a quick glance, possibly average upon closer inspection, wearing all black or what I like to call, "cliché-chic". I show him to his room and go back to my task.

A few seconds later a woman walked in and said, "I'd like a room next to my husband." I thought; what husband? Certainly she wasn't talking about the man I just showed to a room. That was impossible, she looked below average whether you were glancing at her or looking her straight in the face. I walked her to the room next to her "husband". As I was opening the door, she said, "Next to that young strapping man." WHAT!? Immediately I felt enough awkwardness for both me and her husband who was probably feeling the same. I politely chuckled and promptly went back to my task.

One would hope that was the end of it, to my horror, it wasn't. It actually got more awkward. While they are both in their separate rooms, she says aloud, "My husband, I like saying that." This garners no response from him. I get the feeling they are newlyweds, but of the older variety. If you looked at the husband and thought young, he would look young. If you thought slightly older, he could pass as being in his mid thirties. The wife on the other hand, just looked old.

Next, she says, "I love you." He responds in kind, but a somewhat exasperated "I love you" like he didn't want to say it, but felt he had to. They both step out of their rooms to get each other's opinions and the wife talks about how the pants look too baggy. Yes, they're baggy, that's kind of the point when you pick out Loose fit khakis; they fit loose, so they're going to look baggy. I didn't say it, because I was just overhearing a conversation and didn't want to take part in anything that was going on there.

She continues to pick at his pants and says, "This style doesn't work for you, you're more GQ." I immediately smiled, because that applies amazingly well to their relationship. He's GQ style; she's Old Navy style. If you read GQ and you heed GQ's advice about men's fashion, you don't go to Old Navy. They both close their doors and put the next item on.

She comes out of her room first and proclaims to her husband for all to hear, "You're not going to like these pants, big camel toe." If you don't know what that is, I'm definitely not going to explain it, and I advise you not to look it up. Needless to say, I was unprepared to hear it said and I thought how utterly low class this woman was. The awkwardness in the room elevated infinite fold. Again, what did this man find attractive about his wife?

My mind turned to mush for a few minutes, trying to recover. The man comes out of his room and hands me the clothes he wasn't getting. I couldn't look him in the eye, and he probably didn't want me to. He hung around for a few minutes waiting for his troll of a wife to finish and then walks out. The wife comes out of her fitting from looking for her husband repeating loudly, "Runaway husband" in her obnoxious tone that could peel paint. If I were he, I would be running as far away from this woman as possible, but he was just standing outside the fitting rooms by their cart.

When they finally leave, I wondered how long this marriage was going to last. By the sound of it, she probably had something on him that he didn't want to get out. The only way she would keep his dirty secret was by marrying her. That can be the only explanation. He must have done something terrible to warrant such a punishment.

Kid vs. Cart

Because of the winter blast we had yesterday, work today was slow, but it was still with incident. As you might expect, most incidents involve children. The simple fact is parents generally do a poor job of watching their kids. You can walk into my store and there will be children climbing on ladders or fixtures, playing soccer, basketball or football, you know, just being kids.

Well, a mother walked in with her two boys trailing behind. She had a Michaels cart with an infant in a carrier/car seat where it should be and she began shopping. I would see them from time to time watching the kids climb on the side of the cart and playing around. It was no big deal, because at least they stayed with their mom, and I didn't have to dodge them at any point.

Near the end of their shopping, I'm walking out of the register area and I see the younger child of maybe 3 years old climb up on to the side of the cart. The cart tips over with the infant in the carrier/car seat still secured in the cart. I literally gasped and stood their in shock for a millisecond before running over to help the mom lift the cart off her crying son, and making sure the infant was okay. To my surprise, the mom kept a cool head, made sure the infant was all right and then tended to her crying son who stopped crying soon after.

I see kids do this all the time, climbing on the side of carts, and I think it is only a matter of time before it tips over. What I don't understand is why parents do not keep their kids from climbing on the cart. They have to know it's dangerous and the carts are not jungle gyms, they are not bolted to concrete; they move . . . and tip. I know this is absolutely terrible of me, but I refuse to warn parents because;

a. Parents should know better.
b. I'm not the parent.
c. Hard lessons need to be experienced to be learned.

If I were to warn them about the dangers of carts, how would I go about doing that? Could I say, "I don't know kids, but I know carts and these tip over when kids climb on them." I don't know. If you confront the wrong parent, you could get a lecture about how their little precious isn't doing anything wrong. I would do almost anything to not have to deal with that.

