So I’m on time for work this morning – in fact 15 minutes early – and the front door is locked. After pounding on it quite aggressively, a stocker was nice enough to let “management” know I needed in. Seven minutes later, she – aka “management” – does the 50 yard mosey to let me in. The ultimate in the wrong thing to say came from this “manager”. She said, “You have to be patient. Only SOME people are allowed to have the key.”

So I’m hangin’ out by myself in a parking lot where a robbery & attempted murder occurred in November 2016. Said attempt was made on two people waiting for the store to open. Did they need to be patient? So much for caring about the safety of HD employees and customers.

Erik was thoughtful enough to wait until the moseying manager came to open the door. But suppose I’d driven myself to work this morning, it being 5:30 AM? And what if something had happened to me – conked on the head and dragged off to a waiting white van, to meet a gruesome fate? Nobody at the store would have seen or heard anything. They’d have just assumed I was late, and a computerized message would have popped up on my phone. That would be the phone in my purse in the speeding white van, with me about to meet my gruesome fate. But the thing is, Erik woulda had a hell of a lawsuit against HD for wrongful death, particularly in light of the previous incident. You know, some good things come from all adversity, eh? When I told M the Elder about it, he shrugged and effectively said, “Happens all the time. Get over it.” Nope.

Then this afternoon, another of those computerized messages popped up on my phone, this time telling me the time I’d requested off to go to Tallahassee in April to see Kirsten had been ‘declined’. Yes, declined. I cannot leave the plantation to go visit my kid up the road. Must be harvest time for the cotton.

If that last statement offended anyone, I apologize. But my point is this: I’m a part time employee of a mega corporation that apparently thinks it totally owns my nether parts. Wow. I know – compared to being blown up in Mariupol, this is trivial. Yes. It is. I acknowledge that. Nonetheless, I will find some creative way to ensure no elderly women meet any dismal fates waiting for the magic person entrusted with the holy key to come open the door. At 5:30 AM.

Back to this morning. At around 6:15 AM – after the store was already open – moseying manager calls us together for a meeting at the checkout area. About ten people show up, and looking at the body language of the designated ten was fascinating to watch. While financial and safety statistics were being shared with the group, I instantly had a mental flash of the assemblage of workers from that movie Office Space at Lumberg’s birthday party. You remember that one – when Milton doesn’t get a piece of cake, adding to his disgruntlement? There were ten Miltons around me – and I was one of them too – already! For goodness sake, I’ve only worked there for six weeks, and already the gild is off the lily. But then I remind myself why I took this job, recognizing that without these sordid anecdotes, my exposé about the inner workings of HD would be boring indeed. So I will soldier on, the goals being to avoid speeding white vans and moseying managers. Sound fair?