hourly rate of pay, he probably cost the company twenty bucks in labor to save the twenty-seven cents he recovered.
“ When you send out the ten self-addressed refund verification postcards each week,” Braunswine said explaining another of his idiotic ideas, “peel off the un-cancelled postage stamp from those returned with incorrect address to glue to new postcards you send out.”
The guy ’s a goddamned blithering idiot.
Over two-hundred dollars in lock repairs in a month would not be a plus when it came time for his personal evaluation.
Mr. Hedd was positive he knew who was fucking with his locks. It had to be one of the male employees. He just wasn’t sure exactly which one. He had heard some of the employees calling him a disparaging name. He’d overheard one of the employees calling him “Ol’ Pecker Head” in the men’s room when they didn’t realize he was in one of the stalls. They all had a good yuck over that. He couldn’t be sure who was the one called him that; there were three or four employees in there and he wasn’t about to confront them through the stall door with his trousers around his ankles.
“ It never occurred to me that a manager even used the can,” a surprised garden shop employee once said when Mr. Hedd emerged from a stall. “It’s kinda freaky.”
It wasn ’t the first time he’d heard the nickname; classmates in junior high were the first to come up the cruel name. He’d gone home crying more than once over their name-calling, telling his mother that he hated his big fat nose. He was well aware that the name-calling boys thought it looked like a dick.
He knew that once a manager lost the employee ’s respect, managing the store became progressively more difficult. He had seen signs of that happening to him. A prime example was the pencil in the door lock incident. He made a mental note to make an example of the first one he caught disrespecting him, male or female. He had to nip that bullshit in the bud.
As Mr. Hedd kept ringing the entrance bell, waiting for the maintenance man to appear, several employees began gathering on the sidewalk with him. To add further embarrassment to what was turning out to be a horrible start to his day, his new assistant manager trainee, Jake Forest, joined the gathering crowd of employees waiting to get into the store.
“What’s the trouble?” Linda asked. “Can’t we get in?”
“ Well, Linda, someone has vandalized the lock, there’s something broken off in it.” Mr. Hedd was bending to see if he could see the problem with the lock.
“ Maybe I can help,” Jake pulled a pocketknife from his pocket and opened the skinny blade.
“ Help yourself,” Mr. Hedd said. “I guess it can’t hurt.”
As Jake was fiddling with the lock, only able to extract some tiny pieces of wood with what looked like graphite. “Looks like a pencil might have been broken off in there,” Jake said.
The overnight maintenance man finally sauntered up to the front door, unlocked the door and everyone poured through and headed toward the employee lounge.
“Sorry, Mr. Hedd., I was waiting in the stockroom to dump the trash and didn’t hear the bell,” the maintenance man said. “I thought someone had overslept.”
“ What’s the matter with you, were you going to sit in the stockroom all morning? Common sense would tell you to check and see what the problem might be. Hurry up and get that goddamn trash dumped and get punched out.”
Now, he had another expense. The maintenance man would get a half-hour of over-time pay for his ignorance in addition to the employees who would expect to have their timecard adjusted for standing on the sidewalk and being unable to punch in for their shift on time. The little pencil in the lock trick would cost Big Richards several hundred of dollars in repair and payroll expenses, possibly as much as a half a grand. And that didn ’t even take into consideration the lost productivity of those lazy asses
“ When you send out the ten self-addressed refund verification postcards each week,” Braunswine said explaining another of his idiotic ideas, “peel off the un-cancelled postage stamp from those returned with incorrect address to glue to new postcards you send out.”
The guy ’s a goddamned blithering idiot.
Over two-hundred dollars in lock repairs in a month would not be a plus when it came time for his personal evaluation.
Mr. Hedd was positive he knew who was fucking with his locks. It had to be one of the male employees. He just wasn’t sure exactly which one. He had heard some of the employees calling him a disparaging name. He’d overheard one of the employees calling him “Ol’ Pecker Head” in the men’s room when they didn’t realize he was in one of the stalls. They all had a good yuck over that. He couldn’t be sure who was the one called him that; there were three or four employees in there and he wasn’t about to confront them through the stall door with his trousers around his ankles.
“ It never occurred to me that a manager even used the can,” a surprised garden shop employee once said when Mr. Hedd emerged from a stall. “It’s kinda freaky.”
It wasn ’t the first time he’d heard the nickname; classmates in junior high were the first to come up the cruel name. He’d gone home crying more than once over their name-calling, telling his mother that he hated his big fat nose. He was well aware that the name-calling boys thought it looked like a dick.
He knew that once a manager lost the employee ’s respect, managing the store became progressively more difficult. He had seen signs of that happening to him. A prime example was the pencil in the door lock incident. He made a mental note to make an example of the first one he caught disrespecting him, male or female. He had to nip that bullshit in the bud.
As Mr. Hedd kept ringing the entrance bell, waiting for the maintenance man to appear, several employees began gathering on the sidewalk with him. To add further embarrassment to what was turning out to be a horrible start to his day, his new assistant manager trainee, Jake Forest, joined the gathering crowd of employees waiting to get into the store.
“What’s the trouble?” Linda asked. “Can’t we get in?”
“ Well, Linda, someone has vandalized the lock, there’s something broken off in it.” Mr. Hedd was bending to see if he could see the problem with the lock.
“ Maybe I can help,” Jake pulled a pocketknife from his pocket and opened the skinny blade.
“ Help yourself,” Mr. Hedd said. “I guess it can’t hurt.”
As Jake was fiddling with the lock, only able to extract some tiny pieces of wood with what looked like graphite. “Looks like a pencil might have been broken off in there,” Jake said.
The overnight maintenance man finally sauntered up to the front door, unlocked the door and everyone poured through and headed toward the employee lounge.
“Sorry, Mr. Hedd., I was waiting in the stockroom to dump the trash and didn’t hear the bell,” the maintenance man said. “I thought someone had overslept.”
“ What’s the matter with you, were you going to sit in the stockroom all morning? Common sense would tell you to check and see what the problem might be. Hurry up and get that goddamn trash dumped and get punched out.”
Now, he had another expense. The maintenance man would get a half-hour of over-time pay for his ignorance in addition to the employees who would expect to have their timecard adjusted for standing on the sidewalk and being unable to punch in for their shift on time. The little pencil in the lock trick would cost Big Richards several hundred of dollars in repair and payroll expenses, possibly as much as a half a grand. And that didn ’t even take into consideration the lost productivity of those lazy asses
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