Old Navy Ethics

It's funny how disappointment works, somebody you care about or respect does something that you don't approve of, and rather than get angry you feel this numbing pain like an awful truth was just revealed. For me, disappointment is one of the worst emotions I can feel, some respect is lost and I can't bear the thought of associating with them for a while. Disappointment crossed my emotional threshold today.

My Old Navy is currently having a clearance event in which all of our clearance is an additional 50% off the clearance price. It's an event that stirs a community. Throughout the year, people constantly come into the store and ask when the next clearance sale will happen. So this event is what it is, an event. When it happens, word spreads quickly as the lucky few in the beginning call their friends, who call their friends who then call their friends, until the traffic in the store is so high that it can be difficult to navigate.

This event also brings in the people who want to take advantage of our generous price adjustment policy, which allows someone to bring in their receipt and receive a price adjustment on merchandise they purchased within a 14-day period. Except this time, and from what I was told by a manager, we were never supposed to give price adjustments to anyone during these clearance events unless it was on full priced merchandise. Nowhere is this information posted for the customer. Not on any of the signs we have littering the store, and not on our return policy clings we have at the register counters. In fact, the price adjustment policy clearly states, "We offer a one-time price adjustment when an original sale receipt is presented within 14 days of the date of purchase."

This raises some ethical questions. Should a company be allowed to temporarily change a public affecting policy whenever it is in their best interest? When temporarily changing a policy, is it the responsibility of the company to notify the public of the change? Without any notification of a change, should the company be held to its posted policies?

After thinking about these questions for a few minutes I concluded that it was unethical for Old Navy not to allow price adjustments on clearance merchandise. I spoke to my available manager about this and his only retort was about how it would affect our raises. I replied that I was no longer eligible for a raise so that didn't bother me. This quick conversation left me concerned that a leader in my store is willing to forgo ethical behavior because it might affect his raise.

For a company so committed to the "customer experience", I'm surprised that Old Navy would institute this pseudo-policy without at minimum a sticker, notifying customers of the change. My disappointment lies within a company that would rather make a quick buck than instill public trust; trust it needs now more than ever. My disappointment lies within people willing to take part in unethical behavior because they are either too afraid to speak up or they see how much they can gain over the short term.

I never would consider myself the poster child for ethical behavior, but I always strive to make the right decision. Here, a right decision by my store could have been made and wasn't. And so, I sit here with that numbing pain, hoping that it will go away within the next three days so I can walk into that store glad to be there. I have a feeling I won't.

AberGAPpie & Fitch?

It seems the only ones falling into the Gap, is the Gap. On January 8, Gap, looking to explore "strategic alternatives", hired the investment firm Goldman Sachs to look into a possible sell. Emily Schmall of Forbes.com has written an article called, "Who'd Buy The Gap?" which puts blame on CEO Paul Pressler for the decline in store and clothing quality. This should not be news to people familiar with Paul Pressler and his reign at Disney where he did the same thing, cut costs at the expense of the overall customer experience and satisfaction.

I first heard the news this morning and was stunned at the thought of Gap being owned by another corporation. Different retailers spun around in my head, Abercrombie, Target and then my Mom this evening said the dreaded word, Wal*Mart. A feasible option as Gap's asking price is $18 billion-plus, but one that would leave me shaking, lying in the fetal position in some corner of the store screaming "WHY GOD WHY!"

While this comes as a shock, it doesn't come as a surprise. Everything that Emily Schmall says in her article is true. I walk into my store, and it's clear that updating it with the newer fixtures, leveling out and refinishing the floor, adding a fresh coat of paint would breathe some new life into my old store. As for the quality of clothing, over the past five years, I have known a marked decline in quality. Without pointing out specifics, even I'm afraid of bending over in a pair of Old Navy denim.

I, as well as many of my co-workers are eager to hear what corporate has to say about all this. Visiting GapInc.com gives no indication that this was going on. The only recent press release is regarding Senior Management changes at Gap and Old Navy brands, that can't be a positive factor given this recent news. Is Gap going to sell? Are they splitting up the brands? How will this affect the employees, our benefits and our jobs? Gap's decision to not comment on the story doesn't bode well for the brand, but I'm eager to see how all this plays out.

See You Later

As much as retail sucks, there are those moments of glimmering enjoyment that cannot be recreated in an office setting. Most of those moments include customers and their sometimes-unabashed honesty when angry about something. Some customers will begin yelling and screaming at you as if you are the problem and not them, others will passive aggressively under their breath tell you they are never going to shop there again. We had one such customer today.

Unfortunately, she wasn't my customer but I was able to listen in on the entire conversation as I staffed the register next to her. The customer wanted to return a puffy-vest; she did not have her receipt but used a credit card to purchase the item. She also had in her possession a gift receipt. The cashier looked up her transaction using the customer's credit card and proceeded to complete the return. The customer found out through the course of the transaction that she would be receiving approximately $18 for the vest. She was sure she paid more for it and continued to argue with the cashier, who silently continued with the transaction. The customer began and continued to say repeatedly that she wasn't going to shop at Old Navy anymore and that she didn't shop at other stores for the same reason. This was in hope to get a reaction from us which none of us gave her.

Now, while I could go on about how the customer treated the employee and the supervisor that came around, I want to talk about another aspect of the argument. She clearly stated that she wasn't going to shop at Old Navy anymore. Can I hold her to that? I imagine me asking her to step to the side so I could take her picture to ensure that she doesn't accidentally come in and buy something. I know that would never happen, but I'm almost positive I could get away with saying something like, "I'm sorry your last transaction here is a negative one, but think of all the money you would save by not shopping here!" I would accompany this with my disarming charm and friendly smile.

In case you were wondering, the customer I spoke of before went home to get her original receipt and came back. She was wrong and the store was right so she was very apologetic about her attitude and thanked us for being so nice about the situation. I suppose we'll let her come back if she still wants to.

Bathroom Blues

Every morning I go to work and the first thing I do is clean the restrooms. It isn't a glamorous job, but it is one I enjoy. It's not that I enjoy cleaning the restrooms, it's more that I enjoy spending uninterrupted time at work first thing in the morning, acclimating myself to the environment. It's a time that no one comes to me asking questions or talking to me because I'm scraping dried poop of the restroom walls and no one wants to get close.

So I spend that time, thinking about the day and wiping down the seat and rim of toilets, making sure to wipe up every last drop of urine. Sounds gross? It is, but I'm used to it. Nevertheless, let me take this opportunity to tell you that the women's restroom is about ten times worse than the men’s. I often wonder how a woman can get fecal matter on the underside of the seat. It could be the result of explosive diarrhea, in which it comes out at such force that it splashes up, coating the entire bowl and seat. It must be one of those marvels of nature.

All of that is a wonder to behold and not nearly as annoying as how men just can't seem to flush the urinal. The handle is right there, waiting . . . nay, wanting to be pulled. I'm sure that it has nothing to do with germs, because after doing their business, some tend not to wash their hands. I know this because I don’t fill the soap container nearly as much as I fill the women’s container.

All can be forgiven however, because women do something men don't. When it is that time of the month, they have feminine hygiene products I must contend with daily. For all those women out there who are unaware, there is a proper way to dispose of these pads and corks. First, grab some bathroom tissue; next wrap used F.H.P. in bathroom tissue, then place it inside the sanitary bag located in the little trash can in the stall. It certainly isn't difficult, and it makes for a much easier restroom cleaning experience.

Everyday I'm amazed at what I come across. On more than one occasion, I have stood back and wondered how someone could physically accomplish that days biohazard. The experience has toughened me up considerably and I can now almost handle anything.

The Moody Blues

This week is one that people may want to leave me alone. I thought it was going to be a terrible day, and to some extent, it certainly wasn't the best day I could have had. I woke up with a foul mood and carried it to work. I was tired and sluggish and just didn't want to deal with people's petty problems. One could argue that my mood automatically dictated the kind of day I was going to have. However, the main reason was the thought of having to work with one supervisor who shall remain nameless for everyone's sake. I convinced myself that if he tried to give me any feedback, I was going home.

To my delight, he pretty much stayed away from me. It could have something to do with the conversation we had in the office where I gave him some feedback. It was probably the third or fourth time I gave him this same feedback, so my tone was on the frustrated side. It's one of those aggravating relationships where he gets along with me, but I don't get along with him. It isn't that I don't like him, more that he tries so hard that it becomes annoying. Oh well, I just hope that he and all annoying people stay away from me this week, because if today was any indication then the remaining days should be an absolute treat.